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love this from brave girls club….



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“Empower11” 11.11.11



Enrolled in the amazing life changing “Empower11” program, the best of its kind. YOU will get 11 courses, with a new course every 11 days. It was put together by a power couple with not only an inspiring love story but profound personal stories of transformation as well.

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Journey
If there were ever a time to dare, To make a difference To embark on something worth doing It is now. Not for any grand cause, necessarily But for something that tugs at your heart Something that is worth your aspiration Something that is your dream. You owe it to yourself To make your days count. Have fun. Dig deep. Stretch. Dream Big. Know, though, That things worth doing Seldom come easy, There will be times when you want to Turn around Pack it up and call it quits Those times tell you That you are pushing yourself And that you are not afraid to learn by trying. Persist. Because with an idea, Determination and the right tools, You can do great things. Let your instincts, your intellect And let your heart guide you. Trust. Believe in the incredible power Of the human mind Of doing something that makes a difference Of working hard Of laughing and hoping Of lasting friends Of all the things that will cross your path Next year The start of something new Brings the hope of something great. Anything is possible There is only one you And you will pass this way but once. Do it right.

Laughter

Be careful what you tell your daughter because she’ll believe you

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“I wuv you mama, you my BEST fwend,” she mumbles from the sacred dark.

She has one tiny palm pressed against each of my cheeks and she smells of baby lotion and her dad’s Doritos. The night light shoots stars and the moon into orbit around about her and I’m star struck to be her mother.

The girl who never wanted a daughter. The girl comfortable in her world of sons and boys and not a scrap of pink in her wardrobe.

This tiny, wisp of a daughter of mine, she has soothed my scars and kissed me better from the inside.

She is a unique.

And while she sleeps I click through all the ways the world wants to tell her she’s anything but.

In 2013, the media taught loud and hard and brash that she’s a product– marketable and disposable.

The beauty industry told her from its glossy pages and store front ads that in the eye of the beholder her appearance must fit into a teeny tiny little size zero box with its edges tightly, perfectly manicured shut.

That women are literally shrinking before our very eyes.

How does a mom strap that Hello Kitty backpack onto her only daughter’s tiny frame and send her out the door, down the three front steps and into the world when there are so many wolves abroad?

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

“I wuv you mama, you my BEST fwend,” she mumbles from the sacred dark.

She has one tiny palm pressed against each of my cheeks and she smells of baby lotion and her dad’s Doritos. The night light shoots stars and the moon into orbit around about her and I’m star struck to be her mother.

The girl who never wanted a daughter. The girl comfortable in her world of sons and boys and not a scrap of pink in her wardrobe.

This tiny, wisp of a daughter of mine, she has soothed my scars and kissed me better from the inside.

She is a unique.

And while she sleeps I click through all the ways the world wants to tell her she’s anything but.

In 2013, the media taught loud and hard and brash that she’s a product– marketable and disposable.

The beauty industry told her from its glossy pages and store front ads that in the eye of the beholder her appearance must fit into a teeny tiny little size zero box with its edges tightly, perfectly manicured shut.

That women are literally shrinking before our very eyes.

How does a mom strap that Hello Kitty backpack onto her only daughter’s tiny frame and send her out the door, down the three front steps and into the world when there are so many wolves abroad?

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Maybe that mom models brave, instead of fashion. Maybe she dresses her daughter in words that wrap her around with confidence and courage and bellows into the wild dark - “You shall not pass!”

Maybe that mom writes love letters with every ordinary moment between the helpings of macaroni and cheese that say in so many unsaid words:

Daughter you are more than the sum of your limbs and hair and eye color; you are a living, breathing galaxy of wonder. I am awe struck by your eyes.

You are wildly loved and crazy brave especially on the days you choose to live out loud even when you are terrified.

You are sneakers and high heels, you are mud and princesses, you are not playing dress up when you model grace and forgiveness.

And you are not alone. Your sisters Madeleine, Malala, Sarah, your big sisters Nadine, Maud, Ann, Antjie, Christa and Stefanie, my mother and your soul sister, Jo – they’re just up ahead.

Follow in their footsteps daughter.

Sing your own song. Make your own art. Make it messy.

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

Maybe that mom models brave, instead of fashion. Maybe she dresses her daughter in words that wrap her around with confidence and courage and bellows into the wild dark - “You shall not pass!”

Maybe that mom writes love letters with every ordinary moment between the helpings of macaroni and cheese that say in so many unsaid words:

Daughter you are more than the sum of your limbs and hair and eye color; you are a living, breathing galaxy of wonder. I am awe struck by your eyes.

You are wildly loved and crazy brave especially on the days you choose to live out loud even when you are terrified.

You are sneakers and high heels, you are mud and princesses, you are not playing dress up when you model grace and forgiveness.

And you are not alone. Your sisters Madeleine, Malala, Sarah, your big sisters Nadine, Maud, Ann, Antjie, Christa and Stefanie, my mother and your soul sister, Jo – they’re just up ahead.

Follow in their footsteps daughter.

Sing your own song. Make your own art. Make it messy.

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

Maybe that mom models brave, instead of fashion. Maybe she dresses her daughter in words that wrap her around with confidence and courage and bellows into the wild dark – “You shall not pass!”

Maybe that mom writes love letters with every ordinary moment between the helpings of macaroni and cheese that say in so many unsaid words:

Daughter you are more than the sum of your limbs and hair and eye color; you are a living, breathing galaxy of wonder. I am awe struck by your eyes.

You are wildly loved and crazy brave especially on the days you choose to live out loud even when you are terrified.

You are sneakers and high heels, you are mud and princesses, you are not playing dress up when you model grace and forgiveness.

