At the end of the day ... above all else ... it's about love. Nothing more, nothing less ... just love. Tonight, I'm thankful for love that stays, love that forgives, love that transcends, love that ... love that is love ... real, honest, loyal, honoring love. Because at the end of the day ... above all else ... it's about love.
"Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all transgressions." Proverbs 10:12
"Above all, keep fervent in your love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins." 1 Peter 4:8
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Saturday, September 29, 2012
If it Tastes Like Dirt ...
There are several sports-related memories that I have from all my years of playing basketball, softball, tennis, and yes, even a neighborhood football game or two. Some of those memories are more vivid than others ... like the basketball game when I had the opportunity to score the winning point and completely missed the backboard when I shot the ball, or the final game of a softball tournament when I struck out every single time I stepped to the plate to bat, or the tennis match when I won every set against the top-ranked player in town, or last but not least ... the neighborhood football game when I was tackled and ended up with my face planted firmly in the dirt. I quite distinctly remember the taste of that dirt because I got a mouthful of it that day ... it tasted like ... well, it tasted like dirt.
For a while now, everything I eat or drink has tasted like dirt ... it doesn't matter what kind of food it is or what kind of liquid, every single thing tastes like dirt to me. Even gum tastes like dirt. Toothpaste tastes like dirt. My beloved sugar-free Cool Whip tastes like dirt. One day last week, I got the sheer genius idea that perhaps I should eat a spoonful of dirt and see if it might taste like cheesecake smothered in caramel sauce or a hot fudge sundae ... nope, the dirt tasted like dirt, too ... go figure, huh? And my idea wasn't nearly as irrational as you're thinking ... one of my kids ate dirt for a while, and the doctor said there was a mineral in the dirt that my little one needed.
I mentioned the whole dirt taste thing to a friend a couple of weeks ago and quipped that there just had to be a blog post waiting to be written in regard to it somehow. She's an avid reader of my blog, and she didn't hesitate to say, "Only if there's a lesson in it ... only if there's something God is teaching you through everything tasting like dirt. You can't blog about it if there isn't a lesson in it." I've thought a lot about her words, and I've asked God more than a time or two what in the world He wanted to teach me through such a thing as the taste of dirt. And it wasn't until this afternoon when I was out on a very long bike ride that it struck me ... it struck me that His lesson for me was a big one, one that I didn't anticipate or expect, one that I never imagined in all my questioning of a reason or His purpose that might lie within my dirt-filled mouth.
When I left the house to head out for my ride, I had packed some extra food into my backpack and loaded an extra water bottle onto the second bottle holder on the frame of my bike since I knew I was planning to travel a lengthy distance. Reaching the halfway point of my ride, I pulled over to the side of the trail, climbed off my bike, took off my backpack and sat down to eat a power bar and some peanuts. As I tossed the nuts in my mouth, I said aloud, "Dirt ... these peanuts taste like dirt." And as I guzzled the tea in my water bottle, I said, "Dirt ... this tea tastes like dirt." I stretched out on my back and looked up at the trees waving in the wind above my head, and that's when I knew ... that's when I heard what God was saying ... that's when I understood what the lesson was.
Unless I tell people that my food tastes like dirt, they don't know ... they can't know that every bite I take is like eating a mouthful of dirt unless I tell them, and the same is true for my soul. If there's dirt in my soul ... no, wait, when there's dirt in my soul ... people don't know the dirt is there unless I open up and tell them ... unless I give them a taste of what's inside my soul, they don't know. I can't help but think that's true of so many of us ... we walk around with our hearts and souls buried under big piles of dirt ... the dirt of guilt, the dirt of shame, the dirt of dishonesty, the dirt of envy, the dirt of greed, the dirt of gossip, the dirt of anger, the dirt of judgment ... some of us have giant piles of dirt stacked on top of our souls ... some of us have giant piles of dirt, friends. While I have no idea how to rid myself of the dirt taste within my mouth, I know there is only one way to rid myself of the dirt within my soul ... confession and repentance and faith in Jesus Christ.
I've been listening to the music of the band Cloverton a lot since I went to their concert last Sunday, and some lines from the song Send Down Your Grace have been stuck in my head for the last couple of days ... lines that remind me that when God looks at me ... He doesn't see the giant piles of dirt ... He sees His grace ... He sees His mercy ... He sees me washed ... washed in the blood of the Lamb.
"I have gazed deep into my imperfections
And this is where Your love stays strong
Rescued I've been but then blind I become
To the grace that has sent my soul free
God make my weaknesses Your mighty strength over me
Send down Your mercy, send down Your grace
Send down Your love to this place
Here with Your presence, show us Your face
Send down Your mercy, send down Your grace
Oh, wash my soul, make me whole
Make me white in the blood of the Lamb
Here I am."
For a while now, everything I eat or drink has tasted like dirt ... it doesn't matter what kind of food it is or what kind of liquid, every single thing tastes like dirt to me. Even gum tastes like dirt. Toothpaste tastes like dirt. My beloved sugar-free Cool Whip tastes like dirt. One day last week, I got the sheer genius idea that perhaps I should eat a spoonful of dirt and see if it might taste like cheesecake smothered in caramel sauce or a hot fudge sundae ... nope, the dirt tasted like dirt, too ... go figure, huh? And my idea wasn't nearly as irrational as you're thinking ... one of my kids ate dirt for a while, and the doctor said there was a mineral in the dirt that my little one needed.
I mentioned the whole dirt taste thing to a friend a couple of weeks ago and quipped that there just had to be a blog post waiting to be written in regard to it somehow. She's an avid reader of my blog, and she didn't hesitate to say, "Only if there's a lesson in it ... only if there's something God is teaching you through everything tasting like dirt. You can't blog about it if there isn't a lesson in it." I've thought a lot about her words, and I've asked God more than a time or two what in the world He wanted to teach me through such a thing as the taste of dirt. And it wasn't until this afternoon when I was out on a very long bike ride that it struck me ... it struck me that His lesson for me was a big one, one that I didn't anticipate or expect, one that I never imagined in all my questioning of a reason or His purpose that might lie within my dirt-filled mouth.
When I left the house to head out for my ride, I had packed some extra food into my backpack and loaded an extra water bottle onto the second bottle holder on the frame of my bike since I knew I was planning to travel a lengthy distance. Reaching the halfway point of my ride, I pulled over to the side of the trail, climbed off my bike, took off my backpack and sat down to eat a power bar and some peanuts. As I tossed the nuts in my mouth, I said aloud, "Dirt ... these peanuts taste like dirt." And as I guzzled the tea in my water bottle, I said, "Dirt ... this tea tastes like dirt." I stretched out on my back and looked up at the trees waving in the wind above my head, and that's when I knew ... that's when I heard what God was saying ... that's when I understood what the lesson was.
Unless I tell people that my food tastes like dirt, they don't know ... they can't know that every bite I take is like eating a mouthful of dirt unless I tell them, and the same is true for my soul. If there's dirt in my soul ... no, wait, when there's dirt in my soul ... people don't know the dirt is there unless I open up and tell them ... unless I give them a taste of what's inside my soul, they don't know. I can't help but think that's true of so many of us ... we walk around with our hearts and souls buried under big piles of dirt ... the dirt of guilt, the dirt of shame, the dirt of dishonesty, the dirt of envy, the dirt of greed, the dirt of gossip, the dirt of anger, the dirt of judgment ... some of us have giant piles of dirt stacked on top of our souls ... some of us have giant piles of dirt, friends. While I have no idea how to rid myself of the dirt taste within my mouth, I know there is only one way to rid myself of the dirt within my soul ... confession and repentance and faith in Jesus Christ.
I've been listening to the music of the band Cloverton a lot since I went to their concert last Sunday, and some lines from the song Send Down Your Grace have been stuck in my head for the last couple of days ... lines that remind me that when God looks at me ... He doesn't see the giant piles of dirt ... He sees His grace ... He sees His mercy ... He sees me washed ... washed in the blood of the Lamb.
"I have gazed deep into my imperfections
And this is where Your love stays strong
Rescued I've been but then blind I become
To the grace that has sent my soul free
God make my weaknesses Your mighty strength over me
Send down Your mercy, send down Your grace
Send down Your love to this place
Here with Your presence, show us Your face
Send down Your mercy, send down Your grace
Oh, wash my soul, make me whole
Make me white in the blood of the Lamb
Here I am."
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Naked Moon Dance
Anybody besides me remember the song The Streak by Ray Stevens? I'm sure there are at least a few of you who grew up in the South who remember it, and probably even some of you who recall popping a big old 8-track tape into the player in your car and laughing it up every time you played the song. For those of you who are scratching your heads and wondering what an 8-track is or who in the world Ray Stevens is and what the word "streaking" means ... Google all three and then listen to the song. If you have an ounce of humor in you, I don't think you'll be able to hear the song and not smile. Within the lyrics is a line that became super popular back in the day ... a line that was repeated a gazillion times, and still is today by some of us old fogies out there ... a line uttered in the song by a husband telling a news reporter what he said to his wife when a man ran naked through several different places in town. "'Don't look, Ethel!' But it was too late. She'd done been mooned." Just typing those words causes a smile to cross my face as I recall times when my friends and I would sing the song at the top of our lungs and laugh like fools.
Last night after I got home from Awana, I played in the yard with Julie for a few minutes and then Ollie and I headed out into the cool, dark night for a walk. As I've written before, when it's really dark, we walk along the sidewalk next to the main road close to my house. But last night, I was in a deeply pensive mood concerning a conversation I had earlier in the day with a co-worker, so I tugged Ollie onto the trail ... the very, very, very dark trail. For all of the irrational fears I now possess (if you're a new reader, you'll have to go back and read some of my previous posts), I was so deep in thought that it wasn't until we had walked almost an hour that the thought crossed my mind that there could be lions and tigers and bears lurking in the woods close to the path we were on and that we should probably find a sidewalk to lead us back home. And that's when it happened ... that's when I looked up into the night sky and saw the moon ... and that's when God spoke to my heart in a gigantic way.
The sky was laced with clouds, and only part of the moon was peeking out from behind them. I stopped dead in my tracks and watched as the clouds blew across the sky, covering and then uncovering the moon. I'm not sure how long I stood on the empty, dark trail and watched the heavenly dance that was occurring above me ... I was completely fascinated with the scene that God had placed before me. My mind raced to the conversation from the afternoon with my co-worker ... a heartfelt, emotional conversation as she sat in the chair next to my desk talking about honesty, realness and acceptance. As the moon danced out from behind the clouds ... I was struck by how bare it looked against the night sky without the clothing of the clouds to cover it.
It's naked, I said out loud to the darkness ... the moon is naked ... it's naked and bare without the clouds. I wonder what it looks like from heaven ... I wonder what the moon looks like from God's perspective as He sits upon His throne. And as quickly as those thoughts entered my mind, a much bigger thought came crashing in to take their place. "I see the moon as I see you, child ... hidden behind the clouds of life ... peeking out from time to time as the breeze moves the clouds away ... I see you from the other side of the clouds ... I see you naked and bare ... I see you uncovered ... I see the real you ... no clouds, no cover, no hiding ... I see you, child ... I see you." As I turned to walk home, I couldn't help but breathe a prayer of thanks for the moon ... for the message ... for the mighty hand of God.
Thank You, Lord, for the moon tonight, for making me lift my eyes to see it ... thank You for speaking to me in the dance ... thank you for speaking to me in the naked moon dance.
