My post tonight is to let those of you who message me when I don't post (which makes me feel quite loved and appreciated, by the way) that I'm not writing a real post tonight. Instead of my usual musings about life that I regularly pen, tonight I have to complete ... or start and finish, as the case may be ... a homework assignment from my stupi ... ummm ... I mean my life-saving head doctor. I'll be writing, alright, but not to you. I'd much prefer to be writing to you, by the way, but instead, tonight I have to write ... or at least make a concerted effort to write ... a letter to God. And yes, I argued with my dear life-saving head doctor ... of course I did. Obviously, I lost the argument, hence my need to work on my God letter rather than write a real post for you tonight.
So have a great night, and feel free to shoot me any ideas you might have for what I should say to the Big Guy ... really ... I'm kind of at a loss as to what to write. Whoa ... there's something tremendously profound in that statement ... whoa indeed.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Monday, April 29, 2013
The Mistake
This revelation will come as a huge shock to many (if not most) of you ... on extremely rare occasions, I do something ... well ... I do something profoundly stupid. I know, hard to even conceive as the most remote of possibilities, eh? Alas, it's true, though ... once in a great, great, great while, I do something so dumb that I shake my own head in amazement. Take Saturday, for example ... I did one of the absolute dumbest, most stupid things I've ever done. I took Ollie for a walk late in the evening, and someone called me as we were walking. I always listen to music on my iPod as my wiener dog and I walk along the trail, and Saturday night was no exception to that rule. Normally, if my phone rings as I'm walking, I take one of the earphones out of my ear and toss it over my shoulder until I'm finished talking on the phone. But for some unknown reason, Saturday evening I removed both of the earphones and tucked them inside the pocket of my hoodie alongside my iPod. And then I never thought about the earphones or my iPod again. Until yesterday afternoon when I began to look for them when I was ready to go for a walk.
I searched for my iPod and earphones everywhere around the house and out in the garage for a good 15 or 20 minutes, and then I remembered where they were ... in the pocket of my hoodie. Which was in the washing machine. Yep, when I got home from walking on Saturday, I pulled off my hoodie and tossed it in the laundry basket with the load of darks and promptly took the basket downstairs and put the clothes in the washing machine. And turned it on. iPods don't respond well to being washed, I can tell you that because mine is now dead. Really dead. Deader than a doornail. Kaput. Finished. Terminated. And by now, I'm sure you are in complete agreement with me when I say that was one of the absolute dumbest, most stupid things I've ever done. That wasn't a mistake, friends ... that was just plain old, outright stupid of me. And because I did such a dumb thing as washing my iPod, I am now music-less on the trail. Did you get that? I am music-less on the trail because I did something dumb.
Most of you know that I work as a senior editor for an advertising agency, and most of you know that my job is to ensure that there are no errors in any of the ads we create for our clients. When I make a mistake (and I do sometimes because I am human), it's a really big deal and can cost my company a whole, whole lot of money and damage our relationship with the client. When I take into consideration the monumental volume of copy I read each day, I really do have a very high accuracy rate when it comes to catching errors. But today, I made a mistake ... I failed to change an incorrect trademark symbol to a registered trademark symbol. Someone brought the mistake to my attention later in the day, as she should have. And normally, I absolutely want to know when I miss something that I should have caught. But today, being called out for my mistake sort of irritated me a bit ... not because I didn't want to know that I missed something as I edited the ad, but because I've been putting in some long hours lately (as have most of the folks in our office). See here's the thing, and it's the thing that's been true since the day I became an editor ... people always tell me when I make mistakes (as they should), but it's not often they make a point of telling me when I edit like a million words without making one single error. And the more I've thought about that today, the more I think there's a huge lesson I'm meant to learn ... and perhaps it's a lesson for some of you as well.
My job is to find things that are wrong ... I am paid to find what is wrong and make it right. I use a red pen to cross out what is wrong and change it to what is right. And when I return a document to the writer or the next person who needs to review the material, I don't say, "Wow! This has no errors at all! Great job!" or even "There's a couple of things wrong, but overall, it's really great stuff! And if you think about the millions of words you pen each day, that's spectacular!" I do exactly the same thing to others that irritated me when it happened to me ... I tell people what they've done wrong instead of telling them about the tremendously huge amount of things they do right. And tonight, there's a thought that I just can't get out of my head ... a thought that saddens my heart more than just a little. "Is that the way I view the people around me? Do I see what they've done wrong instead of looking for what they've done right? Do I point out their mistakes or proclaim their flaws rather than search for the good within them and understand how very valuable they are to me?"
