Don't Mess With My Cool Whip

For as long as I can remember, I've been just a touch on the weird side when it comes to food. There are certain foods, such as beets or Brussels sprouts, that, in my opinion, should be banished from all dinner tables for all time. There are certain foods, such as candy corn and caramel apples, that, again in my opinion, should earn their rightful place as part of the necessary daily requirements for healthy living ... except that now I can't eat either of those wonderful creations ... bummer, dude.

People who have had occasion to share a meal with me have graciously drawn attention to another of my food oddities in that I tend to be a little ... OK, I'm a whole lot ... ritualistic in my method of consuming food. I don't like the different items on my plate to touch each other; I eat the foods individually, meaning I eat all the broccoli, then all the squash, then all the meat; and I save my favorite item until the end of my meal, even if that means I have to pick all the shrimp out of my salad and set it to the side.

Food has taken on a whole new meaning to me, or lack of meaning, I suppose, since I was diagnosed with diabetes almost a year ago. Now I eat to live rather than live to eat. It's funny to me that though I have to think about food and eating all the time now, food doesn't bring me anywhere near as much joy as it previously did, except for two delicious combinations ... combos that I look forward to every day - lime jello with strawberries sliced on top and sugar-free pudding with Cool Whip. And the whole ritualistic eating thing? Yep, definitely applies to both of the aforementioned items ... every bite of jello has exactly two slices of strawberries with it; and the Cool Whip goes on the spoon first and then the pudding, in perfectly symmetrical proportions, of course.

Yesterday I realized that God has changed me over the last year in ways that I didn't even imagine, and that recognition came last night, from all places ... my Cool Whip. When I went to get my nightly snack and opened the Cool Whip container, I laughed and laughed and laughed. In fact, I laughed until I cried ... even the dogs came to the kitchen to see if I had gone off the deep end. You see, I have a way that I scoop my Cool Whip out of the container ... I know exactly how much to scoop to make it match my pudding serving, and I scoop it very uniformly ... always, always, always from the side of the container while being very careful to leave a nice edge on the remaining Whip for the next evening. I never, never, never scoop my Cool Whip from the middle in a random, willy nilly kind of way. And yet, there it was ... a giant hole right in the center of my Cool Whip ... shouting to me that my sweet friend who often cares for me and feeds me when my blood sugar drops had been in my Cool Whip that morning when she came to help me.

Early on in our friendship, I mentioned my Cool Whip weirdness to my friend, thinking she would realize what a true benefit it could be to her if she would model her Cool Whip scooping skills to match mine. Her reply? "You are crazy, and I am so going to mess with you on this every time I feed you Cool Whip. Every time." And being gut honest ... it drove me crazy in the beginning ... to the point that I would spend a lot of time smoothing out my beloved Cool Whip when I next opened the container. 

My big Cool Whip realization last night? I've had to learn to let go of a lot of things over the last months ... my pride, my strong will, my independence to a certain degree, and I've fought the surrendering of each of those with everything I had in me. But when I opened my Cool Whip last night, it hit me ... what I have gained far surpasses what I've lost or given up. I've gained a much deeper and sweeter relationship with my Lord; I've gained a new appreciation for the need to ask for help at times; and I've gained friends who are honest and real and true.

And how can I be so sure that God has changed me? Well, the proof is in the pudding ... or in my case, the Cool Whip. Last night, when I stopped laughing, I grabbed a spoon and scooped out my Cool Whip for my pudding ... right from the middle, in great random and willy nilly style ... and then I snapped the lid on and put it back in the fridge. And then ... then I bowed my head and said a prayer out loud thanking God for my Cool Whip lesson ... and my precious Cool Whip friend.

Raising the Roof

This weekend I attended a women's conference. I've said or written that particular phrase a multitude of times over the last years since God called me to be a speaker, but this weekend ... I really attended a women's conference. As much as I know that speaking is the calling that God has placed on my heart, and as much as I love speaking and being in the center of His purpose for my life, it's a whole different experience when I get to attend a conference or retreat as a participant rather than as the keynote speaker. And this weekend, God blessed me and touched me and humbled me and grew me as I listened to another sister bring His Word and His message to the group of ladies in attendance. And bring it, she did. Her passion for God's Word and her desire to serve Him fully were an inspiration not only to me, but to each woman in the room.

One of the greatest blessings I have received in my years of speaking has been to experience worshipping in song with the groups of women that God has placed along my journey. As my sweet mom used to say, I can't carry a tune in a bucket, and perhaps that is part of why I have gained such a deep appreciation for folks who have the gift of musical talent, whether that talent is instrumental or vocal in nature. I so often leave women's conferences or retreats feeling that I'm the one who has received the greatest blessing, and so many times, that great blessing is tied into the times of praise and worship as women lift their voices in unison to the Lord. And this weekend's music held true to that premise ... the worship leader ushered us into the very presence of God, with a humility of heart and a sensitive spirit that touched my soul.