Last night after I got home from Awana, I played in the yard with Julie for a few minutes and then Ollie and I headed out into the cool, dark night for a walk. As I've written before, when it's really dark, we walk along the sidewalk next to the main road close to my house. But last night, I was in a deeply pensive mood concerning a conversation I had earlier in the day with a co-worker, so I tugged Ollie onto the trail ... the very, very, very dark trail. For all of the irrational fears I now possess (if you're a new reader, you'll have to go back and read some of my previous posts), I was so deep in thought that it wasn't until we had walked almost an hour that the thought crossed my mind that there could be lions and tigers and bears lurking in the woods close to the path we were on and that we should probably find a sidewalk to lead us back home. And that's when it happened ... that's when I looked up into the night sky and saw the moon ... and that's when God spoke to my heart in a gigantic way.
The sky was laced with clouds, and only part of the moon was peeking out from behind them. I stopped dead in my tracks and watched as the clouds blew across the sky, covering and then uncovering the moon. I'm not sure how long I stood on the empty, dark trail and watched the heavenly dance that was occurring above me ... I was completely fascinated with the scene that God had placed before me. My mind raced to the conversation from the afternoon with my co-worker ... a heartfelt, emotional conversation as she sat in the chair next to my desk talking about honesty, realness and acceptance. As the moon danced out from behind the clouds ... I was struck by how bare it looked against the night sky without the clothing of the clouds to cover it.
It's naked, I said out loud to the darkness ... the moon is naked ... it's naked and bare without the clouds. I wonder what it looks like from heaven ... I wonder what the moon looks like from God's perspective as He sits upon His throne. And as quickly as those thoughts entered my mind, a much bigger thought came crashing in to take their place. "I see the moon as I see you, child ... hidden behind the clouds of life ... peeking out from time to time as the breeze moves the clouds away ... I see you from the other side of the clouds ... I see you naked and bare ... I see you uncovered ... I see the real you ... no clouds, no cover, no hiding ... I see you, child ... I see you." As I turned to walk home, I couldn't help but breathe a prayer of thanks for the moon ... for the message ... for the mighty hand of God.
Thank You, Lord, for the moon tonight, for making me lift my eyes to see it ... thank You for speaking to me in the dance ... thank you for speaking to me in the naked moon dance.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Great Plans
There are some days you can't find any words of your own. There are some days you listen to a song a thousand times because it speaks to you so deeply. There are some days you hold on and believe God's Word is true. There are some days you just need to rest in Him ... there are some days you just need to believe it's all part of His plan ... there are some days.
"'For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.'" Jeremiah 29:11-13
Great Plans --- Cloverton
"Hello my love
your future waits for you
the certainties are few.
I know you’re scared
but the voices in your head,
will send you mine instead; they’ll say
Great plans I have for you
great plans I have for you
great plans I have for you
I know you’re tired
the darkness in your eyes
I’ve come to recognize
So lay yourself down
in the shelter of my tree
rest awhile with me, here
Great plans I have for you
great plans I have for you
great plans I have for you
And prosper you will
I know you will, I know you will
Prosper you will
I know you will, I know you will
Great plans I have for you
great plans I have for you
great plans I have for you."
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Steps and Songs
Yesterday morning arrived as a crisp, cool, clear fall day in Kansas City ... the perfect day to spend a few hours stepping out for a walk along a creek and through the Plaza to support diabetes research. I've never participated in a "cause" walk before, and certainly not one that affects me in such a personal way. Those of you who read along with me on my life journey in words in this blog know that I've been anticipating and planning and fundraising for this walk for a couple of months ... the Step Out Walk to Stop Diabetes.
I didn't tell my teammates, but I was a bit overwhelmed for some reason as we approached the registration table. As the woman behind the table took the forms from my hand and began asking me questions, a knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I answered. This is a big deal, I thought, as the older lady wrote down the amount of money our team had raised. This is a really big deal ... all of these people are here because they love someone who has diabetes or they have it themselves. The money that people donated is a big deal ... what if the money raised on this walk is part of the money that finds a cure for this nasty beast of a disease? My friends who took time out of their weekend to brave the cool temps and come walk with me is a big deal ... they are here because they care about me. The millions of people whose lives have been forever altered by diabetes is a big deal ... a really big deal, indeed. And as the woman handed me the complimentary t-shirts for our team, a lump formed in my throat to accompany the one in my gut.
After visiting the sponsor tents and collecting lots of free stuff, we listened to a couple of people talk about diabetes and then the Walk began. Counting my friend Aimee's adorable dog and Shasty's darling baby girl in her stroller, there were 12 of us on our team. As I watched the hundreds of people begin to walk, I couldn't help but marvel again at the enormity of the event. People wearing red caps dotted the crowd ... they're called Red Striders, the hats denote that the person has diabetes. And as the group wound its way along the path next to the creek, I knew that I was blessed to be able to count the ones who walked with me as my friends ... old, young and furry ... friends who care enough about me to walk by my side on so much more than the walk yesterday.
Like He so often does, God wanted to make sure this evening that I understood the lesson He impressed upon me yesterday ... oh, wait ... I haven't told you the lesson yet, have I? Walking back to my car after the event was finished, I recognized the great diversity of the large group of walkers. Old, young, middle-aged, canine, rich, poor, male, female, healthy, sick ... diverse in so many ways and yet brought together for one common purpose, to show support for those who live every day with diabetes. Whatever differences that existed between all those people yesterday were unimportant as they united, even if only for a few hours ... as they united to walk together, to stand together, to encourage together.
The church I attend hosted a free concert tonight by a band I had never heard of until the church began promoting tonight's event. If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that I've struggled with going to church ... I do well to go to the main service on Sunday mornings, much less attend any extracurricular activities. A couple of weekends ago when I spoke at a women's retreat at Hidden Haven Christian Camp, I talked about how God has used children in a big way in my life over the last couple of years, and for reasons that I don't understand, neither He nor those kids have given up on me. Even after I told one of my young friends yesterday no when she asked if I was coming to the concert tonight, she called me this afternoon and asked me again. And then she texted me. And texted me again. And I went to the concert.
The band is called Cloverton, and like I said, I had never heard of them or listened to any of their music. I expected them to be loud ... and they were. I expected them to be young ... and they are. I expected them to have smoke and flashing lights ... and they did. I did not, however, expect their hearts for the Lord to pour out of them from the minute they walked onto the stage. I didn't expect the lyrics of their songs to speak to my soul and to the place I am in life. I didn't expect God to shout His lesson from yesterday to me this evening as I sat next to my young friend and listened to the music. I watched the diverse crowd ... young and old, sick and well, rich and poor, male and female ... I watched the crowd as they worshipped ... yep, those people worshipped together as the band played. Whatever differences that existed between the folks in the church tonight were unimportant as they united, even if only for a couple of hours ... as they were drawn together for one common purpose ... worship. Teens danced, adults raised their hands, little kids clapped ... they all worshipped their Lord as the band played on.
See, here's the thing ... it shouldn't take a walk or a concert to bring us together, to cause us to unite, to make us worship. God wants us to love Him and love another. That's the lesson He has not only for me, but for all of us ... God wants us to walk and worship together. Instead of looking at what makes us different from one another, He wants us to look at Him. He wants us to walk and worship together, friends ... to put our differences aside and step and sing together.
I didn't tell my teammates, but I was a bit overwhelmed for some reason as we approached the registration table. As the woman behind the table took the forms from my hand and began asking me questions, a knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I answered. This is a big deal, I thought, as the older lady wrote down the amount of money our team had raised. This is a really big deal ... all of these people are here because they love someone who has diabetes or they have it themselves. The money that people donated is a big deal ... what if the money raised on this walk is part of the money that finds a cure for this nasty beast of a disease? My friends who took time out of their weekend to brave the cool temps and come walk with me is a big deal ... they are here because they care about me. The millions of people whose lives have been forever altered by diabetes is a big deal ... a really big deal, indeed. And as the woman handed me the complimentary t-shirts for our team, a lump formed in my throat to accompany the one in my gut.
After visiting the sponsor tents and collecting lots of free stuff, we listened to a couple of people talk about diabetes and then the Walk began. Counting my friend Aimee's adorable dog and Shasty's darling baby girl in her stroller, there were 12 of us on our team. As I watched the hundreds of people begin to walk, I couldn't help but marvel again at the enormity of the event. People wearing red caps dotted the crowd ... they're called Red Striders, the hats denote that the person has diabetes. And as the group wound its way along the path next to the creek, I knew that I was blessed to be able to count the ones who walked with me as my friends ... old, young and furry ... friends who care enough about me to walk by my side on so much more than the walk yesterday.
Like He so often does, God wanted to make sure this evening that I understood the lesson He impressed upon me yesterday ... oh, wait ... I haven't told you the lesson yet, have I? Walking back to my car after the event was finished, I recognized the great diversity of the large group of walkers. Old, young, middle-aged, canine, rich, poor, male, female, healthy, sick ... diverse in so many ways and yet brought together for one common purpose, to show support for those who live every day with diabetes. Whatever differences that existed between all those people yesterday were unimportant as they united, even if only for a few hours ... as they united to walk together, to stand together, to encourage together.
The church I attend hosted a free concert tonight by a band I had never heard of until the church began promoting tonight's event. If you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that I've struggled with going to church ... I do well to go to the main service on Sunday mornings, much less attend any extracurricular activities. A couple of weekends ago when I spoke at a women's retreat at Hidden Haven Christian Camp, I talked about how God has used children in a big way in my life over the last couple of years, and for reasons that I don't understand, neither He nor those kids have given up on me. Even after I told one of my young friends yesterday no when she asked if I was coming to the concert tonight, she called me this afternoon and asked me again. And then she texted me. And texted me again. And I went to the concert.
The band is called Cloverton, and like I said, I had never heard of them or listened to any of their music. I expected them to be loud ... and they were. I expected them to be young ... and they are. I expected them to have smoke and flashing lights ... and they did. I did not, however, expect their hearts for the Lord to pour out of them from the minute they walked onto the stage. I didn't expect the lyrics of their songs to speak to my soul and to the place I am in life. I didn't expect God to shout His lesson from yesterday to me this evening as I sat next to my young friend and listened to the music. I watched the diverse crowd ... young and old, sick and well, rich and poor, male and female ... I watched the crowd as they worshipped ... yep, those people worshipped together as the band played. Whatever differences that existed between the folks in the church tonight were unimportant as they united, even if only for a couple of hours ... as they were drawn together for one common purpose ... worship. Teens danced, adults raised their hands, little kids clapped ... they all worshipped their Lord as the band played on.
See, here's the thing ... it shouldn't take a walk or a concert to bring us together, to cause us to unite, to make us worship. God wants us to love Him and love another. That's the lesson He has not only for me, but for all of us ... God wants us to walk and worship together. Instead of looking at what makes us different from one another, He wants us to look at Him. He wants us to walk and worship together, friends ... to put our differences aside and step and sing together.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Kind Sirs
If I haven't learned anything in my 52 plus years of life, I've learned that given the opportunity, people often amaze me with their compassion and kindness. The news is filled with the bad things in life ... war, crime, death, anger, disaster ... there are way more stories reported by the media about the negative side of life than there are about the positive. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if a few news outlets decided to report only upbeat and uplifting stories for a week ... I bet it would change the world, I really bet it would. And should the media decide to do just that, I've got a story for them ... a totally awesome feel-good story about two men ... two men who've never met, but who both did something selfless and compassionate and amazing.
