And Now ... The Brotherhood

When my daughter Meghann was young, she often referred to Matt and Brad as the brothers ... not "my" brothers, but "the" brothers. I remember wondering why she said it the way she did when she talked about her two older male siblings, but I suppose that's one of those things I may never know. One thing I always prayed for my kids when they were little ones was that when they were adults, they would have a close relationship with one another. Now that I think about it, when they were young children, the three of them were almost inseparable and they really got along pretty well for the most part. But then came the teenage years, and it was, more often than not, my two boys against my one girl. Those were fun times for this old mama for sure ... not. However, now that they are all adults, despite some rocky times here and there, my three children have come full circle and there's a deep love that exists among them. And one huge thing I've seen during the last few weeks is that the love my children have for one another shifts into hyperdrive when they are united in their concern for me ... there's no boys vs. girl ... there's only family, and family pulls together when one of them is hurting.

In my last post, I wrote about the sisterhood I've seen develop among the ladies in my office following our meeting last week. Many times, I have uttered the words, "We're family here," concerning the folks in my office. I've seen the people there pull together time and time again when one of us is sick or hurting or grieving. I've seen them cheer and applaud when one of us is happy or overjoyed or thrilled. We are family there ... I've said the words so many times over the last 10 years ... and we really are ... we are family there. And as much as I've been touched by the sisterhood I've seen growing among the gals over the last few days, I was struck today with the overwhelming recognition that there's a brotherhood among some of the men as well, a brotherhood of men with big hearts and deep love and concern for one of us who's wounded and hurting.

As I was leaving the office on Friday, I stopped and talked to a couple of the men whom I knew had been concerned about me over the last few weeks, and I was blown away by their encouragement and support. Today as I spoke with a couple more of the guys, the emotion that filled my heart spilled over into the tears that filled my eyes. For all the people who say men don't bond like women, that men don't overflow with compassion for another, that men don't notice the pain in someone else's heart ... I say hogwash. Friday and today, I saw men with open arms, teary eyes and loving spirits. I saw men who care ... men who care deeply about a member of their family who is struggling ... I saw men who care, because I saw men who care for me.

Driving home after work this evening, I couldn't help but think about all the words of love that have been spoken to me since last Wednesday. I couldn't help but think about the people who have done more than notice the pain in my eyes. I couldn't help but think about the ones who have walked through the fire with me. I couldn't help but think about the ones who have given all new meaning to the words support, love, encouragement, forgiveness, acceptance and understanding. I couldn't help but think about my children and their unconditional love for me. I couldn't help but think about sisterhood. I couldn't help but think about brotherhood. I couldn't help but welcome the tears that filled my eyes. I couldn't help but thank God for my kids. I couldn't help but thank Him for my sisters. I couldn't help but thank Him for my brothers. I couldn't help but thank Him for giving me another day ... I couldn't help but feel the love, friends, I couldn't help but feel the love.

The Sisterhood

There are certain movies about friendship that leave a mark on a woman's soul ... you know ... movies like Steel Magnolias, Fried Green Tomatoes, The First Wives Club, Thelma and Louise, Beaches, Now and Then, or one of my personal favorites, Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood. Not only do I love watching these movies now, I remember the first time I saw each one of them on the big screen at the theater, and I remember each group of gals I was with as we watched the story unfold. And you know what else I remember? I remember the tears and the laughter that we shared as we watched those flicks together, and I remember the way we felt when we left the theater ... connected, closer, more appreciative of the bonds of friendship that existed between us. I have a theory that all women secretly long for a Truvy's Beauty Shop in their lives ... that one place where they become part of something bigger than themselves ... that one place where they gather together to share their hearts and souls and lives with their friends.

Over the years, I've been abundantly blessed to have wonderful friends from differing backgrounds and stations in life. I have many sweet memories of times spent with those ladies, from goofy escapades in high school and college to bachelorette parties before weddings to driveway chats as our children played outside to shared tears at women's conferences to prayers lifted in unison for one of our group who was struggling. I have tons of memories that revolve around times spent with my friends ... my extra-special sisterhood of women whom I've been fortunate enough to walk with on certain stretches of the path of life.

