For as long as I can remember, I've loved to read ... losing myself in a hilarious comedy, a tear-jerking love story, a penetrating biography or a complicated mystery has always been one of my favorite things to do. When I was very young, I became captivated with a set of books called "The Littles." The main characters were tiny little creatures who were part human, part mouse who lived in the walls of the house belonging to a family named, of course, the Bigs. The books followed the Littles through a series of various adventures, and even now at 50 plus years of age, I still remember the storyline of several of those books. Recently, I've been thinking about the Littles ... and the big impact they had on my young mind. Those books are the first chapter books I recall reading on my own. I'm sure there were others before them, but the antics of the Littles were the stories that drew me in and truly instilled in me a love for reading that has remained throughout my life.
If I haven't learned anything in my 50 plus years of life, and certainly even more so over the last year, I hope I've learned that it's not the big events in life that should cause me to measure my time on earth but rather the little things. It seems to me that we often tend to gauge our lives by things that we deem big ... like graduations, marriages, deaths, births, jobs, houses, and so on. I've come to the conclusion that when I base my "life status" on only the large events, I'm missing the point of what really makes life ... well, life. Please don't misunderstand me, those big things are important ... some of them critically so ... but when I only focus on those, I often am blind to some huge meaning in some small packages.
I've always been a list maker, and over the last week or so, I've been working on a couple of very special lists ... my bucket list, things I want to do before I kick the bucket ... and my little things list, things that may seem small but that make a giant difference in my life. My bucket list has some big things like climbing a mountain, walking in a diabetes walk, traveling to Scotland, helping a total stranger, falling in love again, giving a large sum of money to someone anonymously, writing at least two more books ... but there are also some little things on that list as well ... dancing in the rain, building a snowman all by myself, making a cake from scratch, teaching my dog Julie to walk on a leash.
My little things list ... the list that really and truly matters most ... a hug from a small child, a heartfelt conversation with a hurting friend, the perfect cup of coffee, the sun on my face on a warm day, the sway of my hammock as I read a good book, the sound of my chimes on a windy Kansas day, the taste of sweet blueberries and sugar-free Cool Whip, the color of the leaves as they change in the fall, a midnight snowfall on a cold winter night, a kiss from a sweet dog who completely adores me, playing games with my children (and occasionally winning!), the music of birds in the trees along the walking trail ... and those, my friends, are only the tip of the iceberg.
My prayer is that God will keep me ever mindful, ever aware, ever appreciative of the little things that He so richly blesses me with every single day. That He will keep my eyes open and my heart seeking. That I won't miss ... that I won't skip ... that I won't ignore ... the littlest things.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Just Right
Sometimes I look at my son Matt and wonder at how smart he is. He's working on his Ph.D. in marriage and family therapy and will complete it before he is 27 years old. When I comment to him that he is incredibly smart, he quite humbly gives me the same response ... "Not really, Mom, I'm just driven and I study really hard." Of course, he is also the son who when I asked if I would have to call him Dr. Mattie when he completes his degree said, "Not every day, Mom." Smart, humble and a comedian ... what a combination. I've mentioned previously that Matt has a thing about nicknames ... for as long as I can remember, he's graced everyone and many things in his life with nicknames. Some make sense and I can see the connection, like when he called our huge dog Ali "Beast" for a long while; others ... I have no clue where they come from, like when he called my mom "Galoop" for several years.
It wasn't long after J.R. the wiener dog entered my world that Matt began to call him Junior rather than J.R. ... and yes, I totally understood how that particular moniker presented itself in Matt's mind. Over the 15 months that J.R. was a member of my family, I found myself, too, at times calling him Junior, along with several other nicknames ... Jar Jar Binks, Binkers, Fat Buddy, Little Man and Prancer. And amazingly, he seemed to always know, no matter by what name I called him, that I was talking to him.
From almost the first night that J.R. was at my house, I wondered what his initials stood for ... why he was given that seemingly odd name ... just initials, no "real" name. However, it wasn't long until I decided that I definitely knew what his name meant ... what those two little letters signified. Early on in our human canine friendship, I began to tell J.R. that he was Just Right for me. Just right in so many ways ... just the right size dog, just the right color, just right in his behavior, just right to walk with me, just right to snuggle in under my chin, just right to love ... just right to be the vessel that God chose to use to cause me to discover my diabetes. I'm more convinced than ever that J.R. stood for Just Right ... sent to me at just the right time, for just the right purpose.
I finally forced myself over the weekend to go for a walk on the trail where J.R. and I logged so many miles over the last 15 months. And I'm not going to lie to you ... that first walk without him on our beloved trail was the hardest walk I've ever made, and I sobbed the entire time. Don't worry, I've been keeping my promise to J.R. to walk, but I've been walking in a different place. Each step I took on the trail brought a memory flooding back to me, and each person along the way who asked how he was forced me to open the wound of his passing again and again.