A couple of months ago, both of my doctors told me I needed to find something to look forward to, something that would inspire me, something to throw myself into, something that would help someone else. It's funny how God works through those two women sometimes ... those two doctors of mine ... how He uses them to speak to me, to encourage me, to help me get better. Within a few days of the doctors giving me that directive, I was perusing the American Diabetes Association website when the words "Step Out" jumped off the page at me. I clicked on the tab and was instantly intrigued with the stories of real people living with diabetes who were participating in diabetes awareness walks all across the country. I wonder ... I thought to myself ... I wonder if there's a Step Out walk in Kansas City." There was indeed a KC walk listed, and on Saturday morning, I will join hundreds of other people at a park near the Plaza area of KC for a 3-mile walk to raise awareness and funds for research to find a cure for diabetes.
Not long after I registered my team, Terrie's Trekkers, and established a fundraising goal, I set about trying to put together a team to walk with me. Though I knew that I was quite possibly setting myself up for a huge disappointment by hoping that people would want to join me on the walk in light of the small number of folks outside of work who have stayed in contact with me over the last year or so, I made up my mind that I was going to walk even if I had to walk alone. God is good all the time, however, and I count myself blessed that it looks like there will be six or so dear ones who are going to brave the cool temps and sacrifice their Saturday morning to get up early and come walk with me.
I decided early on that I wanted to get t-shirts made for our team, and I approached one of the art directors at work and asked if he might help me out with a simple logo of some sort. He didn't hesitate for even a second as he said, "I would love to create a logo for you, Terrie!" Within a few days, he gave me several options to choose from ... all of them were wonderful, and it was hard to choose which one I wanted. Once the logo was chosen, I approached our production manager and asked if she could give me the name of a t-shirt company that would print the shirts inexpensively. She gave me the email address for a man from California who does printing work for our company, and I emailed him asking if he could give me some prices. In my email, I shared with the gentleman what the shirts would be used for and when the event was taking place. Within minutes, I received an email from him telling me that his younger sister has type 1 diabetes ... that he understood how difficult living with diabetes is ... and that he wanted to donate the shirts. I received the shirts today ... and they are awesome.
See, here's the thing, friends, those two men didn't have to create a logo or donate the t-shirts ... they had no reason really to shower such kindness upon me. But ... they ... did ... yep, they sure did. So here's to you, Micah and Steve ... thank you for being with me in spirit on my walk Saturday. Every single time I wear my "Terrie's Trekkers" shirt, I'll think of the two of you and your generous and compassionate hearts. Thanks, kind sirs ... thanks from the bottom of my heart ... you guys completely rock.
A couple of months ago, both of my doctors told me I needed to find something to look forward to, something that would inspire me, something to throw myself into, something that would help someone else. It's funny how God works through those two women sometimes ... those two doctors of mine ... how He uses them to speak to me, to encourage me, to help me get better. Within a few days of the doctors giving me that directive, I was perusing the American Diabetes Association website when the words "Step Out" jumped off the page at me. I clicked on the tab and was instantly intrigued with the stories of real people living with diabetes who were participating in diabetes awareness walks all across the country. I wonder ... I thought to myself ... I wonder if there's a Step Out walk in Kansas City." There was indeed a KC walk listed, and on Saturday morning, I will join hundreds of other people at a park near the Plaza area of KC for a 3-mile walk to raise awareness and funds for research to find a cure for diabetes.
Not long after I registered my team, Terrie's Trekkers, and established a fundraising goal, I set about trying to put together a team to walk with me. Though I knew that I was quite possibly setting myself up for a huge disappointment by hoping that people would want to join me on the walk in light of the small number of folks outside of work who have stayed in contact with me over the last year or so, I made up my mind that I was going to walk even if I had to walk alone. God is good all the time, however, and I count myself blessed that it looks like there will be six or so dear ones who are going to brave the cool temps and sacrifice their Saturday morning to get up early and come walk with me.
I decided early on that I wanted to get t-shirts made for our team, and I approached one of the art directors at work and asked if he might help me out with a simple logo of some sort. He didn't hesitate for even a second as he said, "I would love to create a logo for you, Terrie!" Within a few days, he gave me several options to choose from ... all of them were wonderful, and it was hard to choose which one I wanted. Once the logo was chosen, I approached our production manager and asked if she could give me the name of a t-shirt company that would print the shirts inexpensively. She gave me the email address for a man from California who does printing work for our company, and I emailed him asking if he could give me some prices. In my email, I shared with the gentleman what the shirts would be used for and when the event was taking place. Within minutes, I received an email from him telling me that his younger sister has type 1 diabetes ... that he understood how difficult living with diabetes is ... and that he wanted to donate the shirts. I received the shirts today ... and they are awesome.
See, here's the thing, friends, those two men didn't have to create a logo or donate the t-shirts ... they had no reason really to shower such kindness upon me. But ... they ... did ... yep, they sure did. So here's to you, Micah and Steve ... thank you for being with me in spirit on my walk Saturday. Every single time I wear my "Terrie's Trekkers" shirt, I'll think of the two of you and your generous and compassionate hearts. Thanks, kind sirs ... thanks from the bottom of my heart ... you guys completely rock.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
So Big
Well, I think it's official that I'm indeed a crazy old gray-haired lady. Last Sunday, I went to Walmart to buy some groceries, and I left my list at home so I had to wander aimlessly up and down the aisles trying to remember what I needed to purchase. As if that wasn't enough to place me squarely in the "there's a woman in aisle 14 who looks like she doesn't know where she is" crazy woman category, I then spent a full half-hour trying to decide what brand of toilet paper to buy. Walmart was out of the type I usually buy (I was down to my last roll at home and didn't want to have to stop at another store ... remember, I hate to shop), so it was a quite legitimate dilemma. After that, I talked to a lady who was giving away juice samples, and I'm pretty sure I teared up more than once during the conversation as she talked about her children and her dogs. But the topper ... what proved that I've crossed over to the side of complete craziness ... was what happened as I waited in the checkout line (the very long checkout line, I might add).
There was an adorable little girl who looked to be about two years old in the cart in front of me, and I smiled at her when I first got in line behind her and her mom. She laughed at me and started babbling away in baby language. Her mom said, "Sorry, she's kind of a chatterbox and doesn't know a stranger." I assured the young mother that I didn't mind at all and told her that my only grandchild had been kidnapped by her parents and taken across the border and was being forced to become a Canadian against her will. And as the little girl played peek-a-boo with me, mooed like a cow, clapped her hands and chuckled at the funny faces I made at her, I couldn't help but think about C.J. being so far away and about how much I wish I could spend time with her.
It seemed as though we waited in the checkout line for an hour, though I'm pretty sure it was only a few minutes. I was talking to the mom of the little girl when all of a sudden, the little one squealed loudly and raised her hands over her head. "What's she doing?" I asked the mom. "She's showing you that she's so big," said the young mom. "Are you so big?" I asked the little girl. "Are you just so, so, so big?" She laughed and squealed and raised her hands again and again until the time arrived when her mom had finally paid for her items and was ready to leave. I waved goodbye to the little girl and told the mom I didn't usually make a habit of talking to strangers or playing with babies I've never met while I was waiting in line at Walmart, and assured her that I really wasn't a crazy woman despite what my family or friends may think. Yep, I'm pretty sure that the young mom and the folks in line behind me that day would beg to differ.
All week I haven't been able to get the little girl and her "so big" antics out of my mind, and those of you who know me or who have been reading my blog for a while know that I see lessons from God in some unusual places from time to time ... OK, a lot of the time. The more I've thought about the little girl with her hands raised in the air, I couldn't help but think about how often I raise my hands in pride and say to God, "Look how big I am, God ... I am so big ... I can figure this whole life thing out on my own." The truth, though? The truth is that I'm not big at all ... the truth is I'm very, very small indeed, and it's more than a bit obvious that I sure make a mess out of things in a great big hurry when I think I'm so big. When I think about one day standing before the throne of God ... man, oh, man ... I am so very, very, very, very small.
Forgive me for all the times I think I'm so big, God ... so big that I try to do it all on my own ... so big that I don't listen to Your voice ... so big that I miss Your leading, Your lessons, Your love. Help me to remember how small I am, Father ... help me to remember that it's when I'm at my smallest, Your bigness is so very, very, very big.
There was an adorable little girl who looked to be about two years old in the cart in front of me, and I smiled at her when I first got in line behind her and her mom. She laughed at me and started babbling away in baby language. Her mom said, "Sorry, she's kind of a chatterbox and doesn't know a stranger." I assured the young mother that I didn't mind at all and told her that my only grandchild had been kidnapped by her parents and taken across the border and was being forced to become a Canadian against her will. And as the little girl played peek-a-boo with me, mooed like a cow, clapped her hands and chuckled at the funny faces I made at her, I couldn't help but think about C.J. being so far away and about how much I wish I could spend time with her.
It seemed as though we waited in the checkout line for an hour, though I'm pretty sure it was only a few minutes. I was talking to the mom of the little girl when all of a sudden, the little one squealed loudly and raised her hands over her head. "What's she doing?" I asked the mom. "She's showing you that she's so big," said the young mom. "Are you so big?" I asked the little girl. "Are you just so, so, so big?" She laughed and squealed and raised her hands again and again until the time arrived when her mom had finally paid for her items and was ready to leave. I waved goodbye to the little girl and told the mom I didn't usually make a habit of talking to strangers or playing with babies I've never met while I was waiting in line at Walmart, and assured her that I really wasn't a crazy woman despite what my family or friends may think. Yep, I'm pretty sure that the young mom and the folks in line behind me that day would beg to differ.
All week I haven't been able to get the little girl and her "so big" antics out of my mind, and those of you who know me or who have been reading my blog for a while know that I see lessons from God in some unusual places from time to time ... OK, a lot of the time. The more I've thought about the little girl with her hands raised in the air, I couldn't help but think about how often I raise my hands in pride and say to God, "Look how big I am, God ... I am so big ... I can figure this whole life thing out on my own." The truth, though? The truth is that I'm not big at all ... the truth is I'm very, very small indeed, and it's more than a bit obvious that I sure make a mess out of things in a great big hurry when I think I'm so big. When I think about one day standing before the throne of God ... man, oh, man ... I am so very, very, very, very small.
Forgive me for all the times I think I'm so big, God ... so big that I try to do it all on my own ... so big that I don't listen to Your voice ... so big that I miss Your leading, Your lessons, Your love. Help me to remember how small I am, Father ... help me to remember that it's when I'm at my smallest, Your bigness is so very, very, very big.
Monday, September 17, 2012
A Lamp Unto my Feet
Many years ago, I was a professor in a small college back home in Tennessee ... I taught English and Spanish, and I loved, loved, loved that job. I especially loved teaching English, and I had a real soft spot in my heart for the students in my remedial English classes. The thing I loved most about those particular students ... students of all ages and from all kinds of different backgrounds and places in life ... was that they were in those classes because they desperately wanted to learn how to read and write the English language. They weren't there simply to fulfill a requirement set by the school or to please their parents or spouses or friends or anyone else ... they were there because they wanted to learn. Two of those students meant a ton to me then, and they still stand out in my mind to this day all these years later.
