How I Traveled via Prayer to the Future

First Prayer Igniters Board Meeting

First Prayer Igniters Board Meeting

On my previous blog I wrote about time machines and going back into the past. This week I traveled the opposite direction and journeyed into the strange and mysterious frontier of the future.

My vehicle was a long and involved IRS form for tax exempt status that I needed to fill out for our new nonprofit, Prayer Igniters. Our ministry had its very first board meeting in September. As of yet we have no bank account and no programs running. It should be a cinch to fill out a form for a group that doesn’t have any past and very little in the present to report, right? Wrong. According to the form, we have a future to report!

The form poses oodles of questions like this “Do you or will you undertake fundraising?” If ‘Yes,’ check all the fundraising programs you do or will conduct.” Then they say, “Attach a description of each fundraising activity.” Hmm. And thus the form had me constantly embarking on mental journeys into what we will be doing in 2010 and 2011.

Actually, the IRS didn’t invent traveling into the future. Prayer did. The reason I happened to be filling out a nonprofit application in October of 2009 was because on February 29, 2000 I asked God to give me a mission statement. He gave me these words “The Way of Prayer for Many.” I wasn’t sure what way of prayer I knew that would help anyone else. But I began to pray the vision every day on my prayer walk. I can’t say that much happened for several years, but I kept on praying.

I eventually started speaking on prayer and keeping a log of prayer answers in my journal. Then my elderly father got sick in 2004 and died a year later. It seemed like a huge detour way off my prayer vision route. Only later did I see that Dad’s illness gave me priceless personal experience on how to pray during a crisis and how to pray when things don’t get better.

In 2006 I took a huge step and did a video study series on prayer. All of this time, the nonprofit idea was still completely off my radar screen. It didn’t go “blip” until one spring day in 2008 when I was having lunch with a woman from a huge church. She told me she wished that she could get more people interested in prayer. Bingo! I was meeting my first Prayer Igniter – someone who wanted to light a match to spark interest in prayer but who needed a little help, inspiration and support along the way.

So prayer makes it possible for me to report to the IRS what the future will look like in 2010 and 2011.

This brings us to an interesting question. What will you be doing in the future? In 2010? In 2011? I think I can help you fill in the blanks if you can answer this question. What are you praying as God’s future vision for your life today?

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A Time Machine that Really Works!

Recently I was flabbergasted to learn that there’s such a thing as a time machine that works! And believe me, at my age I need one. It all started a few weeks ago when my husband Gordon opened the wrong attachment to an email and his laptop got taken over by a big ugly pop-up message that cried “Threat Warning!” in big red letters. It proclaimed that his computer was infected with nasty sounding viruses and the cure was to click through to a website and pay to get rid of them. This message continuously popped up and smacked Gordon in the eyes with repeated warnings meant to instill fear of cyber mayhem. I could hear his cries of aggravation clear from the other room.

This went on for three weeks. Finally our 19 year old son John arrived home from college and came to the rescue. He sat in front of the TV with Gordon’s computer on his lap and fiddled around a while. “Done,” John said. And the mean pop-up virus was gone.

“How on earth did you do that?” I asked John in amazement.

“Simple. I asked Dad when he first started having the problem, then I went back a few days before that and used the restore function to get the whole system to the way it was before the virus.”

“You can do that?” I asked incredulously.

“Yep,” he said, “On an Apple they call it time machine.”

I was dumbstruck. Finally someone had actually invented a time machine that can restore things back to the way they used to be. Not only is it an electronic version of the Fountain of Youth where you can go back to an earlier time, but it also erases any mistakes you made in the meantime and everything is back in order like you never messed up at all. What good news. Of course the bad news is that this time machine only works in cyberspace, not in real life.

Actually, a long time ago God invented the “restore function” when Jesus came down to earth. The most time defying thing that every happened in history was the resurrection of Jesus after He had been dead and buried for three days. Because of that great miracle, each day we can experience small but meaningful restorations. Maybe they won’t erase our wrinkles or make those angry words we said yesterday disappear, but our lives can still be renewed and rejuvenated. Words that start with the prefix re (meaning “to do again”) offer an array of divine possibilities for time travel. Repentance. Reconciliation. Redemption. Recommitment. Reconsideration. Restitution. Rebirth. And that’s the best news I’ve ever heard.