As I've written about numerous times in this blog, God has taught and is continuing to teach me many lessons as I walk along the trail, and He especially taught me some sweet and life-changing lessons as I made my daily outdoor journey with J.R. I think, however, that perhaps the deepest and most poignant lesson thus far He gave to me today ... on a cold but sunny afternoon, on a deserted and lonely trail. Walking along holding my medical necklace with J.R.'s tag attached in my hand, I once again felt the emotion of losing my faithful companion wash over me in a big way. And that's when it happened ... that's when God began to whisper to me ... in the chirping of the birds, in the swaying of the trees in the wind, in the crunch of the leaves under my feet.
"I am here, Terrie, I am here. I am the great Healer. I feel your pain and hurt. I'm holding you in the palm of My mighty hand. I am just right for you, Terrie. My plan and my purpose for you is just right, Terrie. My love for you is just right, Terrie. My grace and mercy will cover you just right, Terrie. My forgiveness extends to you in just the right measure, Terrie. I am just right, Terrie ... I am just right."
It wasn't long after J.R. the wiener dog entered my world that Matt began to call him Junior rather than J.R. ... and yes, I totally understood how that particular moniker presented itself in Matt's mind. Over the 15 months that J.R. was a member of my family, I found myself, too, at times calling him Junior, along with several other nicknames ... Jar Jar Binks, Binkers, Fat Buddy, Little Man and Prancer. And amazingly, he seemed to always know, no matter by what name I called him, that I was talking to him.
From almost the first night that J.R. was at my house, I wondered what his initials stood for ... why he was given that seemingly odd name ... just initials, no "real" name. However, it wasn't long until I decided that I definitely knew what his name meant ... what those two little letters signified. Early on in our human canine friendship, I began to tell J.R. that he was Just Right for me. Just right in so many ways ... just the right size dog, just the right color, just right in his behavior, just right to walk with me, just right to snuggle in under my chin, just right to love ... just right to be the vessel that God chose to use to cause me to discover my diabetes. I'm more convinced than ever that J.R. stood for Just Right ... sent to me at just the right time, for just the right purpose.
I finally forced myself over the weekend to go for a walk on the trail where J.R. and I logged so many miles over the last 15 months. And I'm not going to lie to you ... that first walk without him on our beloved trail was the hardest walk I've ever made, and I sobbed the entire time. Don't worry, I've been keeping my promise to J.R. to walk, but I've been walking in a different place. Each step I took on the trail brought a memory flooding back to me, and each person along the way who asked how he was forced me to open the wound of his passing again and again.
As I've written about numerous times in this blog, God has taught and is continuing to teach me many lessons as I walk along the trail, and He especially taught me some sweet and life-changing lessons as I made my daily outdoor journey with J.R. I think, however, that perhaps the deepest and most poignant lesson thus far He gave to me today ... on a cold but sunny afternoon, on a deserted and lonely trail. Walking along holding my medical necklace with J.R.'s tag attached in my hand, I once again felt the emotion of losing my faithful companion wash over me in a big way. And that's when it happened ... that's when God began to whisper to me ... in the chirping of the birds, in the swaying of the trees in the wind, in the crunch of the leaves under my feet.
"I am here, Terrie, I am here. I am the great Healer. I feel your pain and hurt. I'm holding you in the palm of My mighty hand. I am just right for you, Terrie. My plan and my purpose for you is just right, Terrie. My love for you is just right, Terrie. My grace and mercy will cover you just right, Terrie. My forgiveness extends to you in just the right measure, Terrie. I am just right, Terrie ... I am just right."
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
To Everything a Season
Recently, someone told me that my blog posts are ranked by her and her friends as to how many tissues they need when they read them. If that's the case for others of you, then I'm telling you up front on this post ... you may want to grab the whole box. And I'm also warning you ... this one is going to be longer than most of my blogs because it's more than a blog post ... it's a tribute to an amazing little guy.
Fifteen months ago, a fat little wiener dog came trotting ... actually, it was more like waddling than trotting ... into my life. He was a foster dog that had been placed with my son and daughter-in-law on a Monday, and on the following Friday, they brought him to me to keep along with their dog while they went out of town for the weekend. His name was J.R., and he had a rough life before that fateful Friday evening when he landed in a little house in Kansas. He was afraid of everything and everyone, and rightfully so since he had been born into a puppy mill and then adopted by someone who abused him and then placed in four different shelters and with three foster families before he came to me. Did you take note of all those places and all he had lived through? Remember that path, because I'll come back to it in a bit.
That first night at my house, J.R. wouldn't come out of his kennel for a couple of hours, and he was shaking so badly that I thought the kennel would come apart. I kept going in and laying down on the floor in front of his open door and talking to him, offering him bites of food and extending my hand for him to check me out. My big dog, Julie, kept running in and laying in front of him, too, wagging her tail and begging him to come out and play. Just when I was ready to give up and call my son and tell him I didn't want to keep J.R. for the weekend, he came out ... very tentatively at first, and then, before I knew it, fat little J.R. was waddling along beside me with every step I took and even licking my legs when I would stop walking. When it was time to turn in for the night, I decided to see if he might sleep in bed with Andy, Julie and me, and the minute my head hit my pillow, J.R. snuggled in right next to me, with his head tucked up close to my neck.