One was a young man who had suffered a severe head injury in a farming accident which caused him to have to relearn everything ... how to walk, eat, speak, read, write and all the other things each of us do every day without a second thought. The other was a 66-year-old gentleman who had operated a mail sorting machine at the post office for his entire working life. It took those two men the entire year and countless extra hours of help from me, but by the end of the year-long class, both of them could read and write. I received Christmas cards from the older fellow every year until he passed away, and the young man would often drop by my class when I was teaching just to say hello. I loved that job not because of my salary or my position or any other superficial reason ... I loved that job because I had a front row seat to see the light sparkle in the eyes of folks like those two men when they finally "got it" and learned the lesson I was trying to teach them.
As I've mentioned before, my morning bike rides now take place in total darkness as the daylight hours get shorter and shorter with the approach of the fall and winter seasons. I ride the same route each morning, and each morning for the last couple of weeks, I've noticed a man and woman running and biking on the trail. This morning as I reached the spot where I always see them, I noticed that they had stopped on the side of the road and the man had gotten off of his bike and was massaging the girl's calf muscle. Thinking perhaps she was injured, I pulled over and asked if they needed any help ... yeah, yeah, I know what some of you are going to say ... stopping and talking to strangers in the dark isn't too smart. And my reply is yep, I know that, but this morning I stopped anyway. Turned out that the girl had a cramp in her leg, and her dad was trying to get the muscle to relax so that his daughter didn't have to endure the pain and could continue her morning run.
Standing together in the darkness chatting, the father told me about their daily workouts. The girl is training for a marathon, and the dad rides in front of her on his bike with two lights ... a light in the front so that he can see the path before him, and a light in the back so that his daughter can see where to run. Climbing back on my bike, I couldn't help but ask how long she had been training, and I was very surprised when she said she and her dad had been running and riding on the trail together for over six months. The father said he rode with his daughter when it was light outside to keep her company and help her to not become distracted by all the people and things she saw, and he rode with her in the darkness to protect her and help her find her way on the path she couldn't see. Six months the two have been on the path together, and I hadn't noticed them at all ... I hadn't noticed them at all until the darkness fell.
Sometimes I wonder if God sits on His throne and shakes His head at how long it takes the sparkle to appear in my eyes when I finally "get it" ... when I finally understand the lesson He is trying so desperately to teach me. Just yesterday at church, the preacher talked about how light shines brighter in the night, about how the darker the night is, the brighter the light will shine, about light being light no matter where it is, but that it is brightest when surrounded by darkness. The minister's words yesterday, the words I penned last night, the words of the father and daughter this morning. I'd say that God has a huge lesson he wants me to learn about darkness and light ... a lesson about following Him in the light of day or the dark of night ... a lesson about trusting Him to always light my way. And I think since He's chosen three different avenues to put it before me ... I think I need to listen ... I think I need to listen in a great big old huge way.
"Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path." Psalm 119:105
One was a young man who had suffered a severe head injury in a farming accident which caused him to have to relearn everything ... how to walk, eat, speak, read, write and all the other things each of us do every day without a second thought. The other was a 66-year-old gentleman who had operated a mail sorting machine at the post office for his entire working life. It took those two men the entire year and countless extra hours of help from me, but by the end of the year-long class, both of them could read and write. I received Christmas cards from the older fellow every year until he passed away, and the young man would often drop by my class when I was teaching just to say hello. I loved that job not because of my salary or my position or any other superficial reason ... I loved that job because I had a front row seat to see the light sparkle in the eyes of folks like those two men when they finally "got it" and learned the lesson I was trying to teach them.
As I've mentioned before, my morning bike rides now take place in total darkness as the daylight hours get shorter and shorter with the approach of the fall and winter seasons. I ride the same route each morning, and each morning for the last couple of weeks, I've noticed a man and woman running and biking on the trail. This morning as I reached the spot where I always see them, I noticed that they had stopped on the side of the road and the man had gotten off of his bike and was massaging the girl's calf muscle. Thinking perhaps she was injured, I pulled over and asked if they needed any help ... yeah, yeah, I know what some of you are going to say ... stopping and talking to strangers in the dark isn't too smart. And my reply is yep, I know that, but this morning I stopped anyway. Turned out that the girl had a cramp in her leg, and her dad was trying to get the muscle to relax so that his daughter didn't have to endure the pain and could continue her morning run.
Standing together in the darkness chatting, the father told me about their daily workouts. The girl is training for a marathon, and the dad rides in front of her on his bike with two lights ... a light in the front so that he can see the path before him, and a light in the back so that his daughter can see where to run. Climbing back on my bike, I couldn't help but ask how long she had been training, and I was very surprised when she said she and her dad had been running and riding on the trail together for over six months. The father said he rode with his daughter when it was light outside to keep her company and help her to not become distracted by all the people and things she saw, and he rode with her in the darkness to protect her and help her find her way on the path she couldn't see. Six months the two have been on the path together, and I hadn't noticed them at all ... I hadn't noticed them at all until the darkness fell.
Sometimes I wonder if God sits on His throne and shakes His head at how long it takes the sparkle to appear in my eyes when I finally "get it" ... when I finally understand the lesson He is trying so desperately to teach me. Just yesterday at church, the preacher talked about how light shines brighter in the night, about how the darker the night is, the brighter the light will shine, about light being light no matter where it is, but that it is brightest when surrounded by darkness. The minister's words yesterday, the words I penned last night, the words of the father and daughter this morning. I'd say that God has a huge lesson he wants me to learn about darkness and light ... a lesson about following Him in the light of day or the dark of night ... a lesson about trusting Him to always light my way. And I think since He's chosen three different avenues to put it before me ... I think I need to listen ... I think I need to listen in a great big old huge way.
"Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path." Psalm 119:105
Sunday, September 16, 2012
To See in the Dark
For as far back as I can remember, I was afraid of the dark ... so much so that I slept with a light on every single night of my life until a couple of years ago. Now, the darker my room is when I hit the sack, the better I like it. I love to ride my bike in the cool darkness of the early morning hours, and there's a calm that settles over my soul as the sun begins to set and the sky grows darker with every passing minute. I can't point to any one event or catalyst that made me shift from being terrified of the dark to now preferring to reside in the shadows, but I certainly like darkness more than light these days. And no, I don't believe in vampires, which means that I'm more than sure I'm not one.
As I mentioned in my last post, I traveled a couple of hours on Friday to speak at a retreat for a group of ladies in Thayer, Kansas. The retreat is a yearly thing, and for the life of me, I can't remember how many years it's been held. The camp where it takes place, as I said in my last post, is quite rustic and way, way, way out in the country. For those of you who are city folk, I've got a secret to tell you ... it gets very, very, very dark out in the country away from the city lights. When I stepped outside after our first session to soak in some cool air ... yep, what I really mean is that the hot flashes were coming fast and furious that evening and it was either find a way to cool off or self-combust ... I marveled at the blanket of darkness that surrounded me. It was cloudy and rainy, which served only to intensify the depth of the blackness enveloping the soggy countryside around the camp. I squinted my eyes as I tried to make out the building where we would meet on Saturday if the rain subsided, but I could barely see in front of my hand, much less make out a structure several hundred feet away.
The Scripture I had used for the evening session was from the book of John ... perhaps my favorite book in God's Word. The story was the one of the woman caught in the act of committing adultery by the religious leaders of that day. I talked about how Jesus saved the woman, rescued her from death, forgave her sin, and instructed her to go and begin a new life. I closed out the night's session by sharing a little about being diagnosed with diabetes and depression, and yes, I got emotional. But ... thank goodness, I didn't completely dissolve into a blubbering, snot-dripping, weepy mess. My friend ended the night's meeting by singing a song by Jason Gray ... a song about remembering who we are and to Whom we belong ... Remind Me Who I Am.
In the minutes after the session ended, I was approached by woman after woman after woman asking if they could talk to me. One by one, they told me of their own struggles with diabetes or depression, or those of family members or friends. The ladies asked me lots of questions ... questions about how to find their way out of the darkness, or how to help the ones they loved hold on to hope. Some of their stories were heartbreaking, and some of them were encouraging. I directed some of the women who asked how to help the ones in their lives who were struggling to my friend ... my friend who has repeatedly refused to give up on me. It was humbling for me to hear her talk about how it was through prayer and following God's leading that she was able to weather so many fierce storms in our friendship and continue to love me unconditionally.
As I pushed open the old-fashioned screen door a few minutes later and stepped into the dark night, my heart was heavy with the knowledge of several important truths that God had placed before me. There were many women at the retreat who were in the midst of the darkness themselves or who were trying to stay strong as they loved someone who was drowning in the sea of depression. God brought me to the retreat because He wanted me to be transparent with them, to make myself vulnerable before them by sharing my story, to allow Him to humble me and once again teach me that it truly is all about Him and not one little bit about me. He wanted me to understand that He had brought my friend along to encourage some of those dear ladies in a way that I couldn't, from the perspective of one who has walked alongside me through some of my darkest days. He wanted me to see Him in the dark, to feel Him in the night, to trust Him in the murky black. He wanted me to understand that the only way for me to see in the dark is through faith ... simple, childlike faith.
To the ladies who spoke with me who are fighting the fight of their lives against depression ... I'm praying for you, dear ones ... praying for peace for your troubled and wounded souls, praying for hope for the darkest and deepest of nights that engulf you. To those of you who pleaded for strength and wisdom in loving someone who is depressed ... I'm praying for patience and wisdom and grace for you as you unconditionally love and stand beside those who mean so much to you as they struggle to find light in the black sea swirling around them. To the women who worked so diligently to bring everything together for the weekend ... God bless you ... God bless you ... God bless you. To my friend who accompanied me ... I can never thank you enough for your steadfast and faithful friendship, thank you for hanging in there, for not running away, and for walking through the darkness with me.
God is good ... so amazingly good ... all the time ... in His time ... right on time ... He is so, so good.
A Way to See in the Dark -- Jason Gray
"Here I am
Begging for certainty again
But simple trust
Is what you're asking me to give
If I am saved
You tell me it will not be by sight
So when I pray
I'll close my eyes, I'll close my eyes
I'll reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
To see in the dark
The question mark
Hung at the end of every fear
Is answered by
The promise that you are with me here
And that's all I've got
When the lights go out and I lose my way
So I'll close my eyes
I won't be afraid, I won't be afraid
As I reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
To see in the dark
If every star falls and the sun fails to rise
Still in my blindness I'll see
If You are my help, my hope and my vision
One step at a time You will lead
And I'll reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
So I reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
To see in the dark
To see in the dark"
As I mentioned in my last post, I traveled a couple of hours on Friday to speak at a retreat for a group of ladies in Thayer, Kansas. The retreat is a yearly thing, and for the life of me, I can't remember how many years it's been held. The camp where it takes place, as I said in my last post, is quite rustic and way, way, way out in the country. For those of you who are city folk, I've got a secret to tell you ... it gets very, very, very dark out in the country away from the city lights. When I stepped outside after our first session to soak in some cool air ... yep, what I really mean is that the hot flashes were coming fast and furious that evening and it was either find a way to cool off or self-combust ... I marveled at the blanket of darkness that surrounded me. It was cloudy and rainy, which served only to intensify the depth of the blackness enveloping the soggy countryside around the camp. I squinted my eyes as I tried to make out the building where we would meet on Saturday if the rain subsided, but I could barely see in front of my hand, much less make out a structure several hundred feet away.
The Scripture I had used for the evening session was from the book of John ... perhaps my favorite book in God's Word. The story was the one of the woman caught in the act of committing adultery by the religious leaders of that day. I talked about how Jesus saved the woman, rescued her from death, forgave her sin, and instructed her to go and begin a new life. I closed out the night's session by sharing a little about being diagnosed with diabetes and depression, and yes, I got emotional. But ... thank goodness, I didn't completely dissolve into a blubbering, snot-dripping, weepy mess. My friend ended the night's meeting by singing a song by Jason Gray ... a song about remembering who we are and to Whom we belong ... Remind Me Who I Am.
