When I was In my late 20s, a television show called "thirtysomething" burst onto the screen and quite literally took my generation by storm. And no, that's not a typo or mistake on my part on the spelling or capitalization ... that's the way the show's name appeared. Everywhere, people in their late 20s and early 30s were watching and talking about the show. Neighbors and friends would gather to eat dinner and watch "thirtysomething," pooling their resources to hire a babysitter to watch over their collective brood while they watched their favorite show. Two of the show's main characters, Michael and Elliot, owned an advertising agency together, and I still remember being quite taken with the seeming glamor and glitz of agency life.
Having now worked in the ad world for almost 15 years, I can assure those of you who proclaim, "How cool!" when I say I work for an agency, that the advertising business is not all glitz and glamor by any means. While it is definitely fun and exciting at times to be in an environment packed with creative talent, there are also tight deadlines to meet and long hours invested in trying to either win a new client or hang onto an existing one. If I haven't learned anything else in my time as a senior editor, I've learned that timelines more often than not get shortened, that the urgent reigns supreme at all times, and that one of the greatest strengths of those who are successful in the field is to be able to quickly adjust and adapt to the ever-fluid needs of the clients.
Over the last few weeks, I've found myself in a place I've never been before ... a place of sadness, of withdrawal, of deep and permeating grief. Try as I may, and for a reason that remains baffling to me, I can't seem to leave this place just yet, not just yet. Many well-meaning family members and friends recently have told me in various forms that I should hurry up, get over it, move on, get better, be me again, find my happy, and so on. Quite honestly, I have a deep and frustrating sense of guilt because I can't seem to race through this period of my life, hurry it along, make it simply disappear.
Sometimes the most sage advice, the greatest pearls of wisdom, come from the most unexpected sources. A couple of days ago, I received an email from a young woman in my church ... a young wife and mother, half my age and yet wise far beyond her years. Her words touched my soul in a big way and caused my tears to flow like a river. As I read her compassionate and heartfelt note, I knew deep within me that she gets it ... she understands where I am and she loves me still. There's only one way to end this post, and that is with her words rather than my own. And with the most sincere and grateful thanks to my sweet young friend ... you blessed me this week, friend, you blessed me.
"It's very hard to be vulnerable. Why should we not wear armor around each other? We are vicious, nosy, selfish, and on and on. But that's the sweet cinnamon roll center of it: we aren't meant to be alone. You became vulnerable, intensely so, with your little J.R. Don't let what he did for you be for naught. Remember this: it's OK to take your time. Noah took 100 years to build the ark. Abraham and Sarah didn't conceive until they were almost 100 years old. The Bible advises more about not being hasty than against taking time. It will come ... take your time."
Friday, January 28, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Hermitude
I love words. And that's a good thing since my profession is that of senior editor. But seriously, I really love words. I love written words. I love spoken words. I love words that are sung. I love words that are. I love words that were. I love words that will be. I love words that should be. There is power in words, healing in words, hurt in words, love in words, remorse in words, pain in words, joy in words, quiet in words, fear in words, praise in words, elation in words, judgment in words, hope in words, peace in words. I seriously love words.
Occasionally, I stumble upon a word that is new to me, that I've never heard or seen before. And more often than not, those seemingly random unknown words carry some deep meaning or hold an underlying lesson that is meant for me to learn. It always amazes and fascinates me that I seem to discover a new word at just the right time ... that a word comes into my world and completely fits with my life's circumstances or experiences of the moment.
While I am normally a very social and outgoing person, I've recently been experiencing a time of withdrawal ... a time of wanting to simply lock myself away and have little to no interaction with anyone. As I've previously written about in other posts, when I am hurt or frustrated or upset or lonely or sick or frightened or ... or ... or, I have a strong proclivity for climbing into my "cave" and hiding those feelings and emotions from the outside world. Those times I understand ... those times I can define a logical reason for my desire to retreat and be alone. This time, however, is different ... deeper, longer lasting, all-encompassing ... this time is different, and I don't understand it at all. I've always been able to pull myself out of whatever funk I was in, pray my way through the darkness, take someone else's hand and allow them to walk me back to the light of day. But this time ... this time I'm having trouble finding my way out of the cave. I am ashamed that I'm here; I am frustrated that I'm here; I am frightened that I'm here.