When I woke up the next morning, there was a fat little wiener dog nose right up against mine, and the minute my eyes were open, J.R. promptly planted a wet dog kiss on my face. And that was the moment I knew that he was going to be mine, that I would never let him go back into the system and risk him being hurt again. I called Matt and Becca and informed them that J.R. would be staying with me and Julie ... that my little fat buddy had most definitely found his "furever" home. I knew that morning that there was something special about J.R. ... I felt a connection with him that was different than anything I'd felt for any other dog, a connection that was deep and strong, a connection that spoke to the very core of my soul. And thus began a journey that I never expected, a journey that has forever changed who I am, a journey of love and lessons and loss.
Those of you who are long-time readers of this blog know the story of how J.R. quite literally saved my life ... he had a recurring back issue from being abused and was carrying some serious extra pounds, so the vet said I needed to take him for a walk every day. About a month or so into those walks, I began having some intense recurring pain in my left leg which became so bad that I went to the doctor. I was eventually diagnosed with diabetes, and my doctor sat across from me more somber than I had ever seen her and said, "It's only by God's grace that you are sitting in that chair. You should be dead several times over. You think you rescued that little dog, but I'm telling you as strongly as I can, God sent that pup to save your life." I went home from the doctor that day and held J.R. close and kissed him right on his little wiener dog mouth, and I thanked him ... over and over and over, I thanked him. I suddenly fully understood the heart and soul connection I felt with J.R. ... he was sent to me on a life-saving mission according to God's plan and purpose.
Over the last 15 months, J.R. and I have walked more miles than I can count on our beloved trail. We've seen a beaver, a fox, ducks, a turtle and lots and lots of birds. We've made new friends, old and young, human and canine, as we've marched along together. We've made a road trip to Tennessee and one to Colorado. We've lost a lot of weight, me a few more pounds than J.R. We've eaten cheese and peanut butter in the middle of the night. We've waded in the creek on a hot summer day. We've snuggled under a fleece blanket and watched a midnight snowfall. We've played tug of war with Julie and never admitted that she let us win. We've stayed in bed late on a Saturday morning and read a book out loud. We've rocked in the recliner when the thunder rolled and the lightening flashed. We've run around the back yard chasing butterflies and bunny rabbits. We've lounged in the hammock and basked in the warmth of the sun. We've ventured off the path and listened to the sound of the autumn leaves crunching under our feet. We've lived life together ... we've shared an extra special stretch of time as best friends ... we've loved with a pure and loyal love that neither of us had ever known before.
Early last week, I could tell that J.R.'s back was beginning to hurt a bit, and I took him to the vet for a cortisone shot and started him on the normal routine we followed when his back problem flared up. This time, however, nothing seemed to help him, and we went back to the vet for another injection. As the week wore on, J.R. grew progressively worse, and by late Friday night, he lost the use of his hind legs. On Saturday morning, our vet sent us to the emergency animal clinic, and after running some tests, a grim doctor told me that the previous injuries to J.R.'s back had worn out his spine. He said that surgery was his only option, but that his chances for even a partial recovery were very low. Since he wasn't in any pain, I took J.R. home and spent the rest of the day and most of the night cradling him in my arms. By Sunday morning, his breathing had become labored and there was a definite shift in his comfort level, and I knew that J.R.'s time was drawing to a close. A friend drove us to the clinic, and from the time we left my house until he passed away, J.R. never left my arms. He drew his final breath on Sunday morning around 10:00 ... snuggled against my chest ... licking my hand as long as he could. He went quietly and quickly, his pain gone and his little life complete.
J.R. has taught me so many things over the last 15 months, so very many things. The lessons I've learned from him about trust and loyalty and freedom and happiness and gratitude and love will stay with me until the day that I, too, draw my final breath. Our time together was far too short, but our time together was also way beyond precious. Remember earlier when I mentioned the path that J.R. had traveled before he came to me? When I think of where he had been ... of all he had endured ... it is nothing short of a miracle that he came to me on that hot and humid day in August. God sent that fat little wiener dog to me, of that I have not even a tiny shred of doubt.
Around my neck, I wear a medical ID dog tag. Though I originally thought I would take J.R.'s tag and bury it by the trail where he so loved to walk, I changed my mind on Sunday afternoon and placed his tag on my medical tag for two reasons ... he's why I discovered my diabetes, and the medical tag rests near my heart. He saved my life, little J.R., and he will forever be near my heart. When my friend Dee Dee arrived at my house on Sunday morning to find me stretched out on my couch sobbing with J.R. laying on my chest, she said that a verse from God's Word had been in her heart since I had spoken with her on Saturday and told her of his condition ... "To everything there is a season ... a time and a purpose under heaven." I don't know that I will ever understand why my season and my time with J.R. was so short, but I do understand that he came to me to fulfill a specific purpose ... to give me the gift of life. As I sat at the clinic and held him and rocked him in my arms, I made a promise to J.R. ... I promised him that I would keep on walking, that I would take care of myself and do my best to honor his gift.
J.R. left me with many special memories ... many precious and priceless and sweet memories ... and he left me with a final reminder of what he did for me. Last Sunday, November 14, 2010, was World Diabetes Day. Rest peacefully, little fat buddy, you truly were a good and faithful friend. And don't worry, I will never forget ... I will never ever forget.