In my last post, I wrote about a couple of meetings that I had with some gals at work ... a couple of emotionally draining and difficult meetings. As soon as I finished talking to the group of women in the second meeting, I immediately left and took the rest of the day off. It wasn't long after I got in my car to head home that my phone began to sound, indicating that I had a text message. One after another, the ladies sent messages of encouragement and support, and when I checked my email later in the day, those who hadn't texted had emailed heartfelt words of compassion and understanding. 

I was quite nervous about returning to work on Thursday ... I left the meeting in a very emotional state and didn't give the women an opportunity to respond in any way, so I wasn't at all certain what kind of reception I would receive when I settled in at my desk that morning. Within minutes after I arrived, a young woman came to my desk and hugged me and told me how much she loved me. Before she left my cubicle, another one appeared and did the same thing ... and another ... and another ... and another. And throughout the day, those women returned to my desk time and time again just to check on me and make sure I felt loved. 

I couldn't help but notice that as the day wore on, the women seemed to feel comfortable enough to begin sharing bits and pieces of what happened after I left the room following Wednesday's meeting. Almost every one of them said the same words to me in one form or another ... "I so wish you could have been there to hear and see what happened after you left, Terrie ... I so wish you could have been there." And yesterday, those precious gals told me again how incredibly special the atmosphere was in the room after I left ... so special that more than one of them said they had never experienced anything like it before. The minute the gals told me, I knew ... I understood what had taken place ... the women had shifted from being co-workers to being sisters ... a new sisterhood was born among them on Wednesday, a sisterhood united by compassion and caring and love.

I've got another ear infection (number 10 this year for those of you who are counting), and I've felt really cruddy since last night. When I was snuggled in on the couch with my hounds this evening watching Cast Away, I couldn't help but reflect on the events of the past week. I couldn't help but think about how very alone I have felt for the last couple of years. I couldn't help but ponder how different my life has become since I've opened up to others over the last few weeks. I couldn't help but wonder what the future holds and what God's plans are for me as I tentatively step forward and seek His will. I couldn't help but smile as I thought about the words of one of the ladies at work ... "We suddenly all felt as if we were part of something bigger, far bigger than any one of us ... far bigger, Terrie, far bigger."

You've heard me say it time and time again, friends ... God is good, so very good, all the time. He is good in the sunshine and the rain. He is good in the happy and the sorrowful. He is good in the sickness and the health. He is good in the joyous and the painful. God is truly good ... so very, very good ... all the time.

   

Meeting, Anyone?

I'm not much of a meeting person, and I never have been. I don't like to talk at meetings, which is weird I know since I do a lot of public speaking. I don't mind listening to other people; in fact, I quite enjoy when others share their expertise on various things. But I surely do not like to talk at meetings.

I had two meetings today at work, one with only myself and one other person, and the other with a group of 10 or so other gals. In both meetings, I cried ... a lot. In both meetings, I did the talking ... and I cried ... a lot. In both meetings, I knew that the information I was sharing was forever going to change me and my relationships with the people to whom I was talking  ... and I cried ... a lot. In both meetings, my head was down and my heart was heavy ... and I cried ... a lot. 

But ... as I drove home after my noon meeting, a thought entered my mind and I'm thinking perhaps it has taken up residence and intends to linger for a while. As I thought about the meetings and where they took place, I realized that today's meeting places had nothing to do with the physical location of the rooms in which we met. Today's meeting places were in the hearts of all who were involved ... one whose heart was wounded and raw, and the others whose hearts spilled over with compassion and caring and love.

I learned some things today ... some things about forgiveness, some things about honesty, some things about friendship. Today I learned that meeting places in the heart don't have walls or ceilings or floors. Today I learned that meeting places in the heart are built from one thing and one thing only ... meeting places in the heart are built from love.

Firm Foundation

When my children were very young, they would lift their little arms for me to pick them up. I can remember carrying them around the house, dancing with them in my arms, snuggling with them on the couch, rocking with them in the recliner, reading with them in their beds. I recently told each one of them that I hoped that for all the things I did wrong as a mom when they were growing up, that at least I made sure they knew how much I loved them. More than anything, I wanted my children to have the firm foundation of my love underneath them ... I wanted to establish a solid base of love that they could build upon for the rest of their lives. If I didn't do anything else right, I pray that each one of my three children felt the strength of that foundation beneath them when they were young and as they grew and even now as adults ... I sure pray that I at least got that one right.