In the minutes after the session ended, I was approached by woman after woman after woman asking if they could talk to me. One by one, they told me of their own struggles with diabetes or depression, or those of family members or friends. The ladies asked me lots of questions ... questions about how to find their way out of the darkness, or how to help the ones they loved hold on to hope. Some of their stories were heartbreaking, and some of them were encouraging. I directed some of the women who asked how to help the ones in their lives who were struggling to my friend ... my friend who has repeatedly refused to give up on me. It was humbling for me to hear her talk about how it was through prayer and following God's leading that she was able to weather so many fierce storms in our friendship and continue to love me unconditionally.
As I pushed open the old-fashioned screen door a few minutes later and stepped into the dark night, my heart was heavy with the knowledge of several important truths that God had placed before me. There were many women at the retreat who were in the midst of the darkness themselves or who were trying to stay strong as they loved someone who was drowning in the sea of depression. God brought me to the retreat because He wanted me to be transparent with them, to make myself vulnerable before them by sharing my story, to allow Him to humble me and once again teach me that it truly is all about Him and not one little bit about me. He wanted me to understand that He had brought my friend along to encourage some of those dear ladies in a way that I couldn't, from the perspective of one who has walked alongside me through some of my darkest days. He wanted me to see Him in the dark, to feel Him in the night, to trust Him in the murky black. He wanted me to understand that the only way for me to see in the dark is through faith ... simple, childlike faith.
To the ladies who spoke with me who are fighting the fight of their lives against depression ... I'm praying for you, dear ones ... praying for peace for your troubled and wounded souls, praying for hope for the darkest and deepest of nights that engulf you. To those of you who pleaded for strength and wisdom in loving someone who is depressed ... I'm praying for patience and wisdom and grace for you as you unconditionally love and stand beside those who mean so much to you as they struggle to find light in the black sea swirling around them. To the women who worked so diligently to bring everything together for the weekend ... God bless you ... God bless you ... God bless you. To my friend who accompanied me ... I can never thank you enough for your steadfast and faithful friendship, thank you for hanging in there, for not running away, and for walking through the darkness with me.
God is good ... so amazingly good ... all the time ... in His time ... right on time ... He is so, so good.
A Way to See in the Dark -- Jason Gray
"Here I am
Begging for certainty again
But simple trust
Is what you're asking me to give
If I am saved
You tell me it will not be by sight
So when I pray
I'll close my eyes, I'll close my eyes
I'll reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
To see in the dark
The question mark
Hung at the end of every fear
Is answered by
The promise that you are with me here
And that's all I've got
When the lights go out and I lose my way
So I'll close my eyes
I won't be afraid, I won't be afraid
As I reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
To see in the dark
If every star falls and the sun fails to rise
Still in my blindness I'll see
If You are my help, my hope and my vision
One step at a time You will lead
And I'll reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
So I reach for your hand in the night
When the shadows swallow the light
'Cause I'm giving up, giving in
Once again a childlike faith
Is my only way
To see in the dark
To see in the dark"
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Tennies, Mud and God
It's been a dry, dry year so far in Kansas with extreme drought conditions causing the ground to become cracked and broken, the trees to show significant signs of distress and many crops to wither and die before they could produce a harvest. My heart goes out to all those whose livelihoods depend upon an adequate amount of liquid falling from the sky, and I know that those folks have been rejoicing for the last couple of days as God opened the heavens and blessed us with slow, steady, gentle, ground-soaking rains.
Yesterday, a friend and I traveled to Hidden Haven Christian Camp ... a rustic church camp located deep in the woods at the end of a winding gravel road. My sweet friend drove for our short journey (that seems to be a new theme for me ... friends driving me from town to town ... I can't help but wonder if I'm turning into Miss Daisy), and we were about halfway to our destination when it began to rain ... and rain ... and rain. As the paved road gave way to gravel, my first thought was, "If we get stuck in the mud, my red Converse tennies are going to be ruined if we have to hike out on foot." Nope, I didn't worry about the car getting dinged by gravel or us catching pneumonia or being eaten by wild animals ... I worried about my bright red shoes. Tell me that's not a gal who has her priorities in order.
We made it to the camp without being eaten by renegade bears or goats or rhinos, found the building where we needed to be, parked the car and tiptoed carefully through the mud ... well, I tiptoed carefully through the mud as my friend made fun of my attempt to keep my red Converse shoes from getting dirty. I didn't tell her that when we went to our room to drop off our things and change clothes before the evening session began, I sneaked into the restroom, dampened a few paper towels, and tried my best to wipe the muddy spots off of my beloved shoes.
I've got much more to share about the weekend ... much, much more, in fact. But tonight, I'm pooped and need to climb into my bed with my hound dogs and get some sleep. I do, however, want to share a huge lesson that God taught me almost from the minute my friend and I arrived at the camp, a lesson about His amazing love for each one of us. I was nervous about speaking last night, due in part to the subject matter I had been asked to talk about ... you see, the ladies in charge had specifically asked me to share with the women about my battle with depression and about the path I've walked for the last couple of years. As I stood in the back of the big room listening to the large crowd of women lift their voices in worship before I spoke, I looked down at my red shoes and thought about the mud I had tried so desperately to avoid as I entered the building. My eyes filled with tears as I heard Him whisper ever so gently, "Look at Me, child ... don't worry about the mud from where you've been walking ... look at Me. Just look at Me, and remember who you are ... my beloved child ... put your hand in Mine, and know that I love you, I love you, I love you ... just see Me and My love for you ... just see Me and not the mud."
Yesterday, a friend and I traveled to Hidden Haven Christian Camp ... a rustic church camp located deep in the woods at the end of a winding gravel road. My sweet friend drove for our short journey (that seems to be a new theme for me ... friends driving me from town to town ... I can't help but wonder if I'm turning into Miss Daisy), and we were about halfway to our destination when it began to rain ... and rain ... and rain. As the paved road gave way to gravel, my first thought was, "If we get stuck in the mud, my red Converse tennies are going to be ruined if we have to hike out on foot." Nope, I didn't worry about the car getting dinged by gravel or us catching pneumonia or being eaten by wild animals ... I worried about my bright red shoes. Tell me that's not a gal who has her priorities in order.
We made it to the camp without being eaten by renegade bears or goats or rhinos, found the building where we needed to be, parked the car and tiptoed carefully through the mud ... well, I tiptoed carefully through the mud as my friend made fun of my attempt to keep my red Converse shoes from getting dirty. I didn't tell her that when we went to our room to drop off our things and change clothes before the evening session began, I sneaked into the restroom, dampened a few paper towels, and tried my best to wipe the muddy spots off of my beloved shoes.
I've got much more to share about the weekend ... much, much more, in fact. But tonight, I'm pooped and need to climb into my bed with my hound dogs and get some sleep. I do, however, want to share a huge lesson that God taught me almost from the minute my friend and I arrived at the camp, a lesson about His amazing love for each one of us. I was nervous about speaking last night, due in part to the subject matter I had been asked to talk about ... you see, the ladies in charge had specifically asked me to share with the women about my battle with depression and about the path I've walked for the last couple of years. As I stood in the back of the big room listening to the large crowd of women lift their voices in worship before I spoke, I looked down at my red shoes and thought about the mud I had tried so desperately to avoid as I entered the building. My eyes filled with tears as I heard Him whisper ever so gently, "Look at Me, child ... don't worry about the mud from where you've been walking ... look at Me. Just look at Me, and remember who you are ... my beloved child ... put your hand in Mine, and know that I love you, I love you, I love you ... just see Me and My love for you ... just see Me and not the mud."
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Let Me Out
I'm back in Kansas City tonight ... well, my body is in KC, but my heart remains in Tennessee and Kentucky hanging on to all the love my family poured out on me over the last week. My friend drove me from the rolling hills of Kentucky back to the flat prairie land of Kansas today, 9 1/2 hours in the car that began early this morning when we left my brother's house. It was an emotional goodbye for all three of us ... my brother, my sister and I ... we were all crying as I climbed into the car to begin the first leg of my journey back to real life. I can count on one hand the times I've seen my brother cry ... it was hard to leave him and my sister this morning ... very, very hard.
My friend, my sister and I drove to Kentucky yesterday, arriving at my brother's house around noon. We visited for a while and let Ollie the wiener dog run around chasing his tennis ball before we climbed into my sister-in-law's van to go out for lunch. As we sat at the table in the restaurant and chatted, I couldn't help but take note of the fact that the three of us have aged a great deal since we last saw each other a year ago. My brother and sister are 18 and 15 years older than me ... my brother celebrated his 70th birthday just a few weeks ago. We did a lot of reminiscing during this visit, chatting a great deal about memories the three of us had about Mom and Dad, our grandparents, our brother Jerry and funny things that happened in our childhoods. I used to get jealous when I heard my siblings talk about their childhood adventures ... the difference in our ages meant that I sort of grew up as an only child. But this time ... this time, as I watched my brother and sister's eyes twinkle and smiles cross their faces as they told story after story after story (many of them stories I've heard a million times), my heart warmed and I blinked back tears as I listened to their tales of jelly jars, pitchforks, train rides, bonfires and cow milking.
After lunch, my brother gave us a tour of the historic buildings around their town and showed us the homes of my sister-in-law's relatives. It was a good afternoon ... a peaceful afternoon ... an afternoon of family and friends and, of course, food. My brother doesn't drive his wife's van often, and rarely does he drive it when there are enough passengers that someone needs to sit in the very back seat, which is where I was sitting. When we arrived back at their house, my sister-in-law quickly jumped out of the van and went inside to grab some things she needed to take to a friend's house. My brother, sister and my friend got out of the van, with my friend trying to release the seat to allow me to exit from the back seat. She couldn't get the seat to move, and my brother came around to flip the correct switch to slide the seat forward. The only problem was that he didn't know how to release the seat either, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it into the right position to give me enough room to climb out.
It was hot and humid in Kentucky yesterday, and it didn't take long for me to start sweating as I waited for the seat to move. At first I thought perhaps my brother was kidding around since he's always been a joker. I said more than once, "Come on, brother ... let me out!" playfully kidding around with my eldest sibling. When I finally realized that he really was trying and couldn't get me out of the van, I began saying with true earnest in my voice, "No, really ... it's getting hot in here ... let me out!" Just about the time I was truly starting to enter my irrational zone and my heart began to pound as fear started sweeping through my mind, my sister-in-law walked up to the van, easily pushed the correct button and released me from my 4-wheeled prison. I practically flew from the back of the van, grateful to rejoin those on the outside.
I thought off and on all day as I rode in the car as my friend and I traveled about being stuck in the van yesterday. I couldn't help but acknowledge all the times over the last couple of years that I've felt trapped in the hot and stuffy van of my mind ... of all the times I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "Really ... it's getting so hot in here ... please, please, please let me out!" And the more that thought pounded in my mind, the more I recognized that it is only God who can push the correct button ... move the right lever ... He's the only One who knows the perfect way to release me, to free me, to let me out. Without Him, without His love, without His grace, I will forever be stuck in the van, and I will never get out.
Tonight ... tonight, the words of my nephew are coursing through my heart, sweeping through my soul and taking up residence in my mind. "God is good, Terrie ... God is so very good all the time."