And then today ... today I encountered a word ... hermitude. The word was used in an email sent to me by a friend ... "Embrace your hermitude. God has you in this place and time for a reason. He means to grow you through this, enable you through this, teach you through this, humble you through this, break you through this. Embrace it, my friend, embrace your hermitude." Doing what I do best, I immediately searched for the definition of this new word, thinking in my arrogant wordsmith mind that I had a good idea of what it meant. My negative interpretation involving separation and isolation quickly dissipated when I read the following sentence in connection with the definition: "For the one in hermitude, a simplicity of life and thought begins to unfold." Wow ... wow ... wow. Maybe, just maybe, that's why I'm here in this cave right now ... to learn to be simple in life, to be humble in thought.
God, I don't even pretend to understand why I feel the way I do right now. I don't even pretend to fathom the depth of this cave I am in. I do, however, know that You are Lord over all things. I do, however, know that You will never leave me alone. I do, however, know that I love you, Lord ... I trust You, Lord ... in the brilliant light of day or the shadowy dark of the cave ... I trust You.
Occasionally, I stumble upon a word that is new to me, that I've never heard or seen before. And more often than not, those seemingly random unknown words carry some deep meaning or hold an underlying lesson that is meant for me to learn. It always amazes and fascinates me that I seem to discover a new word at just the right time ... that a word comes into my world and completely fits with my life's circumstances or experiences of the moment.
While I am normally a very social and outgoing person, I've recently been experiencing a time of withdrawal ... a time of wanting to simply lock myself away and have little to no interaction with anyone. As I've previously written about in other posts, when I am hurt or frustrated or upset or lonely or sick or frightened or ... or ... or, I have a strong proclivity for climbing into my "cave" and hiding those feelings and emotions from the outside world. Those times I understand ... those times I can define a logical reason for my desire to retreat and be alone. This time, however, is different ... deeper, longer lasting, all-encompassing ... this time is different, and I don't understand it at all. I've always been able to pull myself out of whatever funk I was in, pray my way through the darkness, take someone else's hand and allow them to walk me back to the light of day. But this time ... this time I'm having trouble finding my way out of the cave. I am ashamed that I'm here; I am frustrated that I'm here; I am frightened that I'm here.
And then today ... today I encountered a word ... hermitude. The word was used in an email sent to me by a friend ... "Embrace your hermitude. God has you in this place and time for a reason. He means to grow you through this, enable you through this, teach you through this, humble you through this, break you through this. Embrace it, my friend, embrace your hermitude." Doing what I do best, I immediately searched for the definition of this new word, thinking in my arrogant wordsmith mind that I had a good idea of what it meant. My negative interpretation involving separation and isolation quickly dissipated when I read the following sentence in connection with the definition: "For the one in hermitude, a simplicity of life and thought begins to unfold." Wow ... wow ... wow. Maybe, just maybe, that's why I'm here in this cave right now ... to learn to be simple in life, to be humble in thought.
God, I don't even pretend to understand why I feel the way I do right now. I don't even pretend to fathom the depth of this cave I am in. I do, however, know that You are Lord over all things. I do, however, know that You will never leave me alone. I do, however, know that I love you, Lord ... I trust You, Lord ... in the brilliant light of day or the shadowy dark of the cave ... I trust You.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Follow Me
I've come to a conclusion over the last few days ... actually, I've been arriving at this conclusion for the last year and a half or so. And it probably says a lot about my stubborn will that it's taken that long for me to finally get here. To the point of my conclusion, that is. OK, OK ... here it is ... God teaches me some of His greatest truths through events and circumstances that I never expect. He brings me to places and people and situations for the purpose of teaching me something of profound value, of speaking to me in a way that screams that it is Him, of growing me in a manner that may be painful but that is always worthwhile.
For the last two weeks, I've been working on "homework" with my big dog Julie that was given to us by the professional trainer that my son Brad enlisted to teach Julie and me how to walk together. For those of you who missed the blog about Brad's Christmas gift to me, that was his gift ... his incredibly awesome gift ... hiring the trainer for Jules and me. When I first received the email from the trainer outlining our homework until he came to meet with us, my initial reaction was, "This is the dumbest thing I've ever heard of, and it will never work." I was instructed to feed Julie by hand as we walked through the house, starting and stopping, over and over, while I said the words out loud, "Follow me."