It was dumb to wash my iPod on Saturday ... it was dumb for me to miss the trademark symbol today ... but it's about way more than doing something stupid or making a mistake at work. It's about my heart, friends ... I simply must have an accepting, loving, kind and compassionate heart that fully appreciates and recognizes the amazingly good people whom I encounter on my journey through life. That's one thing I surely need to get right ... that's one place where making a mistake is not an option.
I searched for my iPod and earphones everywhere around the house and out in the garage for a good 15 or 20 minutes, and then I remembered where they were ... in the pocket of my hoodie. Which was in the washing machine. Yep, when I got home from walking on Saturday, I pulled off my hoodie and tossed it in the laundry basket with the load of darks and promptly took the basket downstairs and put the clothes in the washing machine. And turned it on. iPods don't respond well to being washed, I can tell you that because mine is now dead. Really dead. Deader than a doornail. Kaput. Finished. Terminated. And by now, I'm sure you are in complete agreement with me when I say that was one of the absolute dumbest, most stupid things I've ever done. That wasn't a mistake, friends ... that was just plain old, outright stupid of me. And because I did such a dumb thing as washing my iPod, I am now music-less on the trail. Did you get that? I am music-less on the trail because I did something dumb.
Most of you know that I work as a senior editor for an advertising agency, and most of you know that my job is to ensure that there are no errors in any of the ads we create for our clients. When I make a mistake (and I do sometimes because I am human), it's a really big deal and can cost my company a whole, whole lot of money and damage our relationship with the client. When I take into consideration the monumental volume of copy I read each day, I really do have a very high accuracy rate when it comes to catching errors. But today, I made a mistake ... I failed to change an incorrect trademark symbol to a registered trademark symbol. Someone brought the mistake to my attention later in the day, as she should have. And normally, I absolutely want to know when I miss something that I should have caught. But today, being called out for my mistake sort of irritated me a bit ... not because I didn't want to know that I missed something as I edited the ad, but because I've been putting in some long hours lately (as have most of the folks in our office). See here's the thing, and it's the thing that's been true since the day I became an editor ... people always tell me when I make mistakes (as they should), but it's not often they make a point of telling me when I edit like a million words without making one single error. And the more I've thought about that today, the more I think there's a huge lesson I'm meant to learn ... and perhaps it's a lesson for some of you as well.
My job is to find things that are wrong ... I am paid to find what is wrong and make it right. I use a red pen to cross out what is wrong and change it to what is right. And when I return a document to the writer or the next person who needs to review the material, I don't say, "Wow! This has no errors at all! Great job!" or even "There's a couple of things wrong, but overall, it's really great stuff! And if you think about the millions of words you pen each day, that's spectacular!" I do exactly the same thing to others that irritated me when it happened to me ... I tell people what they've done wrong instead of telling them about the tremendously huge amount of things they do right. And tonight, there's a thought that I just can't get out of my head ... a thought that saddens my heart more than just a little. "Is that the way I view the people around me? Do I see what they've done wrong instead of looking for what they've done right? Do I point out their mistakes or proclaim their flaws rather than search for the good within them and understand how very valuable they are to me?"
It was dumb to wash my iPod on Saturday ... it was dumb for me to miss the trademark symbol today ... but it's about way more than doing something stupid or making a mistake at work. It's about my heart, friends ... I simply must have an accepting, loving, kind and compassionate heart that fully appreciates and recognizes the amazingly good people whom I encounter on my journey through life. That's one thing I surely need to get right ... that's one place where making a mistake is not an option.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Terrie Goes to Church
Last night, I had a vivid dream about the church I used to attend ... no, it's more accurate to say that I had a vivid dream about some of the people in the church I used to attend. The setting for my dream was inside the church, yes, but my dream was about the people rather than the building itself. It was one of those dreams that was so real and so vivid that it's obviously still on my mind this evening. There was nothing spectacular about the dream, no real plot or storyline, just the people ... people I worshipped with, people I talked with, people I prayed with ... people I cared about ... people I loved. Their faces drifted in and out of the frame of my dream, but there was one constant about all of them ... they were all smiling. There was laughter ... there was hugging ... there was harmony ... there was love. And my first thought when I woke this morning was how very much I miss church ... not the building, mind you ... I miss the people and the relationships I once had with them.