Fifteen months ago, a fat little wiener dog came trotting ... actually, it was more like waddling than trotting ... into my life. He was a foster dog that had been placed with my son and daughter-in-law on a Monday, and on the following Friday, they brought him to me to keep along with their dog while they went out of town for the weekend. His name was J.R., and he had a rough life before that fateful Friday evening when he landed in a little house in Kansas. He was afraid of everything and everyone, and rightfully so since he had been born into a puppy mill and then adopted by someone who abused him and then placed in four different shelters and with three foster families before he came to me. Did you take note of all those places and all he had lived through? Remember that path, because I'll come back to it in a bit.
That first night at my house, J.R. wouldn't come out of his kennel for a couple of hours, and he was shaking so badly that I thought the kennel would come apart. I kept going in and laying down on the floor in front of his open door and talking to him, offering him bites of food and extending my hand for him to check me out. My big dog, Julie, kept running in and laying in front of him, too, wagging her tail and begging him to come out and play. Just when I was ready to give up and call my son and tell him I didn't want to keep J.R. for the weekend, he came out ... very tentatively at first, and then, before I knew it, fat little J.R. was waddling along beside me with every step I took and even licking my legs when I would stop walking. When it was time to turn in for the night, I decided to see if he might sleep in bed with Andy, Julie and me, and the minute my head hit my pillow, J.R. snuggled in right next to me, with his head tucked up close to my neck.
When I woke up the next morning, there was a fat little wiener dog nose right up against mine, and the minute my eyes were open, J.R. promptly planted a wet dog kiss on my face. And that was the moment I knew that he was going to be mine, that I would never let him go back into the system and risk him being hurt again. I called Matt and Becca and informed them that J.R. would be staying with me and Julie ... that my little fat buddy had most definitely found his "furever" home. I knew that morning that there was something special about J.R. ... I felt a connection with him that was different than anything I'd felt for any other dog, a connection that was deep and strong, a connection that spoke to the very core of my soul. And thus began a journey that I never expected, a journey that has forever changed who I am, a journey of love and lessons and loss.
Those of you who are long-time readers of this blog know the story of how J.R. quite literally saved my life ... he had a recurring back issue from being abused and was carrying some serious extra pounds, so the vet said I needed to take him for a walk every day. About a month or so into those walks, I began having some intense recurring pain in my left leg which became so bad that I went to the doctor. I was eventually diagnosed with diabetes, and my doctor sat across from me more somber than I had ever seen her and said, "It's only by God's grace that you are sitting in that chair. You should be dead several times over. You think you rescued that little dog, but I'm telling you as strongly as I can, God sent that pup to save your life." I went home from the doctor that day and held J.R. close and kissed him right on his little wiener dog mouth, and I thanked him ... over and over and over, I thanked him. I suddenly fully understood the heart and soul connection I felt with J.R. ... he was sent to me on a life-saving mission according to God's plan and purpose.
Over the last 15 months, J.R. and I have walked more miles than I can count on our beloved trail. We've seen a beaver, a fox, ducks, a turtle and lots and lots of birds. We've made new friends, old and young, human and canine, as we've marched along together. We've made a road trip to Tennessee and one to Colorado. We've lost a lot of weight, me a few more pounds than J.R. We've eaten cheese and peanut butter in the middle of the night. We've waded in the creek on a hot summer day. We've snuggled under a fleece blanket and watched a midnight snowfall. We've played tug of war with Julie and never admitted that she let us win. We've stayed in bed late on a Saturday morning and read a book out loud. We've rocked in the recliner when the thunder rolled and the lightening flashed. We've run around the back yard chasing butterflies and bunny rabbits. We've lounged in the hammock and basked in the warmth of the sun. We've ventured off the path and listened to the sound of the autumn leaves crunching under our feet. We've lived life together ... we've shared an extra special stretch of time as best friends ... we've loved with a pure and loyal love that neither of us had ever known before.
Early last week, I could tell that J.R.'s back was beginning to hurt a bit, and I took him to the vet for a cortisone shot and started him on the normal routine we followed when his back problem flared up. This time, however, nothing seemed to help him, and we went back to the vet for another injection. As the week wore on, J.R. grew progressively worse, and by late Friday night, he lost the use of his hind legs. On Saturday morning, our vet sent us to the emergency animal clinic, and after running some tests, a grim doctor told me that the previous injuries to J.R.'s back had worn out his spine. He said that surgery was his only option, but that his chances for even a partial recovery were very low. Since he wasn't in any pain, I took J.R. home and spent the rest of the day and most of the night cradling him in my arms. By Sunday morning, his breathing had become labored and there was a definite shift in his comfort level, and I knew that J.R.'s time was drawing to a close. A friend drove us to the clinic, and from the time we left my house until he passed away, J.R. never left my arms. He drew his final breath on Sunday morning around 10:00 ... snuggled against my chest ... licking my hand as long as he could. He went quietly and quickly, his pain gone and his little life complete.
J.R. has taught me so many things over the last 15 months, so very many things. The lessons I've learned from him about trust and loyalty and freedom and happiness and gratitude and love will stay with me until the day that I, too, draw my final breath. Our time together was far too short, but our time together was also way beyond precious. Remember earlier when I mentioned the path that J.R. had traveled before he came to me? When I think of where he had been ... of all he had endured ... it is nothing short of a miracle that he came to me on that hot and humid day in August. God sent that fat little wiener dog to me, of that I have not even a tiny shred of doubt.