The whole Barber family last Christmas on computers

The whole Barber family last Christmas on computers

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Miracle Answer to Prayer in Afghanistan

On Sunday in the church hallway I asked a friend about her grandson was is serving in Afghanistan. Her eyes got a little dewy as she said, “We almost lost him.”

She hurriedly went on to say that he and a handful of fellow soldiers had been in a remote outpost that was suddenly attacked by a much larger force of Taliban fighters. While in a gun battle, her grandson had his hand on his ammo magazine when it was hit by a bullet. In that split second he threw the magazine and it exploded.

My friend explained that she’d gotten this story from her grandson’s wife who lives on the West Coast. Yet even without the chance to ask her grandson any questions, one wonderful detail came through the grapevine loud and clear. Her grandson attributes his miraculous survival to God.

I’ve been praying for this young soldier for 3 years, ever since he entered the service to find a way to make a difference in his own life and in the world. There’s a maple tree on my prayer walk that belongs to this young soldier who’s really our young soldier because he’s serving us all. Of course our young soldier doesn’t really own the tree in my neighborhood. I just decided to adopt the tree as a signpost, as a place to remember to pray for him as I walk by every day.

One fall day a few years ago I picked up a red fall leaf and pressed it into my Bible as a prayer reminder when our young soldier finished basic training and deployed to Iraq. During the winter it was dark in the mornings and the tree was bare, but I’d picked the tree well because it was right under a street light and I could always see it. One day several of his comrades were killed in the line of duty. I prayed for God’s help and comfort for our young soldier. I’m sure it must have been hard, but he continued to serve faithfully.

Then there were times of thanksgiving for the good news by the prayer tree for our young solider. He came home safe and sound from Iraq, more mature and wiser than ever. He met a lovely young woman. They married and welcomed into the world the cutest baby you’ve ever seen.

Then this past summer it was back to vigilant prayer work for our young solider as he deployed again, this time to Afghanistan. Again prayers under the tree were for his safety and now also for strength and support for his wife and little one.

As many of you know, our own son Chris also served in the U.S. Army. He’s out now and doing well. While in, he deployed to both Afghanistan and Iraq. We were worried, but we were able to get through because we were the recipients of innumerable prayers. No prayer is ever too small when your own young soldier son or daughter is in harm’s way.

And so on Sunday, even though we were in a busy church hallway, I stepped aside with my friend and we joined hands and bowed our heads and I said a prayer of thanksgiving to God right there on the spot for hearing our prayers for our young soldier.

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Like Bamboo Growing in Coastal South Carolina

This past weekend Gordon went in with a chain saw to do battle with a thick stand of bamboo at our beach house on Hilton Head, S.C. Let me begin with a disclaimer that we weren’t the ones foolish enough to plant this nuisance. Blame that on a former owner.

Sure, it’s pretty green stuff and gives a tropical get-away feel to the back yard. But it grows like crazy in the long growing season in the maritime forest ecosystem on Southern sea islands.

We don’t mind it when it stays about 15 feet tall. But a few renegade stalks always decide to shoot for the stars. Why not 20 feet? Why not 30? They get tangled up in the oak trees and get unstable and then flop over into our pool. And then there’s the thicket issue. A raccoon once died in there, probably trying to find his way out. We didn’t know it until the smell got really compelling. And then there’s the whole invasive issue. Bamboo puts out wandering shoots capable of taking over the whole yard. I’ve read that the only way to keep it contained is to bury a deep cement wall all around it underground.

So this weekend I stood on the back deck while Gordon ventured into our private jungle and started shaking stalks to identify which ones were the towering, pool-flopping ones. When he shook the right ones, I yelled and he marked the stalks with duct tape. (Make a note if you’re a guy collecting ideas on how to use duct tape.) Then Gordon revved his chain saw and cut the stalks. But they didn’t fall. Nope. Too tightly packed in the thicket. We had to pull and yank like the dickens to untangle the cut stalks and get them out.