As if the speaker and the worship leader were not enough, God used another sister today to ... well ... to put the icing on the cake ... my favorite kind of icing, too. He's pretty awesome in that, you know, to give me so much more than I could ever expect or dream of or deserve in any way. This gal provided the special music today, and from the moment she sang her first note, I had goosebumps ... man, oh, man, oh, man ... this woman could sing. She had a deep alto voice and a heart for the Lord that was contagious and infectious. I'm telling you, friends ... this sweet sister in the Lord could sing. I closed my eyes in worship, and I couldn't help but hope that when I go to heaven one day, maybe God will let me live in a little cabin next door to her so that I can hear her offer up her praise for all eternity.

Sometimes the ceiling falls in on me, and I can't see out from under the rubble of the cares and worries and troubles of day-to-day life. Sometimes I need to have my roof raised, and I need to look up into the eyes of my heavenly Father and be reminded that He is all I need. So thank you, dear sisters in Christ ... for teaching God's Word ... for ushering me into His presence ... for raising the roof and helping me see my Lord.

 

Balancing Act

One of my favorite things to do is to lie in my hammock in the back yard on a crisp fall evening when the sky is filled with fluffy clouds. You know the kind ... they look like cotton and appear to be close enough that you could reach out and pluck one right out of the sky. It never ceases to amaze me how the clouds just hang in the sky, perfectly balanced, just floating happily along.

Recently, I've had reason to gain a whole new appreciation for the necessity of balance, both physically and in the way I live my life in general. It's more than a bit interesting to me how one small misstep physically can have major implications ... a broken bone or torn muscle or cracked head. It's so important that I am steady when I go for my nightly walk ... that I pay attention as I hoof it each evening on my beloved trail, especially when J.R. the wiener dog is weaving from side to side around my feet. I've learned to watch my feet, to look down and keep my eyes locked on the path in front of and underneath me.

Just as it is important to maintain my balance on my physical walk, it is crucial that I remain steadfast and faithful in my walk with my Lord ... that I stay focused and balanced in my relationship with Christ. It's amazing to me how easily I falter in that walk at times ... how a harsh wind or strong storm, or sometimes even a slight breeze or gentle rain, can cause me to sway or wobble or stumble along. Like Peter, when I take my eyes off Jesus, that's when I get into trouble and risk loosing my footing. And just as I've learned to watch my feet as I walk on the trail, I'm learning more every day ... every hour ... every moment ... to watch Jesus, to look up with my soul and keep my eyes fixed on Him to stay balanced in my faith walk.

Keep me looking at you, Lord ... keep me watching Your will ... keep me standing on Your word. Keep me balanced, God ... keep me balanced and steady and faithful and honest and true and focused ... keep me in You and You alone.

Sister Sister

When I was a kid, I was always jealous of my older siblings. Not because they had more things when they were young, because they certainly didn't. Not because they lived in a nicer house growing up, because they certainly didn't. Not because they attended more prestigious schools for their education, because they certainly didn't. The reason I was jealous was because they had something so much more important than any of those things ... they had each other ... they all grew up together and were relatively close in age. I, on the other hand, came into the world 15 years later than the youngest of the three of them, my sister Elsie. My brother Tommy was 18, and my brother Jerry was 22 when I was born. I was really more like an only child growing up than one who had three siblings.

My sister took care of me a great deal as I was growing up since Mom and Dad both had full-time jobs. In many ways, she was more like a mom to me than a sister; even as an adult, my relationship with Sis has always had somewhat of a motherly component to it due in part to the difference in our ages. So last week when I injured my elbow and shoulder and couldn't make my planned trip to Tennessee, my sweet sister hopped a plane and swooped in for a few days to give me some much-needed TLC. Though she was only here for a few days, the time with family did my soul (and my aching body) a ton of good.

I've lived away from my family for over 20 years, first in Florida and now in Kansas. And honestly, there have been times through the years when I have missed my family so much it hurts, when all I wanted in this world was to move back "home" to the South. And I still experience times when I seriously think about quitting my job, selling everything I own, packing up my dogs and heading for the hills of Tennessee.

While my heart often longs to live closer to my extended family, I've also come to learn some valuable lessons in living out in the land of Dorothy and Toto. I've learned that it's good to have a basement to hide in when the tornadic thunderstorms roll across the plains, and I've learned to hide my heart and soul in my Lord when I am homesick or lonely. I've learned that there are better ways than others to drive in the snow and ice, and I've learned to let God steer my course and designate my path when I am tempted to take matters into my own hands. I've learned that the flowers of spring, the heat of summer, the color of fall and the frigidness of winter can each be appreciated for their own beauty, and I've learned to appreciate and treasure my "friend" family here and the love and blessings they shower upon me.

So, here's to you, Sis ... thank you for coming to see me, for caring for me, for loving me, for tolerating me when I was a kid (and now, too, I suppose!), for sharing your heart with mine. I miss you and can't wait until we can be together again. And here's to my honorary sisters and brothers in friendship and faith ... thank you for adopting this gal from the South into your families and your hearts.

In or Out?