My friend, my sister and I drove to Kentucky yesterday, arriving at my brother's house around noon. We visited for a while and let Ollie the wiener dog run around chasing his tennis ball before we climbed into my sister-in-law's van to go out for lunch. As we sat at the table in the restaurant and chatted, I couldn't help but take note of the fact that the three of us have aged a great deal since we last saw each other a year ago. My brother and sister are 18 and 15 years older than me ... my brother celebrated his 70th birthday just a few weeks ago. We did a lot of reminiscing during this visit, chatting a great deal about memories the three of us had about Mom and Dad, our grandparents, our brother Jerry and funny things that happened in our childhoods. I used to get jealous when I heard my siblings talk about their childhood adventures ... the difference in our ages meant that I sort of grew up as an only child. But this time ... this time, as I watched my brother and sister's eyes twinkle and smiles cross their faces as they told story after story after story (many of them stories I've heard a million times), my heart warmed and I blinked back tears as I listened to their tales of jelly jars, pitchforks, train rides, bonfires and cow milking.
After lunch, my brother gave us a tour of the historic buildings around their town and showed us the homes of my sister-in-law's relatives. It was a good afternoon ... a peaceful afternoon ... an afternoon of family and friends and, of course, food. My brother doesn't drive his wife's van often, and rarely does he drive it when there are enough passengers that someone needs to sit in the very back seat, which is where I was sitting. When we arrived back at their house, my sister-in-law quickly jumped out of the van and went inside to grab some things she needed to take to a friend's house. My brother, sister and my friend got out of the van, with my friend trying to release the seat to allow me to exit from the back seat. She couldn't get the seat to move, and my brother came around to flip the correct switch to slide the seat forward. The only problem was that he didn't know how to release the seat either, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get it into the right position to give me enough room to climb out.
It was hot and humid in Kentucky yesterday, and it didn't take long for me to start sweating as I waited for the seat to move. At first I thought perhaps my brother was kidding around since he's always been a joker. I said more than once, "Come on, brother ... let me out!" playfully kidding around with my eldest sibling. When I finally realized that he really was trying and couldn't get me out of the van, I began saying with true earnest in my voice, "No, really ... it's getting hot in here ... let me out!" Just about the time I was truly starting to enter my irrational zone and my heart began to pound as fear started sweeping through my mind, my sister-in-law walked up to the van, easily pushed the correct button and released me from my 4-wheeled prison. I practically flew from the back of the van, grateful to rejoin those on the outside.
I thought off and on all day as I rode in the car as my friend and I traveled about being stuck in the van yesterday. I couldn't help but acknowledge all the times over the last couple of years that I've felt trapped in the hot and stuffy van of my mind ... of all the times I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, "Really ... it's getting so hot in here ... please, please, please let me out!" And the more that thought pounded in my mind, the more I recognized that it is only God who can push the correct button ... move the right lever ... He's the only One who knows the perfect way to release me, to free me, to let me out. Without Him, without His love, without His grace, I will forever be stuck in the van, and I will never get out.
Tonight ... tonight, the words of my nephew are coursing through my heart, sweeping through my soul and taking up residence in my mind. "God is good, Terrie ... God is so very good all the time."
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Love You Bye-bye
Tomorrow morning, my friend, my sis and I will get in the car and head three hours north to my brother's house. It's rare that my brother, sister and I are all three together ... usually that only happens when there's a wedding or a funeral. But tomorrow, the three of us will spend the afternoon and evening together before I have to make my way back to Kansas City and get back into the routine of real life. I say real life because vacation isn't that, you know ... real life, I mean. Vacation is eating every meal in a restaurant, swimming in a hotel pool, not having to clean house or do laundry, not going to work, spending hours and hours visiting with family and friends, being far removed from one doctor or another probing my body or my brain ... vacation is a break from real life, a time to step away from the cares and worries of the daily grind and rest, have fun, and fall in love with my sweet family all over again.
Take today for example ... I had breakfast with my niece-in-law, and we talked for two hours ... lunch at Country Place with my niece and nephew-in-law, my great nephew and my sis, and we sat at the table for more than two hours ... dinner tonight with my nephew, niece-in-law and great niece, and we laughed and talked and ate like a million shrimp for two hours or so. Two hours seems to be the time to spend on a meal with my family, huh? I haven't always appreciated my time at home on the countless trips I've made back here, but as I said a few blogs ago, this trip is different. When my friend, my sis and I drove by my mom and dad's old house ... the house I grew up in ... my mind was instantly awash with memories from the past, from both when I was young and living in the house and of all the times I traveled home after I moved away. And yes, I got very choked up as I sat in the car looking at the house ... especially when my mind raced back to Mom sitting on the rock wall waving to me as I backed out of the driveway to return to Kansas City.
Though I've had glimpses all week as to the deep meaning behind this particular trip, it was as I was standing at the graves of my mom, dad and brother yesterday that I fully understood why I needed so desperately to make this journey home. This trip is about love ... nothing more, nothing less ... it's about love ... my love for my family and their love for me. I needed to come home because I needed to go to a place where I know I am loved ... a place where I've been loved since I first entered this world ... a place where I will be loved until the day I draw my last breath.
My friend who traveled with me this week isn't from the South, and I'm sure she's had more than a chuckle or two at some of the sayings and accents she's heard since we arrived last Friday. Though there are quite a few universal Southernisms I've heard every day like, "Hey, honey!" or "You want a glass of sweet tea with that, darlin'?" or "You have a nice day now, sweet pea," my family has one in particular that will forever be etched into my heart and nestled in my soul. Every time we end a phone call and often when we part, my Southern relatives say, "Love you bye-bye." They say it so quickly that it's almost like it's one word ... loveyoubye-bye. It's one of the sweetest things I've ever heard, not just because it's spoken with a heavy, heavy Southern accent, but because it reminds me once again of what's really important in life ... the love of family and friends ... "love you bye-bye" says love to me in a big huge way.
I cried crocodile tears tonight as I said goodbye to my nephew and his little family, and I'm sure I will cry again tomorrow when I bid farewell to my niece and nephew-in-law. And my heart already hurts from the very thought of saying goodbye to my sister and brother on Saturday morning. So, to all of my family ... thank you for this week ... you guys have no idea how much it meant to me to be with you, how much you touched my heart, how deeply thankful I am for your love.
Love you bye-bye, sweet family ... love you bye-bye.
Take today for example ... I had breakfast with my niece-in-law, and we talked for two hours ... lunch at Country Place with my niece and nephew-in-law, my great nephew and my sis, and we sat at the table for more than two hours ... dinner tonight with my nephew, niece-in-law and great niece, and we laughed and talked and ate like a million shrimp for two hours or so. Two hours seems to be the time to spend on a meal with my family, huh? I haven't always appreciated my time at home on the countless trips I've made back here, but as I said a few blogs ago, this trip is different. When my friend, my sis and I drove by my mom and dad's old house ... the house I grew up in ... my mind was instantly awash with memories from the past, from both when I was young and living in the house and of all the times I traveled home after I moved away. And yes, I got very choked up as I sat in the car looking at the house ... especially when my mind raced back to Mom sitting on the rock wall waving to me as I backed out of the driveway to return to Kansas City.
Though I've had glimpses all week as to the deep meaning behind this particular trip, it was as I was standing at the graves of my mom, dad and brother yesterday that I fully understood why I needed so desperately to make this journey home. This trip is about love ... nothing more, nothing less ... it's about love ... my love for my family and their love for me. I needed to come home because I needed to go to a place where I know I am loved ... a place where I've been loved since I first entered this world ... a place where I will be loved until the day I draw my last breath.
My friend who traveled with me this week isn't from the South, and I'm sure she's had more than a chuckle or two at some of the sayings and accents she's heard since we arrived last Friday. Though there are quite a few universal Southernisms I've heard every day like, "Hey, honey!" or "You want a glass of sweet tea with that, darlin'?" or "You have a nice day now, sweet pea," my family has one in particular that will forever be etched into my heart and nestled in my soul. Every time we end a phone call and often when we part, my Southern relatives say, "Love you bye-bye." They say it so quickly that it's almost like it's one word ... loveyoubye-bye. It's one of the sweetest things I've ever heard, not just because it's spoken with a heavy, heavy Southern accent, but because it reminds me once again of what's really important in life ... the love of family and friends ... "love you bye-bye" says love to me in a big huge way.
I cried crocodile tears tonight as I said goodbye to my nephew and his little family, and I'm sure I will cry again tomorrow when I bid farewell to my niece and nephew-in-law. And my heart already hurts from the very thought of saying goodbye to my sister and brother on Saturday morning. So, to all of my family ... thank you for this week ... you guys have no idea how much it meant to me to be with you, how much you touched my heart, how deeply thankful I am for your love.
Love you bye-bye, sweet family ... love you bye-bye.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
The Healing Power of Pie
Some of my fondest memories from my childhood center around pies ... pumpkin pies to be exact. My mom made the most awesome pumpkin pies from a recipe that was handed down to her from her mom. There was nothing on earth as good as Mom's pumpkin pies slathered in whipped cream, especially when they followed a huge Thanksgiving meal of turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy. I remember standing on a stool at the counter in Mom's kitchen watching her roll out the dough for the pie crusts and mixing all the ingredients for the filling in a big white bowl. She would meticulously pour the mixture on top of the doughy crust and stick the pans in the oven. And then I would wait ... and wait ... and wait for those pies to get done so I could dig in. My sister and I talked today at lunch about how Daddy was a better cook than Mom, but Mom sure did make a mean pumpkin pie.
I've written before about my niece and nephew's restaurant in Chattanooga and about how each time I come into town, I eat many of my meals there. The restaurant serves good old down-home Southern dishes like fried okra and grits and homemade banana pudding ... and yes, I've had some serious food envy on this trip, so much so that I begged like a dog for a bite of grits this morning at breakfast. I told someone at work last week that I never realized how much of my life revolved around food until I was diagnosed with diabetes and my diet became so limited. So many social situations are geared around food, and most of the time I've spent with my family this week has been while we shared meals together.
One of the things I miss an awful lot now that I have to stick to such a restricted diet is being able to chow down on certain comfort foods ... like pie. Pie always made me feel better, no matter how down I was or what was going on in my life. I think it was on my last trip home that my niece and nephew introduced me to a special pie in their restaurant ... sugar-free cherry pie. One bite of that pie, and I was in love ... just the right blend of tart and sweet flavors, flaky crust, ooey-gooey glaze ... they even warmed it up for me ... oh my goodness, it was so delicious. I ate several pieces when I was here that time, but this trip ... this trip, I've had a piece every single day, and on Sunday, I may or may not have had two pieces.
Today as I finished off another piece of my now favorite pie in the world, it struck me that it's not about the pie at all ... not even a tiny little bit ... it's not the pie that makes me feel better, that soothes my mind, that is a balm to my wounded and weary soul. The comfort that washes over me when I'm eating the sweet dessert at my family's restaurant comes from being with my family. It's not the pie I'm shoveling into my mouth that makes a difference ... it's the love the members of my family are shoveling into my heart that changes me, heals me, helps me. The pie is delicious, yes ... but the love of my family is beyond precious and sweet.
I'm not certain, but I hope to take a pie or two back to Kansas City with me when I leave on Friday. But I'm as sure as sure can be that my heart will be packed with a bundle of love for my long ride back to the Midwest ... a bundle of unconditional, overwhelming, abundant, Southern family love.