Some of the stalks were as big around as my arm. We went to work clipping off the foliage. I started thinking that Robinson Crusoe could have made a good raft out of that big fat bamboo. Suddenly the bamboo didn’t look like such a nuisance after all. You could probably make something out of it, at the very least tomato stakes to use back home in Atlanta. So we laid a stack of long, green bamboo poles in the woods to dry out.

Gordon found a use for one pole right away. Earlier he had bumped his head on a low hanging oak branch he didn’t want to cut. So he took one of the fattest bamboo poles, drove a short pipe into the sand, stuck the bamboo hollow center over the pipe and propped the pole under the branch. He then drilled a hole through the top of bamboo and fed a wire through to attach it to the branch. Presto! Low hanging branch solved.

Today when people talk about “going green” bamboo is a true media darling. They call it a renewable resource because it grows so fast. You find it stubbornly creeping its way into flooring, into bed sheets and even into clothes.

So I’ve changed my mind about bamboo. In fact, if Jesus was around bamboo, he probably might have said, “The Kingdom of Heaven is like a stand of bamboo. It grows tenaciously and abundantly and soon the whole earth is covered with it.” Renewable. Inexhaustible. Growing. The perfect “green” words to pray for the kind of evergreen spiritual life I want to live.

Our private back yard jungle

Our private back yard jungle

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Pleasing Babies and Pleasing God

I’ve only been grand-parenting for 7 weeks now but baby Kendall has already gotten me hooked on the compulsion to try and please the little one.

My daughter-in-law Leah and 7 week old Kendall recently spent several nights with us while our son Jeff was at a mountain bike convention out West. I’d forgotten how babies this age need round the clock attention. They eat, sleep and need their diapers changed often and you never know exactly when any of it will occur. Leah is nursing and hasn’t had a full night’s sleep in ages. So I eased into the role of trying to keep Kendall from fussing between feedings and naps.

The craziest things please babies. In Kendall’s case, it’s being carried up and down the stairs. Over and over again. Jeff and Leah live in a one story house, and for some reason, me carrying Kendall up and down the stairs here quieted her down like magic as she turned her wobbly little neck to figure out this strange experience. Up the stairs. Down the stairs. I started counting each step out loud. 16. Then I paused on each step, said the number and added a meow to the count. Then I went back up adding a stairway full of “woofs” to the numbers. One time I got to the bottom on and the count was 17. Go figure.

But here’s something else I’d like to figure out. Why is it that the most exhausting thing you can do in a house – climbing steps – is the one thing Kendall liked? Why couldn’t she have picked rocking in a chair? But to please Kendall, I wore myself out going up and down the stairs until her little eyes got heavy and at last closed.

Maybe God wired us to try to please babies because He wants us to make the connection of wanting to please someone because we love them. In the same way, if we love God, we’ll try to please Him.

Yet the most amazing part of pleasing God is that He doesn’t always choose the stair climbing. More often He chooses the rocking chair. Most days all He wants is for us to simply spend time with Him in prayer, resting in who He is, communing, being together. We’re at peace like a baby in her mother’s arms. And God is pleased by our still and trusting heart.

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How Do Husbands and Wives Stay Close?

This past Monday after I called my husband Gordon at work in Atlanta telling him that my flight had been delayed indefinitely at Midway Airport in Chicago, I got to wondering about modern marriages. Here we were miles apart and who knew when we’d ever have a chance for quality time together. I wondered what it takes to stay close to your spouse these days when there’s so much else to do during the day and you spend so much time apart.

Monday was a very bad day to be flying into Atlanta. Maybe you heard about the torrential rain we had that caused major flooding on a scale we haven’t seen in decades, if ever. Hartsfield-Jackson airport in Atlanta was completely closed down, meaning a whole planeload of us strangers were waylaid for hours at the gate at Midway wondering when we’d ever get home.

Sitting there I had a long time to observe the strangers around me. One young couple didn’t realize that the way they were snuggled up next to each other proclaimed, “We can’t get enough of each other.” The young man had his arm around the dark-haired girl’s shoulders. He pulled her close to him. He rested his cheek on her hair. She rested her head on his shoulder. He smiled. She looked up and smiled back. They didn’t seem to mind the delay because they were together.