Around my neck, I wear a medical ID dog tag. Though I originally thought I would take J.R.'s tag and bury it by the trail where he so loved to walk, I changed my mind on Sunday afternoon and placed his tag on my medical tag for two reasons ... he's why I discovered my diabetes, and the medical tag rests near my heart. He saved my life, little J.R., and he will forever be near my heart. When my friend Dee Dee arrived at my house on Sunday morning to find me stretched out on my couch sobbing with J.R. laying on my chest, she said that a verse from God's Word had been in her heart since I had spoken with her on Saturday and told her of his condition ... "To everything there is a season ... a time and a purpose under heaven." I don't know that I will ever understand why my season and my time with J.R. was so short, but I do understand that he came to me to fulfill a specific purpose ... to give me the gift of life. As I sat at the clinic and held him and rocked him in my arms, I made a promise to J.R. ... I promised him that I would keep on walking, that I would take care of myself and do my best to honor his gift.
J.R. left me with many special memories ... many precious and priceless and sweet memories ... and he left me with a final reminder of what he did for me. Last Sunday, November 14, 2010, was World Diabetes Day. Rest peacefully, little fat buddy, you truly were a good and faithful friend. And don't worry, I will never forget ... I will never ever forget.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Never Before
Birthdays have never meant much to me, perhaps because of when my birthday is ... December 26. I don't remember having parties as a kid where other children attended; my friends and their families were wrapped up in the aftermath of Christmas. Oh, we got together as a family, and my sister always made sure that I had a totally awesome cake. And, for the most part, my family was great about giving me a separate gift for my birthday and not a combination Christmas/birthday present. All the same, birthdays just never carried a lot of special meaning for me.
Last year, I turned 50 ... and quite honestly ... that was the first birthday that bothered me a little. All of a sudden, I just felt, well, old. Suddenly rather than seeing myself as still young and at times even rather cool and hip, I noticed that my hair is white; my bones ache when the weather changes; and I forget things a lot more than I used to. Instead of thinking that more than half of my life remained ahead of me, I found myself thinking that my life was more than half over. Little did I realize that my 50th year would be such a defining year, a year that would change me in so many ways.
As I was driving home from the vet with my wounded wiener dog on Tuesday morning, it hit me ... this year has been my "never before" year. Never before have I walked five miles a day every day. Never before have I lived alone for a whole year. Never before have I been invited to speak in England. Never before have I lost over 100 pounds. Never before have I written so many blogs. Never before have I danced with my dogs in the living room. Never before have I shared the deepest, darkest parts of my life with another person. Never before have I seen my beautiful daughter so in love. Never before have I slept all night outside in a hammock. Never before have I read over 200 books in one year. Never before have I seen my oldest son receive his master's degree. Never before have I gone fishing all by myself. Never before have I eaten spaghetti squash. Never before have I attended a film festival to see a film made by my second son. Never before have I had to learn to drink again. Never before have I had two such loving and devoted dogs. Never before have I been to Breckenridge.
And while all of those never befores have impacted me in major and significant ways, they pale in comparison with the never befores that really matter ... never before have I been so broken before my Lord ... never before have I experienced the kind of faith that demands my total and complete surrender ... never before have I spent so much time on my face before God ... never before have I felt God's arms wrapped so tightly around me ... never before have I shed so many tears of confession and repentance ... never before have I truly understood the depth of God's mercy and grace.
My 51st birthday is quickly approaching ... never before have I been 51 years old.
Last year, I turned 50 ... and quite honestly ... that was the first birthday that bothered me a little. All of a sudden, I just felt, well, old. Suddenly rather than seeing myself as still young and at times even rather cool and hip, I noticed that my hair is white; my bones ache when the weather changes; and I forget things a lot more than I used to. Instead of thinking that more than half of my life remained ahead of me, I found myself thinking that my life was more than half over. Little did I realize that my 50th year would be such a defining year, a year that would change me in so many ways.
As I was driving home from the vet with my wounded wiener dog on Tuesday morning, it hit me ... this year has been my "never before" year. Never before have I walked five miles a day every day. Never before have I lived alone for a whole year. Never before have I been invited to speak in England. Never before have I lost over 100 pounds. Never before have I written so many blogs. Never before have I danced with my dogs in the living room. Never before have I shared the deepest, darkest parts of my life with another person. Never before have I seen my beautiful daughter so in love. Never before have I slept all night outside in a hammock. Never before have I read over 200 books in one year. Never before have I seen my oldest son receive his master's degree. Never before have I gone fishing all by myself. Never before have I eaten spaghetti squash. Never before have I attended a film festival to see a film made by my second son. Never before have I had to learn to drink again. Never before have I had two such loving and devoted dogs. Never before have I been to Breckenridge.
And while all of those never befores have impacted me in major and significant ways, they pale in comparison with the never befores that really matter ... never before have I been so broken before my Lord ... never before have I experienced the kind of faith that demands my total and complete surrender ... never before have I spent so much time on my face before God ... never before have I felt God's arms wrapped so tightly around me ... never before have I shed so many tears of confession and repentance ... never before have I truly understood the depth of God's mercy and grace.