That exercise, as ridiculous as it seemed to me, went very well and Julie seemed to fully enjoy the game as well as having my undivided attention. The trainer's email for our work for the second week instructed me to hook a leash to Julie's collar as we played the food game, allowing it to trail along on the floor as we traipsed through the house. While I would love to tell you that the second week was as much of a success as the first week ... well, Julie chewed all the way through four leashes during that week, so I'll let you draw your own conclusion as to how successful we were. The third week, I was told to hold the leash as we played our now familiar food game, starting and stopping, over and over, while I again instructed Julie to "Follow me."
I remained quite skeptical as to the trainer's reasoning as to how this was supposed to teach Julie how to walk on a leash with me outside in the wide open spaces. It's one thing to hang on to her in my little house, but it's a whole different ball game when she drags me down the street or through the yard when we get outdoors. When he arrived at my house last Friday evening, I greeted him with more than a twinge of doubt as to him making any progress at all with my big boisterous hound. I soon discovered just how misplaced my doubts were when within 20 minutes, he had taught Julie not to bolt out the door when he opened it. Within 45 minutes, he had Julie and I not only walking together to the end of my driveway and back, he had her turning and following me without me having to say a word. As he bid us farewell that evening, the trainer smiled and said, "Now you understand the homework, don't you?"
As I snuggled in my bed for the night, it struck me ... Julie wasn't the only one who had been training for the last three weeks. I had so wanted to walk Julie and my little J.R. together; I even bought a connector leash to tether the two of them together, but Julie would pull and strain against the leash so badly that I finally gave up and walked only with J.R. Tears filled my eyes as I realized that the 15 months I had to walk with J.R. was his time, and he was never happier than when he was alone with me on the trail. And now ... now this is Julie's time to walk with me, to be alone with me on the trail. Time, I thought, as my tears spilled onto my pillow ... God's timing in my life is always perfect, always just, always part of His ultimate plan for me. Starting and stopping, over and over ... while God consistently holds out His mighty hand and says, "Follow me."
"Follow me, Terrie, through the darkest times of life. Follow me, Terrie, when you are on the mountaintop. Follow me, Terrie, even if you can't see the path in front of you. Follow me, Terrie, when the sun shines brightly."
"Follow me."
For the last two weeks, I've been working on "homework" with my big dog Julie that was given to us by the professional trainer that my son Brad enlisted to teach Julie and me how to walk together. For those of you who missed the blog about Brad's Christmas gift to me, that was his gift ... his incredibly awesome gift ... hiring the trainer for Jules and me. When I first received the email from the trainer outlining our homework until he came to meet with us, my initial reaction was, "This is the dumbest thing I've ever heard of, and it will never work." I was instructed to feed Julie by hand as we walked through the house, starting and stopping, over and over, while I said the words out loud, "Follow me."
That exercise, as ridiculous as it seemed to me, went very well and Julie seemed to fully enjoy the game as well as having my undivided attention. The trainer's email for our work for the second week instructed me to hook a leash to Julie's collar as we played the food game, allowing it to trail along on the floor as we traipsed through the house. While I would love to tell you that the second week was as much of a success as the first week ... well, Julie chewed all the way through four leashes during that week, so I'll let you draw your own conclusion as to how successful we were. The third week, I was told to hold the leash as we played our now familiar food game, starting and stopping, over and over, while I again instructed Julie to "Follow me."
I remained quite skeptical as to the trainer's reasoning as to how this was supposed to teach Julie how to walk on a leash with me outside in the wide open spaces. It's one thing to hang on to her in my little house, but it's a whole different ball game when she drags me down the street or through the yard when we get outdoors. When he arrived at my house last Friday evening, I greeted him with more than a twinge of doubt as to him making any progress at all with my big boisterous hound. I soon discovered just how misplaced my doubts were when within 20 minutes, he had taught Julie not to bolt out the door when he opened it. Within 45 minutes, he had Julie and I not only walking together to the end of my driveway and back, he had her turning and following me without me having to say a word. As he bid us farewell that evening, the trainer smiled and said, "Now you understand the homework, don't you?"
As I snuggled in my bed for the night, it struck me ... Julie wasn't the only one who had been training for the last three weeks. I had so wanted to walk Julie and my little J.R. together; I even bought a connector leash to tether the two of them together, but Julie would pull and strain against the leash so badly that I finally gave up and walked only with J.R. Tears filled my eyes as I realized that the 15 months I had to walk with J.R. was his time, and he was never happier than when he was alone with me on the trail. And now ... now this is Julie's time to walk with me, to be alone with me on the trail. Time, I thought, as my tears spilled onto my pillow ... God's timing in my life is always perfect, always just, always part of His ultimate plan for me. Starting and stopping, over and over ... while God consistently holds out His mighty hand and says, "Follow me."