Then I studied another couple with a ten year old girl sitting between them. This couple was equally totally unaware that their body language was saying, “We’re not sure what we have in common any more.” The man was absorbed in reading a book. The woman was staring at an I-phone screen. Occasionally the woman got up to wander off somewhere. The man didn’t look up or notice. The woman didn’t lean over to tell him where she was going. They seemed like two planets in very different orbits. Neither smiled. They seemed disengaged from each other. Distant. Did that eventually happen to all married couples?

We finally boarded the plane at sunset. As the plane gained altitude a man one row up on the aisle held a crossword puzzle up in his small individual spotlight. Suddenly a simple memory of my own parent’s marriage flooded over me. Crossword puzzles. My parents weren’t really much alike in any way. Dad was from a Midwestern city, Mom was a rural farm girl from South Carolina. Mom had an artistic bent and could sketch with delicate sympathy the tiniest wildflower. Dad worked as a budget analyst for the government and actually liked it.

My parents were two totally different people who could have been on individual orbits if it hadn’t been for the crossword puzzle in the daily paper. Every night after dinner Dad would fold the paper until the crossword puzzle was a small square. Mom found a pencil. Then they would sit down on the sofa together and put on reading glasses and begin putting their heads together. “What’s a four letter word for great lake?” “How about Erie?” Mom would write it down and they’d continue to collaborate on clues. After they’d spent half an hour or an hour together on the sofa, the puzzle would be mostly completed, but of course, looking back, I now see that wasn’t the point.

I read somewhere that solving crossword puzzles is a good way to keep your brain sharp as you age. But on Monday night I uncovered another benefit of crossword puzzles, or at least small shared things like them, for keeping husbands and wives close in a marriage. Those puzzles created a little hallowed spot of time for my parents to be together every day, collaborating together on something that didn’t have to do with household chores or raising children.

When I got home, I found out that Gordon had recorded Dancing with the Stars. So we sat down and watched it together, commenting to each other on every dance. (Even though neither of us can actually dance ourselves!) So what’s a four letter word that’s the secret to closeness in a marriage? T-I-M-E.

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Prayer Power When Words Fail

Recently in the Super Walmart parking lot I discovered how powerfully we can communicate without saying a single word . It was an 85 degree afternoon and I had just purchased a week’s worth of groceries. I unloaded the bags into the trunk of my Toyota sedan – the cherry vanilla ice cream Gordon is crazy about, the healthy red pepper humus for me. It was over $80.00 worth of groceries. I got into the car ready to hurry home before the cold food got too hot. I turned the ignition. Absolutely nothing happened. Not even a little cough in the engine.

Dead battery maybe? I know next to nothing about cars. I was miles from home and Gordon works way off in downtown Atlanta so I couldn’t call him to come to my rescue.

Since I didn’t want the cherry vanilla ice cream to go soupy in the trunk I was going to have to ask a stranger for help. There weren’t many people in the parking lot. Besides, I hate asking for help. Then I had an idea.

Gordon makes sure all of our cars have a set of jumper cables in the trunk. I opened the trunk and rummaged under the groceries. I unzipped the cables from the pouch like I actually knew how to use them, then went around to the hood. It took me a few tries to figure out how to undo the latch. That’s all I did – popped open the hood and stood there with jumper cables in my hand making a wordless statement of need. Anybody could take one look at me and realize that you can’t use jumper cables without the help of another driver.

Sure enough, the moment I had the scene set up a man and his wife came up out of nowhere and offered to help. They pulled their Jeep around next to my car. The man went clamp, clamp to my car and then clamp, clamp to his car and I turned the key and my engine went rrrrrr. I told the couple they were angels. Then I waved and drove off, Gordon’s cherry vanilla ice cream still nicely frozen.

As I drove home I marveled at the fact that it’s possible to communicate so powerfully, precisely and with perfect success without forming a single word. Often we experience this wordless yet powerful communication in prayer as well. There are many times during prayer when we simply show God what we mean. Maybe we raise our hands up to Him when we need something. Maybe tears come to our eyes when we’re overwhelmed with gratitude. Maybe we simply sit silently in an empty sanctuary and feel His presence and enjoy being still and silent there with God. Next time when words fail you during prayer, just show Him how you feel. And strangely enough, without saying a single word, we’re able to understand each other perfectly.