My 51st birthday is quickly approaching ... never before have I been 51 years old.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Pulling Rank
When my children were teenagers, for some reason that escapes my comprehension, they suddenly thought we were on equal ground ... they thought they had as much say so in the way things were done in our home or the establishment of rules as I did. I remember several huge battles of wills and minds, many of which ended with me completely exasperated with my arguing, obstinate teens and hearing myself utter the words, "I'm pulling rank on you, and you will do what I say whether you like it or not."
It's funny to me how God often teaches me lessons years later, and He's done just that over the last few days. I never really thought about how humbling it must have been for my children to have me pull rank on them, to force them to do what I knew at the time was best for them, what ultimately was for their own good or safety or protection. But now, years later, I completely understand the humility that comes from needing to have rank pulled on me from time to time ... to have others recognize when I need someone to step in and force me to do what is best for me ... what keeps me safe ... what protects me.
I can't help but think of all the times in my life when God has pulled rank on me, of all the times He so needed to pull rank on me because I wasn't listening to His voice, following His will or seeking His face. And while those times were difficult in the moment, beyond humbling, and often physically and mentally exhausting ... when I reach the other side, my heart is filled with thanksgiving and gratitude that He cares enough for me to do what He needs to do in order to rescue me from myself and mold me into the woman He desires for me to become.
So, here's to pulling rank on this old stubborn gal ... thank you to those of you who are the hands and feet of the Master to me ... those who make me eat when I don't realize I need to, those who force me to drink when I'm not thirsty, those who tell me to get praying when I don't feel like talking to God, those who love me when I'm not at all lovable. And thank you most of all to my Lord ... for chasing me when I try to run away, for wrapping Your arms around me when I don't want a hug, for showering me with grace when nothing in me deserves it.
It's funny to me how God often teaches me lessons years later, and He's done just that over the last few days. I never really thought about how humbling it must have been for my children to have me pull rank on them, to force them to do what I knew at the time was best for them, what ultimately was for their own good or safety or protection. But now, years later, I completely understand the humility that comes from needing to have rank pulled on me from time to time ... to have others recognize when I need someone to step in and force me to do what is best for me ... what keeps me safe ... what protects me.
I can't help but think of all the times in my life when God has pulled rank on me, of all the times He so needed to pull rank on me because I wasn't listening to His voice, following His will or seeking His face. And while those times were difficult in the moment, beyond humbling, and often physically and mentally exhausting ... when I reach the other side, my heart is filled with thanksgiving and gratitude that He cares enough for me to do what He needs to do in order to rescue me from myself and mold me into the woman He desires for me to become.
So, here's to pulling rank on this old stubborn gal ... thank you to those of you who are the hands and feet of the Master to me ... those who make me eat when I don't realize I need to, those who force me to drink when I'm not thirsty, those who tell me to get praying when I don't feel like talking to God, those who love me when I'm not at all lovable. And thank you most of all to my Lord ... for chasing me when I try to run away, for wrapping Your arms around me when I don't want a hug, for showering me with grace when nothing in me deserves it.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
You Asked for It
Those of you who are avid readers of this blog may remember that a couple of months ago my son Brad issued a challenge to me ... to write less about having diabetes and more about the wonders of life. Being open, honest, real and transparent, his words kind of stung a little ... but ... he was right on target in his encouragement. I was struggling at the time to deal with all the changes that were taking place in my life, and the daily grind of trying to find the right balance was beginning to consume me. The truth is that I had a difficult time focusing on anything other than getting through a day and night without a blood sugar drop, and I was missing out on the people and things that are really important.
It's hard at times as a parent to admit that my children have better perspective or more wisdom than I do, but again, Brad was more than correct in discerning that I needed to search deeper, to listen harder, to think less about my physical condition and so much more about the people I've been blessed to share this remarkable journey of life with. Hopefully, Sir Bradley, since I know that you faithfully read this blog ... which, by the way, totally touches my heart, kiddo ... hopefully, you've found that I have honored your challenge. Now having said that, over the last three weeks, I've received a ton of emails asking for an update on my health and I feel the need to respond to those requests.
I stumbled upon a quote recently on a diabetes forum that I think sums up what it's like to live with an illness that changes from day to day and sometimes even moment to moment. "This is a process, a journey. No two days are ever going to be the same. It's kind of like wrestling an octopus ... some days your two arms alone are enough to win, and some days you need some extra arms to battle the eight that are trying to drain the life out of you." Those words perfectly describe my days ... most days, my arms are wrapped tightly around the waving, squirming eight of diabetes and I'm winning the fight, and other days, without help, the eight would certainly take me down.
For the most part, I feel good and am doing well. My weight loss ... which many of you have specifically asked about ... seems to be leveling off, with a total loss thus far of 112 pounds. I bought some new jeans last week ... six sizes smaller than I wore at this time a year ago. I continue to walk every day, but due to my ongoing issues with low blood sugar, I don't walk as far or as fast as I used to. I've had a huge answer to prayer in the last couple of weeks ... my "drinking switch" has been flipped back on, and I've been able to consume between 60 to 80 ounces of fluid most days. My state of dehydration had reached a pretty critical level, so again, this is a giant answer to not only my own prayers, but those of countless family and friends who have been bombarding the throne with requests on my behalf. I had to have blood work done last Thursday and am waiting on the results from those tests to determine if perhaps I need to add an insulin injection to my oral medication routine.