On Friday, I had a lengthy conversation with a minister from another church ... a minister who had never met me, by the way. In fact, he doesn't really know me at all apart from what he's read or been told about me. Our conversation was a difficult one because of the subject matter, and I knew that it would be when I agreed to speak with him. He surprised me with his kindness, however, and his desire to understand my feelings was like a breath of fresh air in light of recent events in my life. He was almost apologetic as he told me that he had to cancel me as the speaker for an upcoming women's event at his church, and I was sincere when I told him that I understood his position and that I would never want to cause any issues for him or for the women who are scheduled to attend the event. I wish I could tell you that all the groups who have cancelled my speaking appearances have been as kind and compassionate as the minister on Friday, but I simply cannot. I can tell you, though, that it makes me abundantly sad that so many folks seem to forget that Jesus taught more about love than He did about hate ... abundantly sad.
This morning, I went to church. Yes, you read that correctly, I actually went to church this morning. I was invited to attend by the minister of a church who had chosen to show our video as part of his sermon. I was a bit nervous as I got out of my car and began to walk toward the building ... OK, I was a whole lot nervous. But before I even got inside, two people had spoken to me and pointed me toward the correct entrance that would lead me to the sanctuary. Once I was inside, several more people welcomed me, and the minister was quick to warmly greet me and speak with me for a few minutes. And here's the thing ... the minister knew why I was there this morning, but to all the other folks, I was just someone who was visiting their church. They didn't have to welcome me ... they didn't have to be kind to me ... they didn't have to accept me. But they did. Warmly. Unconditionally. Wholeheartedly.
I don't think I can really find words to describe the emotions that raced through my heart as our video played on the large screen at the front of the church, so I'm not even going to try. Suffice it to say that when the video ended and the pastor told his congregation that I was there ... well ... I've never experienced anything quite like what happened this morning, and I was humbled beyond measure at the people's response. When the service ended, person after person came to hug me ... if you'll recall, I wrote in a recent post how much I miss hugs ... and this morning ... this morning, I was hugged time and time again. And I find it more than a bit ironic that when my only remaining women's ministry speaking appearance was cancelled on Friday, a woman talked with me this morning about speaking to a group of healthcare professionals this summer. That's more than a bit ironic, friends ... way, way more.
If you've been reading along with me for a while, you know how deeply I have wrestled with finding meaning in my journey and how hard I've struggled to believe there is still a purpose for my life. I think I may have seen a glimmer of the answers to those questions this morning ... I think I may have indeed.
On Friday, I had a lengthy conversation with a minister from another church ... a minister who had never met me, by the way. In fact, he doesn't really know me at all apart from what he's read or been told about me. Our conversation was a difficult one because of the subject matter, and I knew that it would be when I agreed to speak with him. He surprised me with his kindness, however, and his desire to understand my feelings was like a breath of fresh air in light of recent events in my life. He was almost apologetic as he told me that he had to cancel me as the speaker for an upcoming women's event at his church, and I was sincere when I told him that I understood his position and that I would never want to cause any issues for him or for the women who are scheduled to attend the event. I wish I could tell you that all the groups who have cancelled my speaking appearances have been as kind and compassionate as the minister on Friday, but I simply cannot. I can tell you, though, that it makes me abundantly sad that so many folks seem to forget that Jesus taught more about love than He did about hate ... abundantly sad.
This morning, I went to church. Yes, you read that correctly, I actually went to church this morning. I was invited to attend by the minister of a church who had chosen to show our video as part of his sermon. I was a bit nervous as I got out of my car and began to walk toward the building ... OK, I was a whole lot nervous. But before I even got inside, two people had spoken to me and pointed me toward the correct entrance that would lead me to the sanctuary. Once I was inside, several more people welcomed me, and the minister was quick to warmly greet me and speak with me for a few minutes. And here's the thing ... the minister knew why I was there this morning, but to all the other folks, I was just someone who was visiting their church. They didn't have to welcome me ... they didn't have to be kind to me ... they didn't have to accept me. But they did. Warmly. Unconditionally. Wholeheartedly.