Ever have one of those "Uh-oh" moments? You know the ones ... something seems like such a good idea at the time, and then you follow through on that idea and find that you've gotten yourself into a situation that you just simply cannot get out of no matter how hard you try. Like the time it seemed like a great idea to try and fix the shower upstairs in my kids' bathroom, and I ended up flooding the ceiling of my bathroom downstairs. Three days later, I was finally finished scraping, priming and painting my bathroom ceiling and had called a plumber to fix the upstairs shower. Now that, my friends, was a brilliant idea. Or the time it seemed smart to me to eat a whole watermelon in one sitting to prove I could do it. My life, it seems, has been peppered with ideas, genius ideas, that seemed so good at the time and turned out to be not so good in the long run.

Last Friday, I had a big run-in with my kitchen floor ... not fun, not fun at all. And it happened on the eve of another one of my super smart ideas; I was planning to get in my car alone the next morning and drive 700 miles to see my brother and sister. In my up close and personal greeting with the floor, I managed to crank my elbow and shoulder in pretty good fashion ... enough that I've now been wrapped and in a sling for a week. The next day after my injury, following a very sleepless night, lots of tears and two painful doctor visits complete with multiple x-rays, I got the incredibly awesome idea that perhaps I could get comfortable in my quilted hammock outside and get some much-needed sleep. No pressure points ... two pillows ... my Bible ... sleepy dogs ... gorgeous cool day ... it seemed like such a wonderful idea at the time.

After 20 minutes of trying, I finally managed to get myself in the hammock ... and the minute I was in, I realized there was absolutely no possible way that I was going to be able to get out of the hammock on my own. Rather than panic ... OK, truth is I panicked in a big way thinking I was going to die in my hammock and the mailman would find me. I laid there with tears streaming down my face, partly because I was dumb enough to think getting in the hammock was a good idea and partly because I was injured and in pain. As is so often the case, it was in my broken and wounded state that God began to whisper to my heart in a big way. And as is also so often the case, it takes me being broken and wounded before I really, really listen to my Lord.

When I think of how many times I go storming into situations without asking God's direction or guidance, I am amazed that I am ever able to get out when things don't go well or work out the way I imagine they will. Trapped in my hammock, unable to get out under my own power, God's whispering voice became a thundering reality ... I need to trust Him first, ask Him first, listen to Him first ... not after I'm stuck, but before I ever go to the place where I can't get out.

Thank You, Lord, for getting me out when I get myself in, for Your forgiveness of my headstrong actions, for Your patient longsuffering of my stubborn will ... thank You, thank You, thank You, Lord.

 

Me? Stubborn?

I remember well the first time my son Brad showed his rather independent streak peppered with more than a fair amount of stubbornness. He was about three years old, and we were shopping for new tennis shoes for him. He wanted a certain pair of Spiderman tennies that were not very good quality and cost way more than what I had budgeted for shoes. When I told him that we were not purchasing the shoes, he first cried, then screamed, then laid on the floor writhing around like a snake while chanting, "I want the Spiderman shoes!" over and over, coupled with a periodic, "I hate you, Mommie," thrown in for emphasis. As those of you who are parents would agree, I'm sure, little Bradley completely sealed his fate with his outburst and temper tantrum. I still smile when I recall his last-ditch effort as I dragged him from the store. He dug his little feet in as firmly as he could and shouted, "I am never wearing shoes again ... never, ever, ever, Mommie!" Funny, the last time I saw Brad, now almost 23 years old, he had shoes on.

Over the last few months, I've been told over and over again that I'm stubborn, that I don't always listen to the advice of others, that I'm fiercely independent. And though it pains me to admit it, all of those things are most definitely true. I've always struggled with obedience and submission, and I certainly have a hard time with other people telling me what to do. Stubbornness is a longstanding family trait passed down from generation to generation ... I can remember my grandmother talking about how stubborn her mom was, my mom talking about how stubborn my granny was, and I talk about how stubborn my mom was. I guess I come by my stubborn streak honestly, and so does my Brad.

I had planned for several weeks to head out yesterday to Tennessee for a week, via a stop at my brother's house in Kentucky for a couple of days. Quite a few people in my life didn't think it was a wise decision for me to drive alone, and even though I assured all of them that I would have a companion along for the ride ... albeit a small one of the wiener dog persuasion ... they didn't think it was a smart choice. I, however, was bound and determined that I was going no matter what anyone else thought. And if I'm open, honest, real and transparent about it, I wasn't really considering what God had to say on the decision either ... dangerous waters to be in when I don't want to listen to my Lord ... dangerous waters for sure.

Once again exuding His power and protection over me (in spite of me), a span of 10 minutes changed everything, and I had to cancel my planned trip. I was angry; I cried; I yelled at my dogs; I cried some more ... and then ... then I decided to listen. God had been telling me for weeks through the voices of my family and friends that the timing wasn't right for this trip ... maybe in a few months, but not right now. And as a friend said to me after it was made quite obvious that I wasn't going anywhere, it's a real shame that God has to hit me on the head, or the elbow and the shoulder as the case may be, to get my attention.

So, in the tradition of all my fellow 12-steppers out there ... Hello, my name is Terrie, and I'm a stubborn, bull-headed, independent gal who needs to turn it all over to my Higher Power and trust Him to bring me down a few much-needed notches. And if it's OK with You, God ... could You maybe leave my elbow out of it next time?