The last year has been a journey for sure, one that at times has felt like a warm and sunny walk on a peaceful beach and at other times like climbing Mt. Everest naked in a raging blizzard. But along the way, God has done some remarkable work in my heart and soul, and that my friends, is the most important thing I can share with you in this post. He has taught me that He is with me ... no matter what I've done, no matter how I feel, no matter where I am ... He is always as close as calling out His name. He's broken me, humbled me and stripped me of my pride ... and a year ago, I would have never written these words ... that breaking, humbling and stripping has been the best thing that ever happened to me. You see, it's when I am at my weakest that He truly is at His strongest.
So, friends, there's the update you've asked for, and please know how much I appreciate your concern and your continued prayers. God is ever faithful, ever true, ever near ... my prayer is that I'll be faithful, true and near to Him ... that I'll seek Him with all my heart and live in a manner that honors and glorifies Him, because that, my friends, at the end of each day, is all that truly matters, all that truly counts, all that truly satisfies.
God bless each one of you ... and thanks for reading!
It's hard at times as a parent to admit that my children have better perspective or more wisdom than I do, but again, Brad was more than correct in discerning that I needed to search deeper, to listen harder, to think less about my physical condition and so much more about the people I've been blessed to share this remarkable journey of life with. Hopefully, Sir Bradley, since I know that you faithfully read this blog ... which, by the way, totally touches my heart, kiddo ... hopefully, you've found that I have honored your challenge. Now having said that, over the last three weeks, I've received a ton of emails asking for an update on my health and I feel the need to respond to those requests.
I stumbled upon a quote recently on a diabetes forum that I think sums up what it's like to live with an illness that changes from day to day and sometimes even moment to moment. "This is a process, a journey. No two days are ever going to be the same. It's kind of like wrestling an octopus ... some days your two arms alone are enough to win, and some days you need some extra arms to battle the eight that are trying to drain the life out of you." Those words perfectly describe my days ... most days, my arms are wrapped tightly around the waving, squirming eight of diabetes and I'm winning the fight, and other days, without help, the eight would certainly take me down.
For the most part, I feel good and am doing well. My weight loss ... which many of you have specifically asked about ... seems to be leveling off, with a total loss thus far of 112 pounds. I bought some new jeans last week ... six sizes smaller than I wore at this time a year ago. I continue to walk every day, but due to my ongoing issues with low blood sugar, I don't walk as far or as fast as I used to. I've had a huge answer to prayer in the last couple of weeks ... my "drinking switch" has been flipped back on, and I've been able to consume between 60 to 80 ounces of fluid most days. My state of dehydration had reached a pretty critical level, so again, this is a giant answer to not only my own prayers, but those of countless family and friends who have been bombarding the throne with requests on my behalf. I had to have blood work done last Thursday and am waiting on the results from those tests to determine if perhaps I need to add an insulin injection to my oral medication routine.
The last year has been a journey for sure, one that at times has felt like a warm and sunny walk on a peaceful beach and at other times like climbing Mt. Everest naked in a raging blizzard. But along the way, God has done some remarkable work in my heart and soul, and that my friends, is the most important thing I can share with you in this post. He has taught me that He is with me ... no matter what I've done, no matter how I feel, no matter where I am ... He is always as close as calling out His name. He's broken me, humbled me and stripped me of my pride ... and a year ago, I would have never written these words ... that breaking, humbling and stripping has been the best thing that ever happened to me. You see, it's when I am at my weakest that He truly is at His strongest.
So, friends, there's the update you've asked for, and please know how much I appreciate your concern and your continued prayers. God is ever faithful, ever true, ever near ... my prayer is that I'll be faithful, true and near to Him ... that I'll seek Him with all my heart and live in a manner that honors and glorifies Him, because that, my friends, at the end of each day, is all that truly matters, all that truly counts, all that truly satisfies.
God bless each one of you ... and thanks for reading!
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Stop, Look and Listen
Last Sunday afternoon was chilly and windy here in Kansas City ... chilly and windy enough for a certain wiener dog to wear his adorable blue striped sweater and for me to layer up before we headed out for a rather lengthy walk. Sunday walks may well be my favorite walks of the entire week. I can't explain it really, but there is something extra peaceful, extra relaxing, extra soothing about my walks on Sunday afternoon. I usually take my time, and J.R. and I kind of meander along, walking farther than we do on our nightly walks during the week. But last Sunday, it was cold, and we were moving at a rather brisk pace when I noticed a young mother preparing to cross the street with her two young children. She was holding their hands as they stopped and she checked to make sure their were no cars approaching, and after making sure the way was clear, she proceeded to cross with her kids safely in tow.