I don't think I can really find words to describe the emotions that raced through my heart as our video played on the large screen at the front of the church, so I'm not even going to try. Suffice it to say that when the video ended and the pastor told his congregation that I was there ... well ... I've never experienced anything quite like what happened this morning, and I was humbled beyond measure at the people's response. When the service ended, person after person came to hug me ... if you'll recall, I wrote in a recent post how much I miss hugs ... and this morning ... this morning, I was hugged time and time again. And I find it more than a bit ironic that when my only remaining women's ministry speaking appearance was cancelled on Friday, a woman talked with me this morning about speaking to a group of healthcare professionals this summer. That's more than a bit ironic, friends ... way, way more.
If you've been reading along with me for a while, you know how deeply I have wrestled with finding meaning in my journey and how hard I've struggled to believe there is still a purpose for my life. I think I may have seen a glimmer of the answers to those questions this morning ... I think I may have indeed.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
How Big Your Brave Is
I've always been kind of a chicken at heart when it comes to things that go bump in the night, perhaps because I was quite terrified of the dark when I was young. And though I don't like to admit it, I still get spooked when I hear a noise outside after the sun goes down. I'm the gal who pulls the covers over my head and trembles with fear, not the brave soul who grabs a baseball bat and heads out to face off with the possible intruder or bear or Bigfoot or whomever or whatever is rustling around outside my bedroom window. Except for once when we lived in Florida ... there was that one time, I suppose, when I was brave. Maybe one day, I'll tell you the story, but suffice it to say that by the time I was finished playing mama lion and protecting my cubs, I had totally used my extreme skills with a shovel and a broom handle to maim my neighbor's alligator-shaped pool float that had blown out of their yard and was tangled in the bushes along my screened-in patio ... the float that I was convinced was either a real live alligator (we did live in Florida, after all ... give me a break) or a murderer who was out to do me and my children in. Yep, I was brave that night for sure ... I flipping destroyed that green and brown alligator float and lived to tell about it.
My previous post received more views than any post I've ever written ... to the tune of almost eight times as many views. That's a lot, a whole, whole, whole lot of people who read that post. And I'm glad for that, because that means there's a plethora of folks sending lots of good thoughts to Elizabeth and her family. I'm glad because it's causing many of you to write in to tell me that you're going to listen more closely to those who need someone to talk to ... that you're going to care more deeply for those who are hurting or sad ... that you're going to love with a stronger heart than you ever have before. I'm sorry if my title frightened some of you ... actually, I'm not ... sorry about the title, that is. I'm glad that thousands of you read the note from Elizabeth's mother ... I'm glad that thousands of you are thinking about that sweet little girl ... I'm glad that thousands of you are committing to pay closer attention to both the young and old Elizabeths in your own lives because you read her mom's words. If it took a title that made you think I was done with writing this blog or done with living or done with anything else you may have thought to get you to step up and step in to help someone ... sorry ... but I'm not sorry, not even a little bit.
I received a ton of messages over the last couple of days, and it's so very humbling to me that so many of those messages have talked about me being brave. While I appreciate your kind words, I'm not at all brave or courageous, friends, I'm really not. The words terrified and trembling would be more accurate descriptions of the emotions that course through my heart and soul on a regular basis these days. In the sea of messages I received, a dear friend was the first of several folks to send me the link to a song by Sara Bareilles titled "Brave," and I'm going to close this post with the lyrics and a YouTube link to the song. The words to the song are powerful, friends, really powerful, and they speak to the very core of my soul. Several of them in particular have been swirling around in my mind since I first listened to the song yesterday ... words my family and friends have said to me in recent months ... my family and friends ... my family and friends who chose to stay, who chose to accept, who chose to encourage, who chose to love ... my family and friends who've stood with me and for me and around me. Thank you for listening and caring and loving ... thank you for not giving up on me when I want to give up on myself ... thank you for believing in me when I don't believe in myself. Thank you for wanting to see me be brave ... thank you for wanting me to show you how big my brave is ... thank you so very, very, very much.
"You can be amazing
You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug
You can be the outcast
Or be the backlash of somebody’s lack of love
Or you can start speaking up
Nothing’s gonna hurt you the way that words do
And they settle ‘neath your skin
Kept on the inside and no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave
Everybody’s been there, everybody’s been stared down
By the enemy
Fallen for the fear and done some disappearing
Bow down to the mighty
Don’t run, stop holding your tongue
Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in
Show me how big your brave is
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
Innocence, your history of silence
Won’t do you any good
Did you think it would?