I've written before about my niece and nephew's restaurant in Chattanooga and about how each time I come into town, I eat many of my meals there. The restaurant serves good old down-home Southern dishes like fried okra and grits and homemade banana pudding ... and yes, I've had some serious food envy on this trip, so much so that I begged like a dog for a bite of grits this morning at breakfast. I told someone at work last week that I never realized how much of my life revolved around food until I was diagnosed with diabetes and my diet became so limited. So many social situations are geared around food, and most of the time I've spent with my family this week has been while we shared meals together.
One of the things I miss an awful lot now that I have to stick to such a restricted diet is being able to chow down on certain comfort foods ... like pie. Pie always made me feel better, no matter how down I was or what was going on in my life. I think it was on my last trip home that my niece and nephew introduced me to a special pie in their restaurant ... sugar-free cherry pie. One bite of that pie, and I was in love ... just the right blend of tart and sweet flavors, flaky crust, ooey-gooey glaze ... they even warmed it up for me ... oh my goodness, it was so delicious. I ate several pieces when I was here that time, but this trip ... this trip, I've had a piece every single day, and on Sunday, I may or may not have had two pieces.
Today as I finished off another piece of my now favorite pie in the world, it struck me that it's not about the pie at all ... not even a tiny little bit ... it's not the pie that makes me feel better, that soothes my mind, that is a balm to my wounded and weary soul. The comfort that washes over me when I'm eating the sweet dessert at my family's restaurant comes from being with my family. It's not the pie I'm shoveling into my mouth that makes a difference ... it's the love the members of my family are shoveling into my heart that changes me, heals me, helps me. The pie is delicious, yes ... but the love of my family is beyond precious and sweet.
I'm not certain, but I hope to take a pie or two back to Kansas City with me when I leave on Friday. But I'm as sure as sure can be that my heart will be packed with a bundle of love for my long ride back to the Midwest ... a bundle of unconditional, overwhelming, abundant, Southern family love.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Under the Sea
Those of you who are long-term readers of this blog know that I have a thing about words and expressions ... their origins, their meanings, their significance. I've heard the expression "like a kid in a candy shop" my whole life, and today that particular idiom applied to me in a big, huge, gigantic way. The primary definition of the expression is "to be very happy and excited about the things around you," and I was definitely that as I spent most of my afternoon at the Tennessee Aquarium nestled along the banks of the Tennessee River. It was a rainy, gloomy day in Chattanooga ... a perfect day for a long indoor activity like walking from exhibit to exhibit at the aquarium. And for today ... for today, I was very much "like a kid in a candy shop."
My first stop was at a tank filled with stingrays ... not just any stingrays, mind you ... stingrays I could reach into the water and touch. I've never touched a stingray before, and I was mesmerized by the way they flapped along effortlessly in the water, not caring at all that my fingers were brushing their skin as they swam. Next was the butterfly room ... a room filled with butterflies of all shapes, sizes and colors flying about in the large enclosure and even landing from time to time on the hands of the visitors who entered their domain. I watched otters swim faster than I've ever seen any creature swim before, and I stood transfixed by the penguins as they waddled back and forth and flopped into the water. I saw blue frogs and seahorses and snakes and trout and catfish and jellyfish ... I spent four hours seeing life from a different view ... a view from under the sea.
While all of the sea and river life was fascinating to me, I was especially captured by four large fish that swam in a gigantic tank along with a multitude of other types of fish. I snapped photo after photo after photo of the giant, graceful beasts as they passed near the thick glass that separated me from them (the glass that kept me from becoming a meal), and I got some incredible shots. But ... it wasn't until I crawled into a small glass cubby at the base of the exhibit that I was struck by the magnitude of what I was viewing. As I lay on my back and looked into the water, two of the large sharks swam right over me, slowed down, and lingered just above my head. I've never been that close to a shark before, and it was amazing ... I could see their flesh rippling as they paused, and I could see the rows of sharp teeth as they opened and closed their mouths. It ... was ... powerful ... powerful, powerful indeed.
I don't know how long I lay there looking at the enormous predators, but I do know that God spoke to me as I did. As I wondered at the tons of pressure the glass must withstand in order to protect me from the sharks, I heard God whisper, "I am the glass, child." As I recognized the danger just above me, I heard Him say, "All that separates you from being consumed by the world is me, child." The sharks eventually moved on, I wiped the tears from my eyes, climbed out of the cubby and continued my tour of the rest of the aquarium. But the sharks above me ... the sharks above me and the glass between us ... that was without question one of the most powerful experiences of my life that shouted to me once again that God is, without question, God.
"There is danger all around me, Lord ... tons and tons of water above me, filled with beasts waiting for the chance to consume me. You truly are the glass between me and those dangers, God ... thank You, Father ... thank You that You don't break or bend or bow under the pressure ... thank You, Lord, thank You."
My first stop was at a tank filled with stingrays ... not just any stingrays, mind you ... stingrays I could reach into the water and touch. I've never touched a stingray before, and I was mesmerized by the way they flapped along effortlessly in the water, not caring at all that my fingers were brushing their skin as they swam. Next was the butterfly room ... a room filled with butterflies of all shapes, sizes and colors flying about in the large enclosure and even landing from time to time on the hands of the visitors who entered their domain. I watched otters swim faster than I've ever seen any creature swim before, and I stood transfixed by the penguins as they waddled back and forth and flopped into the water. I saw blue frogs and seahorses and snakes and trout and catfish and jellyfish ... I spent four hours seeing life from a different view ... a view from under the sea.
While all of the sea and river life was fascinating to me, I was especially captured by four large fish that swam in a gigantic tank along with a multitude of other types of fish. I snapped photo after photo after photo of the giant, graceful beasts as they passed near the thick glass that separated me from them (the glass that kept me from becoming a meal), and I got some incredible shots. But ... it wasn't until I crawled into a small glass cubby at the base of the exhibit that I was struck by the magnitude of what I was viewing. As I lay on my back and looked into the water, two of the large sharks swam right over me, slowed down, and lingered just above my head. I've never been that close to a shark before, and it was amazing ... I could see their flesh rippling as they paused, and I could see the rows of sharp teeth as they opened and closed their mouths. It ... was ... powerful ... powerful, powerful indeed.
I don't know how long I lay there looking at the enormous predators, but I do know that God spoke to me as I did. As I wondered at the tons of pressure the glass must withstand in order to protect me from the sharks, I heard God whisper, "I am the glass, child." As I recognized the danger just above me, I heard Him say, "All that separates you from being consumed by the world is me, child." The sharks eventually moved on, I wiped the tears from my eyes, climbed out of the cubby and continued my tour of the rest of the aquarium. But the sharks above me ... the sharks above me and the glass between us ... that was without question one of the most powerful experiences of my life that shouted to me once again that God is, without question, God.
"There is danger all around me, Lord ... tons and tons of water above me, filled with beasts waiting for the chance to consume me. You truly are the glass between me and those dangers, God ... thank You, Father ... thank You that You don't break or bend or bow under the pressure ... thank You, Lord, thank You."
Monday, September 3, 2012
Shark in the Pool
For all the years I lived in Chattanooga and even though my dad worked for the railroad for 50 years, I had never been to the Tennessee Valley Railroad Museum until last year when I came home over Labor Day weekend. This morning, I went to the museum for the second time in my 52 years of life, and I took my great niece and great nephew. We rode the train, watched the guy turn the engine on the turntable, and shopped in the gift shop. I've been thinking a lot about Daddy on this trip, and our ride on the train just made me think about him even more. My dad was such a good man ... honest, caring, loving and compassionate to a fault ... and I miss him so very much.
Following the train museum trip, I swam in the hotel pool with the kids for a while before we went to my family's restaurant for lunch. My great nephew can't swim, so I either carried him in my arms or pushed him through the water on a large blue float. My great niece, on the other hand, can swim like a fish. When my nephew was on the float, my niece played like she was a shark chasing us around the pool as we screamed and tried to get away. The kids had a great time, and by the time we climbed out of the water, I was one pooped Aunt Terrie ... but ... dare I say it ... I ... had ... fun.
After lunch, I took my great niece home and spent the afternoon with my nephew and niece-in-law ... an afternoon filled with both memory making and memory sharing. They took me to the place where the boxes are stored that contain some things that were filled with items my mom left behind when she moved to Kansas City. I filled a bag with items I want to keep, including my first watch ... a Timex Cinderella watch. My day concluded with dinner with my sister and my oldest niece and nephew-in-law ... dinner at Red Lobster where we ate shrimp, shrimp and more shrimp (it is, after all, Endless Shrimp season at Red Lobster). We sat at the table for almost three hours ... reminiscing and telling funny stories on each other from years gone by and laughing until we cried. It was good day ... so good that I found myself wishing I could crush up all the happiness of the day and put it in pill form so that I could pop it into my soul on the dark days of life.
As I took Ollie for a few laps around the hotel after dinner, my mind swarmed with all the tenderness of the last few days, with all of the emotion, with all of the love my family has poured out on me. My friend back in Kansas City who told me I needed to go on this trip and let my family love on me was right ... it's like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold winter day. They don't seem to mind that I'm sad; they don't seem to mind that I'm not the person I used to be; they don't seem to mind that I came here wounded and bleeding. They just continue to love on me ... they continue to wrap their arms around me time and time again and just love on me.
In the pool today, my little great nephew wrapped his arms and legs around me in a death grip when I carried him in the water. You see, he's afraid of his head slipping under the water since he can't swim ... terrified of it, in fact. Even though he trusted me not to drop him, he still held on with all the strength his 5-year-old body could muster up, and I held him as tightly as I could with the hope that his fear would dissipate. There's a huge lesson in those two things, you know ... my family wrapping their hearts around me and my great nephew wrapping his arms and legs around me. I realized tonight sitting at the table during dinner ... that's the way it is with God, or the way it should be at least. God wants to wrap me up in His arms of love, and He wants me to wrap the arms and legs of my heart and soul tightly around Him ... He wants nothing more than to love on me, and I should cling to Him with all my strength lest my head slide beneath the waters of life.
The shark in the pool didn't consume me today ... maybe, just maybe, the sharks that have been stalking the depths of my mind won't eat me alive either. And maybe, just maybe, that's the biggest lesson God has for me this week in the hills of Tennessee ... maybe ... just maybe.
Following the train museum trip, I swam in the hotel pool with the kids for a while before we went to my family's restaurant for lunch. My great nephew can't swim, so I either carried him in my arms or pushed him through the water on a large blue float. My great niece, on the other hand, can swim like a fish. When my nephew was on the float, my niece played like she was a shark chasing us around the pool as we screamed and tried to get away. The kids had a great time, and by the time we climbed out of the water, I was one pooped Aunt Terrie ... but ... dare I say it ... I ... had ... fun.
After lunch, I took my great niece home and spent the afternoon with my nephew and niece-in-law ... an afternoon filled with both memory making and memory sharing. They took me to the place where the boxes are stored that contain some things that were filled with items my mom left behind when she moved to Kansas City. I filled a bag with items I want to keep, including my first watch ... a Timex Cinderella watch. My day concluded with dinner with my sister and my oldest niece and nephew-in-law ... dinner at Red Lobster where we ate shrimp, shrimp and more shrimp (it is, after all, Endless Shrimp season at Red Lobster). We sat at the table for almost three hours ... reminiscing and telling funny stories on each other from years gone by and laughing until we cried. It was good day ... so good that I found myself wishing I could crush up all the happiness of the day and put it in pill form so that I could pop it into my soul on the dark days of life.