"Follow me, Terrie, through the darkest times of life. Follow me, Terrie, when you are on the mountaintop. Follow me, Terrie, even if you can't see the path in front of you. Follow me, Terrie, when the sun shines brightly."
"Follow me."
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Sweet Baby Girl
Ask any mother with more than one child about each one's birth and I can almost guarantee you that unless she was unconscious, she can recount (often in vivid detail) the similarities and differences between each child's entrance into the world. For example ... my oldest son Matt took his time in announcing his presence, keeping me in labor for over 13 hours. He was the one of my three children who came dangerously close to causing me to need a C-section because his cord was wrapped twice around his neck. Son number two, Brad, entered the scene in quite a different manner. He was born 10 minutes after I arrived at the hospital following only a few slight labor pains. In fact, Brad was almost born ... well ... I went to the bathroom after changing into a hospital gown, and he ... well ... suffice it to say that he was almost born in the toilet. My daughter Meghann made her debut in the most normal way of all three of my children. I was in labor for about six hours, and was able to deliver her by natural childbirth. Perhaps since she was my third child, and she followed Brad by only 18 months, God gave her to me on Mother's Day so that I would never forget her birthday.
Perhaps another universal truth when it comes to mothers and children is that the hopes and prayers and dreams a mother has for her child begin the moment she discovers that a little life is growing within her. You begin to wonder if the baby is a boy or a girl, if they will be healthy, what their personalities will be like, what path they will choose to follow when they grow up. You hope for high school graduations, college diplomas, and careers that are fulfilling. You pray that they will have a strong and deep relationship with God, that they will desperately seek His will and follow His direction, and that they will immerse themselves in His Word. You dream of weddings, their first home, and future grandchildren.
With all three of my children now adults, I've been blessed to see many of those hopes and prayers and dreams that I had for them as babies come to fruition over the last 26 plus years. I've seen each of them endure some hurts and go through some deep pain as well. I've watched them grow and learn life lessons, and I've seen them fall down and get up and try again. And I will soon watch my little girl walk down the aisle and marry her Prince Charming. Yep, her longtime boyfriend Barrett asked Meghann on Christmas Eve to become his wife. They haven't officially set a date yet, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if there is an early summer wedding.
A couple of weeks ago, I went with Meghann to watch her try on wedding gowns. I watched her walk out of the dressing area and step up onto the platform in the store, and I began to weep. As Meghann said, "Mom, don't cry," in my mind I saw a little blonde-haired two-year-old girl after surgery on her ears cuddled against my chest with her night-night blanket. I saw a 5-year-old riding her pink tricycle down the basement stairs. I saw her in elementary school playing on the playground. I saw her participating in junior high basketball games. I saw her with two broken arms when she accompanied me on a speaking engagement and garnered lots of sympathy from the women present at the event. I saw her graduating from high school. I saw her in her classroom working with children with autism. I saw my sweet baby girl as a beautiful young woman shopping for her wedding gown.
Happy engagement, sweet baby girl ... happy, happy engagement. Happy wedding to come ... and happy marriage for the rest of your life. Happiness to you, my sweet baby girl ... all the happiness that life can bring to you ... I love you!
Perhaps another universal truth when it comes to mothers and children is that the hopes and prayers and dreams a mother has for her child begin the moment she discovers that a little life is growing within her. You begin to wonder if the baby is a boy or a girl, if they will be healthy, what their personalities will be like, what path they will choose to follow when they grow up. You hope for high school graduations, college diplomas, and careers that are fulfilling. You pray that they will have a strong and deep relationship with God, that they will desperately seek His will and follow His direction, and that they will immerse themselves in His Word. You dream of weddings, their first home, and future grandchildren.
With all three of my children now adults, I've been blessed to see many of those hopes and prayers and dreams that I had for them as babies come to fruition over the last 26 plus years. I've seen each of them endure some hurts and go through some deep pain as well. I've watched them grow and learn life lessons, and I've seen them fall down and get up and try again. And I will soon watch my little girl walk down the aisle and marry her Prince Charming. Yep, her longtime boyfriend Barrett asked Meghann on Christmas Eve to become his wife. They haven't officially set a date yet, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if there is an early summer wedding.