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Last Weekend the Walls Spoke to Me – Literally

The walls that spoke to me last weekend were in narrow stairway in the 1930’s cottage at the home of my son Chris in an urban Atlanta neighborhood. My job was to pull down the 1960’s wallpaper. It had a small flower print in oranges and yellows. Not exactly a single guy look. The paper had been up there so long and the old paste was so dry it practically fell down in relief.

Unfortunately, on the very first piece the walls told me something I certainly didn’t care to hear. There was 1930’s wallpaper hidden under the 1960’s wallpaper! This wallpaper was even worse than the first. No telling what color it started out, but now it looked like soot with small faint blocks of early American motifs on it. It made the narrow dark stairway look like a haunted house.

Then, in the tiny hallway at the top of the stairs the walls really started talking to me when I ripped down the 1960’s wallpaper and instead of finding the 1930’s paper I found painted sheetrock. As I peeled off the paper, written words began to appear, neatly written in pencil. The more I pulled, the more words appeared. My excitement grew thinking I was about to uncover some fascinating clue into the history of the little cottage or into the lives of the long forgotten occupants. What personal words of wisdom had they hidden away here for posterity?

The words unveiled themselves in a neat column down three feet of the wall. It was a very long poem! My heart raced, hoping it was an original poem written by an unknown aspiring poet who lived in obscurity in the garret of the cottage. It was entitled “A Cat Named Sloopy.” At the very bottom it said, “Rod McKuen,” a poet who gained popularity in the ‘60s. I pulled more paper and found the opening lines of Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe, my heart sinking as I realized that I wasn’t discovering the works of an unknown poet but perhaps the graffiti-like “decorating” of a 1960’s flower child. Or maybe a few favorite poems copied onto the wall by a starry eyed college student from nearby Emory University who fancied cats and tragic love stories.

As interesting as it was to uncover the poems, as we drove home I felt an empty disappointment. I longed to know something personal about the wall writer. Who was she? I realized that knowing and being known personally is a universal longing of the human heart. There is something compelling, satisfying and healing when another lets you into a small part of their true selves, when you trust each other enough to share your innermost you. Multiply this by 100 to re-experience the joy we feel the very first time we receive what we sense in our hearts to be a personal word or sign from God that shows how He intimately knows us and cares completely. What a gift that we continue to live out this personal intimacy with God every day through prayer!

If I ever decide to write a message to future homeowners under wallpaper, maybe that’s what I’ll say. I’ll tell them my personal story of how God found me and how I found Him and how we talked every day. I imagine that the walls will really be glad to finally know what to say after being silent all those years. There are some things worth shouting from the rooftop.

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Are You at Your Best Looking for Lost Things?

Last night something little and important got lost – outside in the dark. We had finished up our first Prayer Igniters Board meeting at my house and I bid goodbye to one of our board members Paul. As I was saying goodbye to the last member, Mary Jane, on the front steps Paul came back saying, “I lost my truck key.” We went back with him to the dining room table and looked around where he’d been seated. No key.

He explained that he had all of his other keys, but this one had been on a special holder attached to the ring and it had broken off. We all three went slowly down the sidewalk with our eyes glued to the white concrete. Unfortunately there was a big dark gap in front of the garage between the illumination of the front porch lights and the flood lights on the driveway where Paul’s truck was parked. Surely it was there. Our search turned up nothing.

Paul went back to rummage around his truck. I went to get my little high intensity pen light I use on my morning prayer walks when it’s dark. I told Mary Jane, “Here’s a tip if you ever lose a diamond. Turn out all of the lights and use a flashlight and you’ll catch the diamond’s sparkle.” I’ve lost – and found – a diamond before. That’s how I know. I went on, “Thankfully this key is much larger than a diamond and it’s definitely somewhere between the dining room and Paul’s truck.”

Mary Jane and I started back at the front porch, scouring the sidewalk with the light. “Shine the light over in the grass on this side,” Mary Jane said, “He had it in his right hand as he left. Maybe it fell into the grass and that explains why he didn’t hear it drop.”