Last Sunday afternoon, I took Brad and his girlfriend Shelby out to lunch for his 25th birthday. As I watched my son eat way more food than any human should consume in one meal, my mind couldn't help but wander back to the days when he would hold his arms up toward me and say, "Hold you, Mommie, hold you," (yeah, he had it backwards but it was stinking cute to hear him say it). As quickly as that thought entered my mind, it was swept away by the memory of a night at my kitchen table with Brad ... a night when he was weeping as he confessed that he had gotten into some trouble and needed my help. Watching him chow down on his barbecue as he sat next to the woman he's madly in love with, I blinked back tears as I realized that the roles between us have shifted. As he spoke about a most serious subject we had discussed a few weeks ago, I understood that where I once was his foundation and his rock to build upon, he has now become mine.

Yesterday, I spent the day shopping and lunching with Meghann ... just the two of us. I can't remember when we've spent a day together like that, and it was one of the best days we've shared together in way too long. We laughed as we tried on clothes together in the same dressing room (mainly for me so that Meghann could help me choose clothes ... remember, I hate to shop and certainly don't have an eye for style like my daughter does), and then we ate lunch at one of her favorite places. As we sat at the table in the restaurant talking about the same most serious subject, my eyes filled with tears as I realized how grown up my daughter has become. She offered words of encouragement and love to me, along with some truly deep words of wisdom, and I was struck by the level of maturity that I saw in her. When I climbed into my car after we said goodbye, I understood that where I once was her foundation and her rock to build upon, she has now become mine.

Last night, Matt called and asked if I wanted to Skype with my granddaughter ... well, duh, of course I always want to Skype with C.J. My conversation with my oldest son was far different than the ones I recently had with Brad and Meghann ... it revolved more around, "C.J., can you roar like a dinosaur? C.J., can you wave bye-bye? C.J., can you show Granny how you can crawl? C.J., don't slap the spoon out of Daddy's hand while he's trying to feed you." We didn't even touch on the same most serious subject, and that was as it should be, lighthearted, newsy, baby-oriented conversation ... and it was wonderful. But when we clicked off of Skype to end the call, I understood that where I once was his foundation and his rock to build upon, he has now become mine. 

I've been through some tough stuff over the last few weeks, yep that whole most serious subject thing, and my children have been my rocks through it all. Were it not for them and their unconditional love, I'm not sure I could withstand the storms that have been raging around me. The foundation of love they've placed beneath me gives me a place to begin building upon and also gives me the strength and encouragement to even start hammering. I think maybe, just maybe, I did get that part right with the three of them ... I think maybe the foundation of love I tried so hard to lay underneath of them is standing the test of time. I think it is indeed.

The Dreaded "A" Word

People often ask me how I ended up as a senior editor for an advertising agency considering that I began my work career as a college professor of English and Spanish. And my answer is always the same ... I'm not really sure how my path shifted from teaching to editing, just where the journey of life led me, I suppose. On Sunday, I will have been at the agency where I'm currently employed for 10 years, the longest I've worked at one place since my first job in high school. While there are some days that are long and pressure-packed, there are far more days when I am so thankful for my job and the people I work with each day. There's an energy in our company that I've never experienced at any other job, perhaps due in part to the creativity that flows from the folks who fashion all the fancy advertising you see in magazines and newspapers and on television and the Internet every day.

My job is words ... all day, I read words and check words and change words and suggest words and research words and write words. Someone once told me that I should keep all my emptied red pens for a year to see how many I've used ... hmmmm ... maybe I'll start doing that in January. I've been super busy at work for the last couple of weeks ... it seems like every single client has huge projects being produced at the same time. One evening this week while I was working on a large catalog at home, I found myself thinking about all the different words I read in any given week ... big words, little words, scientific words, simple words. I read a ton of words every day, and there are some words I like way more than others. For example, I love the words "duly," "plethora" and "dapper," and I detest the words "moistness," "grouting" and "inanimate." And here's the thing ... my love or hatred for those words has nothing at all to do with what they mean or how they are spelled, but everything to do with how they sound when they are spoken.