Let your words be anything but empty
Why don’t you tell them the truth?
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave"
YouTube --- Brave --- Sara Bareilles --- click here
My previous post received more views than any post I've ever written ... to the tune of almost eight times as many views. That's a lot, a whole, whole, whole lot of people who read that post. And I'm glad for that, because that means there's a plethora of folks sending lots of good thoughts to Elizabeth and her family. I'm glad because it's causing many of you to write in to tell me that you're going to listen more closely to those who need someone to talk to ... that you're going to care more deeply for those who are hurting or sad ... that you're going to love with a stronger heart than you ever have before. I'm sorry if my title frightened some of you ... actually, I'm not ... sorry about the title, that is. I'm glad that thousands of you read the note from Elizabeth's mother ... I'm glad that thousands of you are thinking about that sweet little girl ... I'm glad that thousands of you are committing to pay closer attention to both the young and old Elizabeths in your own lives because you read her mom's words. If it took a title that made you think I was done with writing this blog or done with living or done with anything else you may have thought to get you to step up and step in to help someone ... sorry ... but I'm not sorry, not even a little bit.
I received a ton of messages over the last couple of days, and it's so very humbling to me that so many of those messages have talked about me being brave. While I appreciate your kind words, I'm not at all brave or courageous, friends, I'm really not. The words terrified and trembling would be more accurate descriptions of the emotions that course through my heart and soul on a regular basis these days. In the sea of messages I received, a dear friend was the first of several folks to send me the link to a song by Sara Bareilles titled "Brave," and I'm going to close this post with the lyrics and a YouTube link to the song. The words to the song are powerful, friends, really powerful, and they speak to the very core of my soul. Several of them in particular have been swirling around in my mind since I first listened to the song yesterday ... words my family and friends have said to me in recent months ... my family and friends ... my family and friends who chose to stay, who chose to accept, who chose to encourage, who chose to love ... my family and friends who've stood with me and for me and around me. Thank you for listening and caring and loving ... thank you for not giving up on me when I want to give up on myself ... thank you for believing in me when I don't believe in myself. Thank you for wanting to see me be brave ... thank you for wanting me to show you how big my brave is ... thank you so very, very, very much.
"You can be amazing
You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug
You can be the outcast
Or be the backlash of somebody’s lack of love
Or you can start speaking up
Nothing’s gonna hurt you the way that words do
And they settle ‘neath your skin
Kept on the inside and no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave
Everybody’s been there, everybody’s been stared down
By the enemy
Fallen for the fear and done some disappearing
Bow down to the mighty
Don’t run, stop holding your tongue
Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in
Show me how big your brave is
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
Innocence, your history of silence
Won’t do you any good
Did you think it would?
Let your words be anything but empty
Why don’t you tell them the truth?
Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave"
YouTube --- Brave --- Sara Bareilles --- click here
Thursday, April 25, 2013
My Final Post
Remember when I wrote the following words? "It's interesting to me and sad at the same time that my posts with titles that people assume are going to be about something controversial or something revealing are the ones that garner thousands of hits." I also said that I'm not sure what that says about people ... the page views for this blog quadruple when folks think there are deep, dark secrets about to be told or sensitive subjects are about to be discussed. And that really does make me sad. But it also doesn't make it any less true ... people flock to read my posts when the titles are edgy. Which brings me to the title for tonight's post ... unless I die in my sleep, this probably isn't my final blog post. In fact, for those of you who are of the betting persuasion, I'll give you an inside tip and tell you that you'd be safe to bet I'm going to continue to post (at least for a while anyway). I chose tonight's title for a purely selfish reason ... I want a lot of people to read this post. I want a lot of people to read this post because what I'm writing about is very important. And very, very serious.
In late February, I posted a blog that included the link to the video my son Brad, some folks from my office and I produced ... a video called Ears Wide Open? that Brad posted to YouTube earlier that day. And a couple of days later, I wrote a post in which I shared several messages we had received following the release of the video. I began those stories with this one from a 13-year-old girl ... "I'm 13 years old and all I want to do is die because I'm not normal like my friends. My uncle sent me this video. Maybe it will get better for me too." The truth is that I omitted part of that little girl's message because it was too raw, too rough, too real to print ... "I have a gun and I have bullets and all I want to do is die." I replied to that little girl immediately, and I sent her contact information for a teen suicide hotline. I felt that it would be inappropriate for me to communicate on a regular basis with the girl without her parents' knowledge, but I did ask her to email me now and again and let me know how she was doing. I never knew her name ... until today.