As I took Ollie for a few laps around the hotel after dinner, my mind swarmed with all the tenderness of the last few days, with all of the emotion, with all of the love my family has poured out on me. My friend back in Kansas City who told me I needed to go on this trip and let my family love on me was right ... it's like being wrapped in a warm blanket on a cold winter day. They don't seem to mind that I'm sad; they don't seem to mind that I'm not the person I used to be; they don't seem to mind that I came here wounded and bleeding. They just continue to love on me ... they continue to wrap their arms around me time and time again and just love on me.
In the pool today, my little great nephew wrapped his arms and legs around me in a death grip when I carried him in the water. You see, he's afraid of his head slipping under the water since he can't swim ... terrified of it, in fact. Even though he trusted me not to drop him, he still held on with all the strength his 5-year-old body could muster up, and I held him as tightly as I could with the hope that his fear would dissipate. There's a huge lesson in those two things, you know ... my family wrapping their hearts around me and my great nephew wrapping his arms and legs around me. I realized tonight sitting at the table during dinner ... that's the way it is with God, or the way it should be at least. God wants to wrap me up in His arms of love, and He wants me to wrap the arms and legs of my heart and soul tightly around Him ... He wants nothing more than to love on me, and I should cling to Him with all my strength lest my head slide beneath the waters of life.
The shark in the pool didn't consume me today ... maybe, just maybe, the sharks that have been stalking the depths of my mind won't eat me alive either. And maybe, just maybe, that's the biggest lesson God has for me this week in the hills of Tennessee ... maybe ... just maybe.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Southern-fried Church
This morning, I sat in a large Southern Baptist church with my family watching my great nephew and his wife stand before the congregation with a group of other parents as they dedicated their children to the Lord. I grew up attending a Southern Baptist church, and as the choir filed in this morning and the music began, I was transported back to my time at Red Bank Baptist Church. I probably don't need to tell you this, but I didn't even make it through the first song before my eyes filled with tears. The whole church experience was almost surreal this morning, sitting between my sister and my friend who drove me here, behind my niece and her husband and their children with their little families. I can't remember the last time we were all together in church ... maybe it was when Mom passed away.
Church is different in the South than it is in the Midwest, not that it's better or worse, just different. People dress up for church in the South ... I saw a middle-aged woman this morning dressed in a black and white suit, black patent leather shoes, black and white snakeskin purse, and a black straw hat with a huge peacock feather tucked into its white band. People say, "Amen!" a lot in church here when they are in agreement with a prayer or something the pastor says in his sermon. People not only raise their hands in worship here, if they are sitting down and are moved by a song, they stand to their feet in praise even if no one else stands with them. Churches here have services that last an hour and a half, and they seem to enjoy being in church that long. Church here in the South is different than it is in the Midwest ... just different.
After church was over, my whole Chattanooga family met for lunch at the restaurant owned by my niece and nephew-in-law to chow down on some old-fashioned Southern cuisine. I've always had a special bond with my sister's only son, Charlie ... a very special bond that goes all the way back to him following me around when he was a little guy begging to go for a ride in my little blue Honda Civic. I hadn't seen him yet since I came to town on Friday night, and when he wrapped his arms around me at the restaurant, I sobbed into his shoulder and tried to tell him how much I miss him. He and his wife and daughter came back to the hotel after lunch so that Caroline could swim with her Aunt Terrie for a while, and then my friend and I had dinner with Charlie and Allison this evening. He and I both teared up as we talked about my dad ... Charlie loved my dad ... a ton ... and he will always have a soft heart when his Grandad's name is mentioned. We laughed as we talked about Mom, and he told me I was like Dustin Hoffman in the movie Rainman ... translated, he got to see me in full-blown storm freakout mode. He's a good man, my nephew ... a man that my dad would have been so very proud of.
Tonight as I walked Ollie around the perimeter of the hotel (because it's raining), my mind was filled with thoughts of church and family and love. Yesterday while my friend took a nap, I spent some time in a Christian bookstore perusing books and listening to music. The store didn't have the book I was looking for, but I purchased a couple of other ones and a new Bible. It's a parallel Bible with two different translations, and last night I stayed up very late reading the book of Ephesians. And this morning as I sat ... well, really it would be more appropriate to say as I squirmed ... in my chair at church, one verse kept coming back to me, partly because of something that struck me about the service this morning, and I'll close this post with that Scripture in a bit. There was a sense of unity in the large congregation, a sense of purpose, a sense of excitement ... a sense that caused emotion to stir within me ... a sense that reminded me how much I miss being an active participant within a body of believers.
Thoughts of church ... thoughts of family ... thoughts of love. I think Southern-fried church was good for me this morning ... good, good indeed.
"You were all called to travel on the same road and in the same direction, so stay together, both outwardly and inwardly. You have one Master, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who rules over all, works through all, and is present in all. Everything you are and think and do is permeated with Oneness." Ephesians 4:4-6 from The Message
Church is different in the South than it is in the Midwest, not that it's better or worse, just different. People dress up for church in the South ... I saw a middle-aged woman this morning dressed in a black and white suit, black patent leather shoes, black and white snakeskin purse, and a black straw hat with a huge peacock feather tucked into its white band. People say, "Amen!" a lot in church here when they are in agreement with a prayer or something the pastor says in his sermon. People not only raise their hands in worship here, if they are sitting down and are moved by a song, they stand to their feet in praise even if no one else stands with them. Churches here have services that last an hour and a half, and they seem to enjoy being in church that long. Church here in the South is different than it is in the Midwest ... just different.
After church was over, my whole Chattanooga family met for lunch at the restaurant owned by my niece and nephew-in-law to chow down on some old-fashioned Southern cuisine. I've always had a special bond with my sister's only son, Charlie ... a very special bond that goes all the way back to him following me around when he was a little guy begging to go for a ride in my little blue Honda Civic. I hadn't seen him yet since I came to town on Friday night, and when he wrapped his arms around me at the restaurant, I sobbed into his shoulder and tried to tell him how much I miss him. He and his wife and daughter came back to the hotel after lunch so that Caroline could swim with her Aunt Terrie for a while, and then my friend and I had dinner with Charlie and Allison this evening. He and I both teared up as we talked about my dad ... Charlie loved my dad ... a ton ... and he will always have a soft heart when his Grandad's name is mentioned. We laughed as we talked about Mom, and he told me I was like Dustin Hoffman in the movie Rainman ... translated, he got to see me in full-blown storm freakout mode. He's a good man, my nephew ... a man that my dad would have been so very proud of.
Tonight as I walked Ollie around the perimeter of the hotel (because it's raining), my mind was filled with thoughts of church and family and love. Yesterday while my friend took a nap, I spent some time in a Christian bookstore perusing books and listening to music. The store didn't have the book I was looking for, but I purchased a couple of other ones and a new Bible. It's a parallel Bible with two different translations, and last night I stayed up very late reading the book of Ephesians. And this morning as I sat ... well, really it would be more appropriate to say as I squirmed ... in my chair at church, one verse kept coming back to me, partly because of something that struck me about the service this morning, and I'll close this post with that Scripture in a bit. There was a sense of unity in the large congregation, a sense of purpose, a sense of excitement ... a sense that caused emotion to stir within me ... a sense that reminded me how much I miss being an active participant within a body of believers.
Thoughts of church ... thoughts of family ... thoughts of love. I think Southern-fried church was good for me this morning ... good, good indeed.
"You were all called to travel on the same road and in the same direction, so stay together, both outwardly and inwardly. You have one Master, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who rules over all, works through all, and is present in all. Everything you are and think and do is permeated with Oneness." Ephesians 4:4-6 from The Message
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Silver and Gold
Here's the thing about coming home ... it reminds me where I came from, and it causes me to contemplate where I'm going. It makes me search my soul and consider what things truly are important in life ... God, family, friends, love. It demands that I unplug from the cares of life for a time, even if that time is so very short. It quietly asks me to silence the battle within my heart ... to soothe the wounds within my soul ... to step out of the darkness within my mind. Coming home wraps me in its arms and says when nothing else in my life does ... "Good to see you, Terrie ... so very good to see you."
I'm sure many of you have heard or read the following words ... "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold." Tonight, I had dinner with two great gals, one a relatively new friend that I met three years ago when I came home, the other a friend I've known for more than 30 years. We dined at a beautiful Italian restaurant near the Tennessee River, and the food was wonderful. It was the conversation, however, that was the centerpiece of the evening ... conversation that was gentle, easy, familiar and warm. I've found myself deep in thought for the remainder of the night, very much aware of the significance that lies within new friendships and the grounding that comes with old ones. Truly, silver and gold.
The more that memories have crashed through my mind throughout the day today and the evening tonight, the more I have felt that there is something important about coming home this time ... that there is something I am to learn ... to seek ... to absorb. Perhaps more than any other trip I've made in the more than 25 years since I've moved away, I feel a sense of urgency ... a desire to make the most of every moment ... to soak in every smile, to hold each hug a little longer, to linger in the overwhelming love and acceptance I receive when I am here. Acceptance ... that's a big concept for me ... to feel accepted and wanted and loved ... by God, by others, by myself.
Though I'd like to tell those of you who have been concerned about me since my sob-filled Thursday that I haven't shed any more tears, that would be far, far, far from the truth. Today, I fought to hold it together ... I fought so hard against the tears ... and still they came. One overriding chant from Thursday was, "I don't want my family to see me this way." Tonight, my old friend looked deeply into my eyes and I knew ... I knew that she could see the pain, that she could sense the toll the last couple of years has taken on me. And tomorrow when I see all of my family, I know they will see as well. They will look into my eyes, and they will see.
Yep, this time, coming home is important ... this time, coming home means more than it ever has before ... this time, coming home is about silver ... it's about gold ... it's about love.
I'm sure many of you have heard or read the following words ... "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold." Tonight, I had dinner with two great gals, one a relatively new friend that I met three years ago when I came home, the other a friend I've known for more than 30 years. We dined at a beautiful Italian restaurant near the Tennessee River, and the food was wonderful. It was the conversation, however, that was the centerpiece of the evening ... conversation that was gentle, easy, familiar and warm. I've found myself deep in thought for the remainder of the night, very much aware of the significance that lies within new friendships and the grounding that comes with old ones. Truly, silver and gold.
The more that memories have crashed through my mind throughout the day today and the evening tonight, the more I have felt that there is something important about coming home this time ... that there is something I am to learn ... to seek ... to absorb. Perhaps more than any other trip I've made in the more than 25 years since I've moved away, I feel a sense of urgency ... a desire to make the most of every moment ... to soak in every smile, to hold each hug a little longer, to linger in the overwhelming love and acceptance I receive when I am here. Acceptance ... that's a big concept for me ... to feel accepted and wanted and loved ... by God, by others, by myself.
Though I'd like to tell those of you who have been concerned about me since my sob-filled Thursday that I haven't shed any more tears, that would be far, far, far from the truth. Today, I fought to hold it together ... I fought so hard against the tears ... and still they came. One overriding chant from Thursday was, "I don't want my family to see me this way." Tonight, my old friend looked deeply into my eyes and I knew ... I knew that she could see the pain, that she could sense the toll the last couple of years has taken on me. And tomorrow when I see all of my family, I know they will see as well. They will look into my eyes, and they will see.
Yep, this time, coming home is important ... this time, coming home means more than it ever has before ... this time, coming home is about silver ... it's about gold ... it's about love.
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