There is, however, one word that I've come to despise more than any other word in the English language, based not upon sound but solely upon meaning. It's the dreaded "a" word ... accountability. I detest and loathe that word when it is used in the context of the following sentence: "Terrie, I'm going to hold you accountable on this." And the truth is, I've heard that sentence more in the last few weeks and months than I ever have in my life ... and I don't like it. Let me say that again ... I don't like hearing that sentence. Actually, it's not really hearing the sentence I don't like, it's the coming action that the sentence signifies is about to take place ... another person will be making sure I'm doing what I said I would do or that I'm not doing what I said I wouldn't do. One more time ... I do not in any way, shape, form or fashion like hearing that sentence.

I've been super down in the dumps for the last couple of weeks as I've been trying to work through some big personal stuff, and more than once over the last few days, people at work have either said to me or written to me, "We're family here, Terrie, and we're here for you." I myself have said those words many times over the last 10 years regarding the unique atmosphere that exists among those of us who work together. I've personally experienced that family type of commitment from my co-workers many times ... cards, flowers and phone calls when my mom passed away; food brought to my house when I was sick; offers to help with repairs on my home; sending gifts and attending the weddings of my children; and most recently, giving very generously to the American Diabetes Association in support of the annual diabetes walk I participated in earlier this fall. And that brings me to the dreaded "a" word ... one of my co-workers is holding me accountable for something I promised to do twice each week ... something that my favorite (and yes, that word is dripping with sarcasm in case you didn't notice) doctor says is a giant step on my journey toward getting better ... something that is hard, hard, hard for me to do.

I thought for sure today that I was off the hook as the clock ticked nearer to 5:00 when the person popped over to my cube and reminded me of my promise. I tried to fuss and whine my way out of it, but the person is a tough cookie and refused to back down until I did what I said I would do. And guess what? It was a little easier to do today than it was the first time I did it. And guess what else? It's good for me to do it. And guess what else? My heart feels a little less heavy tonight because I did it. And guess what else? I believe the doctor is right and that it will help me to get better. And guess what else? I think maybe the "a" word isn't such a bad word after all.

Freckles Anyone?

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you probably remember the story of my little wiener dog J.R. and how he came to live with me after being abused for most of his short life. And if you remember J.R.'s story, you will also remember that he was the reason I was diagnosed with diabetes three years ago (and if you don't recall his story, you'll find a lot of posts about him in 2009 and 2010). If you're a more recent reader, you've probably read more than a post or two in which I mention my big dog Julie and my wiener dog Ollie who came into our lives six months after J.R. passed away. Ollie, like J.R., was rescued from a terrible environment where he was almost starved to death, had heartworms and a nasty skin infection, and his face had been shoved into a fire and burned. Sometimes I watch Julie and Ollie as they play, and I wonder at the way she loved both of her little brown dog brothers ... almost in a motherly way, almost as if she knew that they had been hurt and needed to feel safe and loved. And sometimes when Ollie climbs into my lap and snuggles in for a nap, I wonder at the way my two little injured and lonely wiener dogs took up with me ... almost in a childlike way, almost as if they knew they had finally found where they were meant to be, where they would be cared for and loved.

I've mentioned in previous posts about the scars on Ollie's face ... he has several from where he was burned, some deeper, larger and more prominent than others. As much as I hate to admit it, Ollie's scars were the first thing I noticed about him when I met him ... well, his scars and his crazy pink nose and pink toenails. But as I've grown to know and love Oliver the wiener dog over the last year and a half, I don't see his scars anymore. I still see his silly pink nose and toenails, but when I look at his face, all I see is a little dog who thinks the sun rises and sets in me ... I see a little dog who makes me smile ... I see a little dog who managed to wag his way into my heart just like J.R. did.

A couple of weeks ago when Ollie and I were out for our evening walk on the trail, a little boy came running up to us and asked if he could pet my dog. I said sure, and then said hello to his father as he joined his son. Ollie loves little kids, and as he often does, as soon as the little boy's face got near enough, he planted several wet dog kisses on the little guy's cheeks. The boy squealed with delight and then he looked up at his dad and said, "Look, Daddy! This little dog has freckles on his face! I've never seen a dog with freckles, Daddy, have you?" As the father glanced at me, I was instantly aware that he knew the spots on Oliver's face weren't freckles ... he knew they were scars from some sort of injury or wound. But as he patted his son's head, he said, "I don't think I have seen a dog with freckles before, buddy ... this little dog is the first freckled dog I've ever seen!" I managed to squeak out a goodbye to the two of them before the tears that had begun to fill my eyes spilled over onto my shirt as Ollie and I finished our walk.