As I watched the three of them cross the street, my mind and heart were suddenly flooded with memories of my own three children. I could see their sweet faces and feel their little hands cradled gently in mine as we crossed countless streets over the years. And I couldn't help but remember a little poem I used to recite to them with each crossing ... "Stop, look and listen ... be careful little feet. Stop, look and listen ... before you cross the street." The smile of sweet memories crept across my face, and before I knew it, right there on the path, I heard myself speaking the words of the poem aloud ... to J.R. the wiener dog, I suppose, since he was the only one there. He looked up at me as though he understood ... I laughed at his upturned little wiener dog face, and once again picked up my pace, pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and said, "Come on, Junior, let's get home ... it's cold out here."
The last stretch on our walk toward home is lined with rather large trees, and by the time we reached that section of the path, I was almost dragging J.R. because ... well ... because I was freezing and just wanted to be home. All of a sudden, my wiener dog stopped solidly in his tracks and looked toward the trees, his tail wagging and his head cocked to one side obviously hearing something that demanded his complete attention. Thinking there was a squirrel or a rabbit that had garnered his interest, I tugged on his leash and said, "Come on, buddy, let's go," but J.R. remained steadfast in his position, refusing to budge an inch. I turned off my iPod and removed the earphones from my ears, intending to see if I could hear whatever it was that had captured my dog in mid-walk and caused him to so abruptly halt our journey.
The minute the music was off and my ears open to the sounds around me, I, too, stopped tugging on J.R.'s leash and stood transfixed by the symphony that was coming from the trees. Countless birds covered the limbs and branches of the swaying trees ... yes, birds ... again, God, with the birds. They were flying gently back and forth among the trees, but more than their gentle glides from branch to branch ... they were singing ... singing ... singing ... and it was deafening and beautiful and moving.
I'm not sure how long J.R. and I stood there gazing and listening, but I heard so much more than the music of the birds that afternoon. I heard my Lord speak gently to me ... "Stop ... look ... and listen, Terrie. Slow down ... see Me ... hear My voice." Tears filled my eyes as I realized that in my rush to get home, I almost walked right past a true wonder that God wanted me to see. As my tears spilled onto the path beneath me, I knelt and patted J.R. on the head and thanked him for stopping me ... for seeing and hearing what I didn't. As I looked back into the trees, I understood what God wanted me to see, to hear, to learn. The birds were in the trees because they are flying south to warmer climates, leaving their homes to make the long and treacherous journey to a place that is safer, to a place that beckons them, to a place they are driven to seek out. And yet in the midst of their trek ... they were singing ... singing ... singing.
I'm stopped, Lord ... I see You ... I hear Your voice ... and ... I will sing ... along the way ... I will sing.
As I watched the three of them cross the street, my mind and heart were suddenly flooded with memories of my own three children. I could see their sweet faces and feel their little hands cradled gently in mine as we crossed countless streets over the years. And I couldn't help but remember a little poem I used to recite to them with each crossing ... "Stop, look and listen ... be careful little feet. Stop, look and listen ... before you cross the street." The smile of sweet memories crept across my face, and before I knew it, right there on the path, I heard myself speaking the words of the poem aloud ... to J.R. the wiener dog, I suppose, since he was the only one there. He looked up at me as though he understood ... I laughed at his upturned little wiener dog face, and once again picked up my pace, pulled my scarf tighter around my neck and said, "Come on, Junior, let's get home ... it's cold out here."
The last stretch on our walk toward home is lined with rather large trees, and by the time we reached that section of the path, I was almost dragging J.R. because ... well ... because I was freezing and just wanted to be home. All of a sudden, my wiener dog stopped solidly in his tracks and looked toward the trees, his tail wagging and his head cocked to one side obviously hearing something that demanded his complete attention. Thinking there was a squirrel or a rabbit that had garnered his interest, I tugged on his leash and said, "Come on, buddy, let's go," but J.R. remained steadfast in his position, refusing to budge an inch. I turned off my iPod and removed the earphones from my ears, intending to see if I could hear whatever it was that had captured my dog in mid-walk and caused him to so abruptly halt our journey.
The minute the music was off and my ears open to the sounds around me, I, too, stopped tugging on J.R.'s leash and stood transfixed by the symphony that was coming from the trees. Countless birds covered the limbs and branches of the swaying trees ... yes, birds ... again, God, with the birds. They were flying gently back and forth among the trees, but more than their gentle glides from branch to branch ... they were singing ... singing ... singing ... and it was deafening and beautiful and moving.
I'm not sure how long J.R. and I stood there gazing and listening, but I heard so much more than the music of the birds that afternoon. I heard my Lord speak gently to me ... "Stop ... look ... and listen, Terrie. Slow down ... see Me ... hear My voice." Tears filled my eyes as I realized that in my rush to get home, I almost walked right past a true wonder that God wanted me to see. As my tears spilled onto the path beneath me, I knelt and patted J.R. on the head and thanked him for stopping me ... for seeing and hearing what I didn't. As I looked back into the trees, I understood what God wanted me to see, to hear, to learn. The birds were in the trees because they are flying south to warmer climates, leaving their homes to make the long and treacherous journey to a place that is safer, to a place that beckons them, to a place they are driven to seek out. And yet in the midst of their trek ... they were singing ... singing ... singing.
I'm stopped, Lord ... I see You ... I hear Your voice ... and ... I will sing ... along the way ... I will sing.
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