As Mary Jane and I did a slow and thorough search of the sidewalk and right-side grass, I started quoting scripture out loud, something like a little prayer for God’s help for our search. “I will give to you the keys of the Kingdom. What you bind on earth will be bound in heaven…” I never can quote chapter and verse for you, but somehow appropriate scriptures bubble up and I can later figure out where they came from with a concordance. The Scripture felt soothing.

It was a great verse, but we didn’t find the key. We looked around the driveway near the truck some more and I asked Paul if his wife had a duplicate key back home I said, “It will be easier to find the key in the morning when it’s light.” Mary Jane offered to give Paul a lift home. Paul called his wife on his cell phone. I stood there idly playing the beam of the flashlight under Paul’s truck. “There it is!” I said, pointing the beam of the of light under the truck and slightly behind the tire. We all saw it. To prove a point I turned off the flashlight. Our shadows cast by the floodlight under the truck made an inky black shadow that rendered the key completely invisible. Paul bent under the truck and got the key. We all said good night, case solved.

I don’t know about you, but whenever I lose something vital like car keys or an important document, I usually go into a tizzy and it nearly ruins my day. But I got to thinking just the opposite last night. I got to thinking that we’re at our best when we’re searching for something we’ve lost.

Maybe instead of getting unglued, I could start counting up the blessings of the search: teamwork, attention to detail, determination, applying logic and reasoning skills, thinking of alternatives of how to get things done even if the item isn’t found right away, even seeking a little divine help. And then there’s the whole issue of light -finding a way to illumine unlikely areas, thinking outside the box and under the truck.

The ability to search is a glorious gift from God. If nothing ever got lost we’d never need to go on the hunt. God wants us to love a good search, especially our search for meaning in life that brings us back to Him time and time again. After all, the Bible says, “He who seeks will find…” (Matt. 7:7) And that’s really good news any day of the week.

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God Puts People in My Path for a Reason

I recently met a young man named Adrian Garrett who has a college degree and has taught special education and is now teaching at a technology. He directs a gospel choir, teaches Sunday school and occasionally preaches. All of these are incredible accomplishments considering the fact that this young black man began life in an institute for the profoundly mentally and physically handicapped because of an array of birth defects that rendered his legs into abbreviated stumps. Today as an adult he stands 3’ 4’’ tall.

Adrian tells me that the doctors don’t really have a name for the conglomeration of 13 problems he was born with – a fairly normally proportioned torso, arms, head and neck and then his unusual legs, missing major bones and working parts. He only has one kidney and was born with a cleft palate that made it hard for him to feed as an infant and later hard to speak when he was a toddler. And so Adrian existed for 2 years in a steel crib in a room with other children with profound physical and mental handicaps in a world of extremely limited possibilities.

Then God started putting people in Adrian’s path. It began with a substitute teacher named Anne Stanhope who realized that Adrian was a bright child when he did a puzzle. Later, encouraged by his progress, Adrian’s mother took him home to lead a more normal life. After that God sent a procession of people put into Adrian’s path – teachers, doctors, Sunday school teachers, relatives, choir directors, college professors, the school superintendent who took a chance on hiring Adrian for his first teaching job.

That afternoon when I met Adrian things had come back full circle to the original person in Adrian’s path, Anne Stanhope, who invited me over to meet Adrian when he was visiting from New Jersey for a few short hours in our area of Georgia. I carved out a short time in my busy schedule to sit on Anne’s screened back porch. I asked Adrian, “What do you tell people about your life?”

Without a moment’s hesitation he replied, “God has been good. He has put people in my path for a reason. I have been blessed.”

As I drove home, I realized that God had introduced Adrian into my overscheduled path that day for a very good reason. I’m in charge of two very big projects that are way too big for me to handle. Unfortunately, I have a tendency to let a valuable resource in God’s kingdom go to waste: the people in my path. That’s because I’m something of a loner. I hate to ask people to help me do things. It’s easier to do it myself, even if it wears me out and leaves me with a “poor me” attitude. Adrian opened my eyes to the possibility that the “people in my path” might be there for a reason. God might have even placed them there. Me, accept help? With a little wisdom from an incredible young man named Adrian, I’m going to try.

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