I don't read all of the messages that come in on the Ears Wide Open? email account, because I received so much hate mail following "the" blog post on January 1st. Those types of messages took a big toll on me, so we put a plan in place to try to shield me from at least a portion of the negative letters when we released the video. I do, however, read all of the emails that pass my screening team ... messages like the one a couple of days ago from a pastor asking if he could show the video in his church on Sunday ... or the one a couple of weeks ago from a mother whose two children committed suicide a few months ago ... or the one last week from a man in his 50s who was recently diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease ... or the one today from the mother of the 13-year-old girl ... yes, the 13-year-old girl with the gun and the bullets who wanted to die.
When I saw the subject line of the email, my heart immediately began to pound with fear ... "From the 13-year-old girl's mother," and my mind was filled with one thought ... "Oh, please God, please, please let that kid be alive." And as I began to read the grateful mother's words, tears poured from my eyes and quickly soaked the front of my shirt.
"Dear Terrie ... My name is Wanda, and my daughter is the 13-year-old girl who watched your video and wrote to you about having a gun and wanting to die. First I want to thank you for sharing your story because it saved my only daughter's life. I knew she was being bullied at school but I had no idea how bad things really were for her. Someone sent your video to my brother and he sent it to my daughter. The day after she watched it, she told me that she had written to you and that your video made her think that if she just waited, things would get better for her as well. I'm not sure why, but you and your story connected with Elizabeth and caused her to tell her father and I the truth about how she felt.
"I thought about writing you several times over the last few weeks, but I wasn't sure if I should. But today something happened that made me know it was the right thing to do and the right time. Elizabeth showed me her journal on the computer that she had started writing when she had decided she was going to commit suicide. I have cried more today than I have in my life, especially when she showed me the entry she was planning to write on the day she had scheduled to kill herself. The title was, 'My Final Post.' I know some people are probably not being very kind to you because you said in the video that you are gay. I guess I want to close by begging you not to listen to them, Terrie. Please don't listen to them and instead listen to my sweet Elizabeth and all the other children and adults who are depressed that you are helping. Thank you is so little to say but I hope you know that I say it from the most thankful and grateful mom's heart. Thank you, Terrie, thank you."
I replied to Wanda, and I want to share one thing I said to her. I told her that the day after I got her daughter's first message I wrote something on a note card and taped it to the mirror in my bedroom. I taped the card to my mirror so that I would read the words every morning when I wake up and every night before I go to sleep. I taped that card to my mirror because I never want to forget her ... the little 13-year-old girl ... Elizabeth ... I want to forever remember Elizabeth. For all of you who have asked me why I wrote the January post and why we made the video ... she is why, friends ... Elizabeth is why.
I'm not writing my final post just yet ... and neither is she.
In late February, I posted a blog that included the link to the video my son Brad, some folks from my office and I produced ... a video called Ears Wide Open? that Brad posted to YouTube earlier that day. And a couple of days later, I wrote a post in which I shared several messages we had received following the release of the video. I began those stories with this one from a 13-year-old girl ... "I'm 13 years old and all I want to do is die because I'm not normal like my friends. My uncle sent me this video. Maybe it will get better for me too." The truth is that I omitted part of that little girl's message because it was too raw, too rough, too real to print ... "I have a gun and I have bullets and all I want to do is die." I replied to that little girl immediately, and I sent her contact information for a teen suicide hotline. I felt that it would be inappropriate for me to communicate on a regular basis with the girl without her parents' knowledge, but I did ask her to email me now and again and let me know how she was doing. I never knew her name ... until today.
I don't read all of the messages that come in on the Ears Wide Open? email account, because I received so much hate mail following "the" blog post on January 1st. Those types of messages took a big toll on me, so we put a plan in place to try to shield me from at least a portion of the negative letters when we released the video. I do, however, read all of the emails that pass my screening team ... messages like the one a couple of days ago from a pastor asking if he could show the video in his church on Sunday ... or the one a couple of weeks ago from a mother whose two children committed suicide a few months ago ... or the one last week from a man in his 50s who was recently diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease ... or the one today from the mother of the 13-year-old girl ... yes, the 13-year-old girl with the gun and the bullets who wanted to die.