As we made our way home, the words of the little boy and his dad's response pounded in my head as God spoke to my heart. "He didn't see your scars, Ollie," I said out loud as we walked ... "that little boy didn't see your scars ... he saw freckles, wiener dog ... the little boy saw freckles instead of scars." Talk about a lesson, friends ... God used a little child that evening to teach me something huge about who I am when I'm seen through His eyes. When I got home, I immediately went into my bedroom, flipped on the light and stood staring at myself in the large mirror that sits above my dresser. "I see scars, God ... I see scars instead of freckles. What do You see when You look at me? Do you see the scars left behind by the wounds and injuries of life, or do You see freckles that become more prominent in the light of Your Son? What do You see in me, Father? Scars or freckles?"

I have no idea how long I stood in front of my mirror that night, but I do know this ... God doesn't see me the way I see myself. God sees His dearly beloved child ... His child for whom He paid the ultimate ransom. God sees freckles ... God sees freckles ... God sees freckles where I see scars.

Love Thy Neighbor

For as long as I can remember, I've had a thing for T-shirts, especially ones with stuff on them. Over the years, I've amassed quite a collection ... shirts from places I've been, shirts people have given me, shirts with moose on them (lots of shirts with moose on them cause I love anything moosey) shirts with college logos, shirts with silly sayings and shirts with profound messages. But here's the problem ... I've lost a ton of weight over the last three years, and almost all of my T-shirts look like tents on me now. So I've spent the last three months or so being on the lookout for cool (and cheap) T-shirts, and I'm slowly but surely building a whole new, smaller-sized shirt collection. A couple of months or so ago, I saw a shirt online and instantly knew that I had to have it, and thankfully, the ministry that sells the shirts offers them for a very reasonable price so I got both the short-sleeved and long-sleeved styles. I knew the minute I saw the shirt that its message could be considered a controversial one, and quite honestly, it took a few weeks after I received them for me to muster up the courage to wear one. And every time I've worn it since, I've received a wide range of commentary from others, some positive, some negative ... hang on, I'll tell you in a bit what the shirt says.

This morning at church, the preacher started a new series called, "There's an App for That," and his text for today's sermon was James 1:22-25 ... verses about not being only hearers of the Word of God, but actually following the commands and directives contained within it. He said way too many things for me to recount them in this post, but one of the things he emphasized was that those of us who call ourselves believers in Christ are supposed to do what the Bible tells us to do. He talked about how we come to church and listen and sometimes are even convicted by what we hear and feel guilty, and then we walk out of church and don't change a thing ... we hear the Word, but we don't do the Word. We may intend to make changes or do things differently, but intentions are a far cry from applications. I would take it one step further than the preacher did this morning and say that we often choose which parts of the Word we want to hear ... there are some commands in the Good Book that we simply ignore or pretend aren't there at all. As the minister spoke, I kept thinking about my T-shirt ... this is what it says in big yellow letters on the back:

Love Thy Neighbor

Thy Homeless Neighbor
Thy Muslim Neighbor
Thy Black Neighbor
Thy Gay Neighbor
Thy White Neighbor
Thy Jewish Neighbor
Thy Christian Neighbor
Thy Atheist Neighbor
Thy Racist Neighbor
Thy Addicted Neighbor

Remember when I wrote about having a weepy meltdown at work before I left to go on vacation and ending up in a conference room with one of my company's vice presidents bawling my eyes out? For some reason that I've yet to figure out, I told her about my shirt ... I told her that I wanted to wear it to work but ... get this, really get the words you're about to read ... I was afraid my shirt might offend someone. Now tell me ... what did that statement say about the way I live out the Word of God? I was afraid that other people would be offended by a very literal, very real, very truthful application of the verses in the Bible that tell me to love my neighbor as myself ... not just my neighbor who looks or acts in a manner that I deem worthy ... God's Word tells me to love my neighbor, period. In fact, Jesus said that loving my neighbor is the next most important commandment after loving God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength. And I ... I ... I was afraid of offending other people by wearing a shirt that, in my opinion, pays tribute to the very command that Jesus said was the second most important one in all of God's Word.