And you are not alone. Your sisters, your big sisters, my mother and your soul sister, Jo – they’re just up ahead.

Follow in their footsteps daughter.

Sing your own song. Make your own art. Make it messy.

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We won’t be afraid of the chaos of a girl growing into all her divine, God-given potential. We won’t box it in or try to keep the world out. We will fling open the windows and dance in the rain storms.

Grow, daughter, grow.

Throw back your hair and don’t worry about your legs being too skinny or to thick.

Worry about them being strong so they can carry you across borders and boundaries; over divides and barriers into the lives of the beautifully different people that will always reflect the corners of your soul you most need to get to know.

Run daughter, laugh. Lift up your eyes and remember the sky is always brighter than the shadows would have you believe.

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Sink your teeth into new ideas. Reach your roots down into the soil of this family and revel in the boring ordinary of the familiar. It will give you the guts to venture into the strange and awkward.

You are more than the sum of your closet and less than the inflated importance of the award shows.

Fight me, disagree, storm out but don’t ever stop knocking your way back in. My heart is your home and you can’t outrun your DNA. I am the start of your story and you can’t write me out of the ending even if you spend years trying.

I will always come for you.

When you don’t know where you’re going. When you’re the most sure of yourself you’ve ever been. When you’re holding onto faith with just your fingernails.

Daughter, I will come. And I will always say the words that need saying even if they terrify us both. Even when we’ve both gotten it wrong.

I will not stop telling you what I wished I’d said yesterday.

I pray tomorrow you’ll still believe me.

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

Fight me, disagree, storm out but don’t ever stop knocking your way back in. My heart is your home and you can’t outrun your DNA. I am the start of your story and you can’t write me out of the ending even if you spend years trying.

I will always come for you.

When you don’t know where you’re going. When you’re the most sure of yourself you’ve ever been. When you’re holding onto faith with just your fingernails.

Daughter, I will come. And I will always say the words that need saying even if they terrify us both. Even when we’ve both gotten it wrong.

I will not stop telling you what I wished I’d said yesterday.

I pray tomorrow you’ll still believe me.

Throw back your hair and don’t worry about your legs being too skinny or to thick.

Worry about them being strong so they can carry you across borders and boundaries; over divides and barriers into the lives of the beautifully different people that will always reflect the corners of your soul you most need to get to know.

Run daughter, laugh. Lift up your eyes and remember the sky is always brighter than the shadows would have you believe.

Sink your teeth into new ideas. Reach your roots down into the soil of this family and revel in the boring ordinary of the familiar. It will give you the guts to venture into the strange and awkward.

You are more than the sum of your closet and less than the inflated importance of the award shows.

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

“I wuv you mama, you my BEST fwend,” she mumbles from the sacred dark.

She has one tiny palm pressed against each of my cheeks and she smells of baby lotion and her dad’s Doritos. The night light shoots stars and the moon into orbit around about her and I’m star struck to be her mother.

The girl who never wanted a daughter. The girl comfortable in her world of sons and boys and not a scrap of pink in her wardrobe.

This tiny, wisp of a daughter of mine, she has soothed my scars and kissed me better from the inside.

She is a unique.

And while she sleeps I click through all the ways the world wants to tell her she’s anything but.

In 2013, the media taught loud and hard and brash that she’s a product– marketable and disposable.

The beauty industry told her from its glossy pages and store front ads that in the eye of the beholder her appearance must fit into a teeny tiny little size zero box with its edges tightly, perfectly manicured shut.

That women are literally shrinking before our very eyes.

How does a mom strap that Hello Kitty backpack onto her only daughter’s tiny frame and send her out the door, down the three front steps and into the world when there are so many wolves abroad?

- See more at: http://lisajobaker.com/#sthash.FGFQoODz.dpuf

Ann Voskamp/Deep Peace and True Beauty

Honestly, I’m a bit of a mess. It’s okay, really. Grace is the most amazing of all. I had a full-tuition scholarship to university and never finished. I married a Farmer instead and came home to gravel road and cornfields. Read the rest of this entry »

There’s a world out there ~ I want you to have!


There’s a world I want you to have,
one that I don’t know will exist in my lifetime,
but I want you to have it anyway.

One where you care more about thinking and learning
than looking in the mirror and worrying about what other people are thinking.

One where you care more about you’re putting into your head
than what you are putting into your mouth.

One where it’s okay to not want to join clubs,
talk endlessly about boys,
and muse about unimportant questions
(does he like me?).

One where you don’t spend days, months, years locked up
in a quest that is ultimately on its own timeline, its own
‘where we’re supposed to be’ of it all.

One where you don’t treat others like pieces of furniture,
and they offer you the same consideration—male and female.

One where you will never be someone’s house pet.

One where you carve out the ability to turn loneliness into solitude
and then into something even more beautiful—enjoying your own company.

One where you rely more on books than you do on the opinions of your friends.

One where your life goals involve your intellect and not your waistline,
your talents not your shade of lip gloss, your skills not your skinny jeans.

One where landing your dream job means a whole lot more than landing your dream man.

One where courage still counts for something.
It takes courage to break away from the herd of lemmings
and not sail over that cliff into a very uncertain landing.

One where you might get married, if you want, or not get married, if you don’t want.
And for the love of God—only have children if you are ready to give up a whole other portion of your life.
Don’t have them because everyone else is, or because you got a jolt holding someone else’s baby.

That’s the world I want for you.

The one no one told me about, the one I had to blindly grope towards,
for thirty-odd years before a sense of my own identity finally arrived.

I only hope that you get to savoir it much earlier than I did. Love Mom….


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