When I saw the subject line of the email, my heart immediately began to pound with fear ... "From the 13-year-old girl's mother," and my mind was filled with one thought ... "Oh, please God, please, please let that kid be alive." And as I began to read the grateful mother's words, tears poured from my eyes and quickly soaked the front of my shirt.
"Dear Terrie ... My name is Wanda, and my daughter is the 13-year-old girl who watched your video and wrote to you about having a gun and wanting to die. First I want to thank you for sharing your story because it saved my only daughter's life. I knew she was being bullied at school but I had no idea how bad things really were for her. Someone sent your video to my brother and he sent it to my daughter. The day after she watched it, she told me that she had written to you and that your video made her think that if she just waited, things would get better for her as well. I'm not sure why, but you and your story connected with Elizabeth and caused her to tell her father and I the truth about how she felt.
"I thought about writing you several times over the last few weeks, but I wasn't sure if I should. But today something happened that made me know it was the right thing to do and the right time. Elizabeth showed me her journal on the computer that she had started writing when she had decided she was going to commit suicide. I have cried more today than I have in my life, especially when she showed me the entry she was planning to write on the day she had scheduled to kill herself. The title was, 'My Final Post.' I know some people are probably not being very kind to you because you said in the video that you are gay. I guess I want to close by begging you not to listen to them, Terrie. Please don't listen to them and instead listen to my sweet Elizabeth and all the other children and adults who are depressed that you are helping. Thank you is so little to say but I hope you know that I say it from the most thankful and grateful mom's heart. Thank you, Terrie, thank you."
I replied to Wanda, and I want to share one thing I said to her. I told her that the day after I got her daughter's first message I wrote something on a note card and taped it to the mirror in my bedroom. I taped the card to my mirror so that I would read the words every morning when I wake up and every night before I go to sleep. I taped that card to my mirror because I never want to forget her ... the little 13-year-old girl ... Elizabeth ... I want to forever remember Elizabeth. For all of you who have asked me why I wrote the January post and why we made the video ... she is why, friends ... Elizabeth is why.
I'm not writing my final post just yet ... and neither is she.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
From the Heart
Shortly after my son Brad was born, my dad had a quadruple heart bypass. I remember well the day he was up on a ladder cleaning leaves from the gutters of his and Mom's home when he began experiencing chest pains. Mom immediately took Daddy to the hospital, and within a few hours, he had been transported by ambulance to a specialized hospital in Nashville to undergo the surgery. I also remember well the time it took for Daddy to recover ... it was several weeks before he began to feel well enough to resume his normal routine. For all the things I recall about that period of Daddy's life, there's one in particular that remains crystal clear in my mind. I remember the emotional change in Daddy following his surgery ... he went from rarely shedding a tear to crying at the smallest things. Don't get me wrong, Daddy was always tender-hearted and compassionate; in fact, my sweet dad had the kindest heart and soul of anyone I've ever known. But there was a difference in him after his surgery when it came to crying, and I quickly learned that was a common occurrence following heart bypass surgery. I recall Daddy's doctor saying that there wasn't really a medical reason for the overwhelming emotion that many people experienced, but he had a theory that it had something to do with the new increase in blood flow to the heart. In a sense, the post-surgery heart had been restored ... renewed ... recreated. Yep ... think about that for a minute.
Today, I had a conversation with one of my guy friends at work, a man for whom I have so much respect ... for so many reasons. I've written a little about him before ... he's my friend with whom I talk Lincoln and Subarus. He's my friend who hugged the daylights out of me last fall when I got honest about who I am. He's my friend who told me how much he missed my spirit and my heart when depression came so very close to doing me in. He's my friend who jokes and laughs with me about things I rarely joke and laugh about. He's an all-around good guy ... nah ... he's a really great guy, and I am blessed to know him. Following my conversation with him today, one word kept pounding in my head ... brother ... he reminds me of my brother Jerry. And if you've been reading this blog for a while, you know how I felt about Jerry ... he was one of the greatest guys I've ever known.