As I told the VP about my shirt that day, I wept. I wept not simply because I was already emotional ... I wept as I confessed to her that I was once the person who didn't love the groups listed on the shirt. I sat in judgment over others ... I sat in judgment in a big way. As the tears quite literally poured from my eyes that day, I said, "I used to be that person ... I used to be the one who judged, and now I understand what it is to be on the other side ... now I understand what it is to be the one who is judged ... I pray every day that God will never allow me to judge another person again ... never ever ... I know the pain that comes with judgment ... now I know the pain. I pray that God will never let me hurt another person like that again."

I've worn my shirt to work a couple of times since our conversation that day, and I've received only positive comments about it from my co-workers, including one person who said, "Cool shirt, T. Sure would be a better world if we all did what it says." And you know what? I agree with him ... it sure would be a better world if we stopped just hearing the Word and actually started doing the Word ... it sure would indeed.

Love thy neighbor, friends ... love thy homeless neighbor, thy Muslim neighbor, thy black neighbor, thy gay neighbor, thy white neighbor, thy Jewish neighbor, thy Christian neighbor, thy atheist neighbor, thy racist neighbor, thy addicted neighbor ... just love thy neighbor, friends, just love thy neighbor.

Yo, Adrian

There are some movies that live on long beyond their run in theaters, and the Rocky movies are among them. I'm sure many of you could join me in saying that one of the most moving scenes in all of movie history took place when Rocky Balboa was finally able to run up all the stairs at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I remember how the audience in the theater cheered when Rocky made it to the top and lifted his arms in celebration of his hard-earned accomplishment. The truth is that those of us who were watching the film knew that Rocky reaching the top of the stairs was about way more than the physical feat of running up the stairs ... it was the demonstration of the epitome of courage and determination and perseverance (and more than a little bit of foreshadowing as to the eventual outcome of his title fight against Apollo Creed).

I haven't been sleeping well for the last couple of weeks (or years), and it's totally showing on my face this week in the form of deep, dark circles under my eyes. So much so that several people at work have said, "Yo, Adrian," when they saw the darkness beneath my eyes ... I look like I've been in a title fight and came out on the losing end of the battle. Couple the blackness below my peepers and the bloodshot whites within them, and I've looked pretty rough around the edges all week. And the icing on the cake has been my mood ... suffice it to say that somber is a good start to describing my state of mind for the week.

As I was driving home tonight, I started talking to God ... yes, I talk to God out loud in my car when I'm driving back and forth to work. "So what's the lesson in my black eyes, huh? I'm sure You've got one somewhere ... You always do. But I've gotta tell You ... I really don't see how me looking like I've been in a fight can have any value or meaning whatsoever other than embarrassing the daylights out of me." And that's when the lesson popped out and smacked me right in the face ... I can't do one stinking thing to make the dark circles under my eyes disappear ... not one stinking thing. The only thing that is going to make them go away is when I finally get some quality sleep time ... they aren't going to go away until I can lay down and rest peacefully. As much as I can't control the darkened shadows beneath my eyes, I also have no control over what people may think when they see them ... some think I'm sick; some think I'm injured; and some really do think I got punched in the face. It's only the ones who've cared enough to ask me what was going on with my eyes ... only those folks know the truth behind my eyes ... only those folks know the truth.

The more I've thought about the lesson this evening, the more I understand that the truth God wants me to absorb has nothing to do with my eyes and everything to do with my heart. I've spent a lot of time walking around with deep, dark circles beneath the eyes of my heart ... deep, dark circles that I have no control over ... deep, dark circles that will only go away when I can lay down the burdens I've been carrying and rest peacefully in the arms of my Lord. I can't control what people may think when they see my heart ... some think I'm sick; some think I'm injured; some think I've been in a massive fight. It's only those who care enough to ask me what's going on inside my heart ... only those folks know the truth within my heart ... only those folks know the truth.