A couple of weeks ago, I went with Meghann to watch her try on wedding gowns. I watched her walk out of the dressing area and step up onto the platform in the store, and I began to weep. As Meghann said, "Mom, don't cry," in my mind I saw a little blonde-haired two-year-old girl after surgery on her ears cuddled against my chest with her night-night blanket. I saw a 5-year-old riding her pink tricycle down the basement stairs. I saw her in elementary school playing on the playground. I saw her participating in junior high basketball games. I saw her with two broken arms when she accompanied me on a speaking engagement and garnered lots of sympathy from the women present at the event. I saw her graduating from high school. I saw her in her classroom working with children with autism. I saw my sweet baby girl as a beautiful young woman shopping for her wedding gown.
Happy engagement, sweet baby girl ... happy, happy engagement. Happy wedding to come ... and happy marriage for the rest of your life. Happiness to you, my sweet baby girl ... all the happiness that life can bring to you ... I love you!
Saturday, January 8, 2011
I Don't Yike It
When my daughter Meghann was a little girl, she would often say, "I don't yike it, Mommie." She didn't "yike" green beans or sand or bugs or the color yellow or riding in her car seat or being told what to do. I always found it curious that for all the things that Meghann liked, she didn't say, "I yike it." Instead, she always said, "Mmmm, that's good." Things like puppies or the color blue or baths or a certain pair of white tennis shoes or her dolls were always worthy of an "Mmmm, that's good" comment.
I've always considered myself to be a fairly positive and upbeat kind of gal. I make friends fairly easily, and I get along pretty well with most people with whom I have a relationship. I try to look for the good in every situation, and I strive to encourage others to do the same. I've always been a glass half-full person ... an "Mmmm, that's good" lady rather than an "I don't yike it" woman.
Recently, however, my glass has been kind of empty, and I've found myself more and more often not "yiking" things or situations or events. I don't yike that I can never have another Starbucks frappucino for the rest of my life. I don't yike that my basement has sprung a leak. I don't yike that there are days at work when I simply can't do everything that needs to be done. I don't yike that I no longer drive a Jeep Wrangler. I don't yike the cold weather and that it makes my feet hurt. I don't yike that I have to take so much medication or have someone accompany me to the doctor.
As I thought about my seeming tendency to trend toward the negative, I find myself more determined not to be consumed by the darkness that is trying to creep into my life. I am acutely aware of the need to search for the "Mmmm, that's good" parts of my daily walk ... sugar-free cinnamon roll pudding with sugar-free Cool Whip on top, a warm home on a cold night, a job that provides for my needs and some of my wants, a reliable car that gets me where I need to go, thermal underwear and having feet to walk on, drugs to keep my diabetes under control and people who love me enough to care about my health. Mmmm ... those are good ... no, those are wonderful things.
So, here's to glasses that are half-full, to "Mmmm, that's good," and to everything in between. Here's to God blessing me with another day, another breath, another chance to live.
I've always considered myself to be a fairly positive and upbeat kind of gal. I make friends fairly easily, and I get along pretty well with most people with whom I have a relationship. I try to look for the good in every situation, and I strive to encourage others to do the same. I've always been a glass half-full person ... an "Mmmm, that's good" lady rather than an "I don't yike it" woman.
Recently, however, my glass has been kind of empty, and I've found myself more and more often not "yiking" things or situations or events. I don't yike that I can never have another Starbucks frappucino for the rest of my life. I don't yike that my basement has sprung a leak. I don't yike that there are days at work when I simply can't do everything that needs to be done. I don't yike that I no longer drive a Jeep Wrangler. I don't yike the cold weather and that it makes my feet hurt. I don't yike that I have to take so much medication or have someone accompany me to the doctor.
As I thought about my seeming tendency to trend toward the negative, I find myself more determined not to be consumed by the darkness that is trying to creep into my life. I am acutely aware of the need to search for the "Mmmm, that's good" parts of my daily walk ... sugar-free cinnamon roll pudding with sugar-free Cool Whip on top, a warm home on a cold night, a job that provides for my needs and some of my wants, a reliable car that gets me where I need to go, thermal underwear and having feet to walk on, drugs to keep my diabetes under control and people who love me enough to care about my health. Mmmm ... those are good ... no, those are wonderful things.
So, here's to glasses that are half-full, to "Mmmm, that's good," and to everything in between. Here's to God blessing me with another day, another breath, another chance to live.
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