And now, it's late and I'm going to bed and hope for sleep to come. And as I do, my prayer is a simple one ... Please calm my heart, God ... please let Your peace wash over me ... please help me to rest in You.

Chairs and Hangers

When I was a teenager, my mom and I had some major arguments about the cleanliness of my room, or more accurately, we engaged in an ongoing battle about the lack thereof ... cleanliness, that is. My room wasn't dirty, it was just cluttered, really, really cluttered, and it drove Mom crazy. I can remember her words as if she were speaking them today ... "I don't see how you can find anything in here." While we battled over many things during my teenage and college years, I don't think any of them could even begin to compare with one particular habit I had involving my messy room. Instead of hanging my clothes on hangers and placing them in the closet, I draped them over the back of my desk chair. I know you're wondering why that small thing would precipitate so many heated discussions between me and Mom, but here's the thing ... I didn't just put the clothes on the chair for a day or two, I put them there day after day after day after day. I piled my clothes on the chair until there were so many stacked on the back of it that if I happened to brush against it, the chair would topple over and all the clothes would end up on the floor. If Mom happened to walk in my room and the clothes were scattered on the floor, she would throw what is known in the South as a conniption fit and threaten to throw my clothes in the trash if I didn't hang them up in the closet where they belonged.

I've been thinking a lot about that chair in my room recently and a lot about my habit of covering its back with layer after layer of clothes. Now that I'm an adult, I can't help but wonder why I did that for so many years ... I can't help but wonder why I didn't just put the clothes on hangers and place them in the closet. And now that I'm an adult, I also can't help but regret the fact that I caused Mom so much anguish over such a stupid thing as hanging up my clothes. If I could do it over, I would have done as Mom asked ... I would have put the clothes where they belonged, and I would have let the chair be what it was created to be ... a chair ... I wouldn't have covered it up, I would have let it be a chair. It wasn't until years later that something huge struck me about my chair and my clothes ... it took far less time and effort to hang up my clothes when I took them off than it did to wade through the stack on the back of the chair until the layers were removed.

This morning as I was driving to work, I realized why my clothes-covered chair from the room of my youth has been on my mind so much lately. I've spent most of my life piling clothes on the chair of my heart, and I've spent the last couple of weeks trying to wade through the layers and hang them up ... to let the chair of my heart be what it was created to be ... a chair ... I've been uncovering the chair and letting it be a chair. And just like when I was young, the more clothes I take off of the chair of my heart and put away, the more visible the chair becomes, not only to me but to all those around me as well ... the chair of me is slowly but surely looking more and more like a chair and less and less like something it was never meant to be. But ... but ... but ... not only does it take a lot of time and effort to uncover the chair, it takes even more not to cover it up again.

Chairs and hangers ... there's a huge lesson there, friends, a huge, huge, huge lesson about being who God created me to be, about being transparent and real, about allowing Him to peel away all those layers I've spent years stacking up and waiting as He patiently and carefully hangs them up, about trusting that He has a plan and a purpose for me. He always sees the chair beneath the clothes ... He always sees the chair ... He always sees the chair ... He always sees me.

Sometimes ...

Sometimes I look at the lights in the sky and think about how black the night would be without the moon and stars. Sometimes I gaze at the twinkle in a child's eye and think about how dark life would be without children. Sometimes I lie under a towering tree and think about how brown the world would be without leaves. Sometimes I sit next to a steadfast friend and think about how gloomy the days would be without compassion. Sometimes I stand by a rushing creek and think about how murky the path would be without water. Sometimes I embrace someone and think about how dim the heart would be without hugs. Sometimes I take a chance with those who love me ... those who love me unconditionally, those who stay, those who return, those who understand, those who refuse to let me go ... and think about how deep the darkness would truly be without them.

Sometimes I fall on my knees and cry a million tears ... and think about ... grace. Sometimes I think about forgiveness. Sometimes I think about mercy. Sometimes I think about how far the Father's love can extend. Sometimes I think about how deeply His love can reach. Sometimes I think about how much His love can overcome. Sometimes I think about life. Sometimes I think about death. Sometimes I think about God ... sometimes I think about God ... sometimes I think about God ... sometimes I think about God.

Sometimes ... sometimes ... I think about grace.