While many of the conversations I have with my friend are lighthearted in nature, today was different as we discussed a most serious event that's happening in his life next week. He said many things this afternoon that touched me, but it was when he talked about how everything in his life over the last few years has worked together to lead him to what will take place next week that I knew he was speaking to me from his heart. He was passionate as he spoke about his journey ... passionate as he talked about things happening for a reason. I told him about the day last February ... about how the events that kept me alive that day had never happened before or since. He told me I needed to come to his church ... he's told me that many times since last fall ... he wants me to find my faith again. He talked about unselfish acts ... he talked about growing and learning to care more about others than himself ... he talked about having faith ... he talked about life and living and the things that matter most of all.
So here's to you, my friend ... thank you for touching my heart today by sharing your own. Thank you for inspiring me and making me want to be a better person. You're going to do great ... you surely are, friend ... you're going to do great indeed.
Today, I had a conversation with one of my guy friends at work, a man for whom I have so much respect ... for so many reasons. I've written a little about him before ... he's my friend with whom I talk Lincoln and Subarus. He's my friend who hugged the daylights out of me last fall when I got honest about who I am. He's my friend who told me how much he missed my spirit and my heart when depression came so very close to doing me in. He's my friend who jokes and laughs with me about things I rarely joke and laugh about. He's an all-around good guy ... nah ... he's a really great guy, and I am blessed to know him. Following my conversation with him today, one word kept pounding in my head ... brother ... he reminds me of my brother Jerry. And if you've been reading this blog for a while, you know how I felt about Jerry ... he was one of the greatest guys I've ever known.
While many of the conversations I have with my friend are lighthearted in nature, today was different as we discussed a most serious event that's happening in his life next week. He said many things this afternoon that touched me, but it was when he talked about how everything in his life over the last few years has worked together to lead him to what will take place next week that I knew he was speaking to me from his heart. He was passionate as he spoke about his journey ... passionate as he talked about things happening for a reason. I told him about the day last February ... about how the events that kept me alive that day had never happened before or since. He told me I needed to come to his church ... he's told me that many times since last fall ... he wants me to find my faith again. He talked about unselfish acts ... he talked about growing and learning to care more about others than himself ... he talked about having faith ... he talked about life and living and the things that matter most of all.
So here's to you, my friend ... thank you for touching my heart today by sharing your own. Thank you for inspiring me and making me want to be a better person. You're going to do great ... you surely are, friend ... you're going to do great indeed.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Sincerely Yours
Every year on my birthday up until I was 12 years old, I would get a very special birthday card in the mail from my Granny Waddle. Granny's last name was Waddle, it had nothing to do with the way she walked. Though to be honest, Granny was a large woman and she did waddle a bit when she walked. But I digress, back to my birthday cards. Those cards were special to me for two reasons ... they were from Granny, and they always had 100 shiny new pennies taped carefully to the inside of the card. Now I know that in today's world, 100 pennies would mean very little to many kids, but back then, those 100 pennies meant so much more. Those 100 pennies could buy 100 pieces of Double Bubble pink bubble gum (the square pieces with the little comic inside) or three boxes of Cracker Jacks (with a nifty prize inside) or 50 Pixy Stix (the straws with the colored sugar inside) or my all-time favorite ... 100 Atomic Fireballs ... yummmm. I'm sure there were lots of other things that my 100 pennies could have purchased, but Daddy always took me to the Red Bank Drugstore after I got my birthday card from Granny where I would choose my candy from the bins that rested inside a large wooden cabinet with the gleaming glass front. Now that I think about it, the candy really had very little to do with what made those outings so much fun ... what made them fun was the anticipation of getting the cards in the mail from Granny and holding Daddy's hand as we walked into the store.
I think the older I get, the more sentimental I become. I wish I had kept some of those cards from Granny, if for no other reason than I would have liked to have shown them to my children and grandchildren. Granny had a very unique style in her handwriting, kind of swirly and fancy. I remember wishing that I could write "pretty" like Granny, and when she would come to visit us from Kentucky, I would ask her to teach me to write the way she did. Granny would always laugh and say, "Child, everybody's got their own way of writin' ... I got my way and you got yours." Not only did Granny have her own special penmanship, she also had her own way of signing the birthday cards she sent to me. Each card always had the same closing, "Love you forever, Granny." Not just "Love you, Granny," or even "Love, Granny" ... nope ... every single one of Granny's birthday cards to me ended with the words "Love you forever, Granny."
I've been thinking a lot over the last couple of days about beginnings and endings, greetings and closings. I've thought about the many different methods I've used to close letters or cards I've sent over the years. I've used "Kind regards" or "Warmly" or "Much love" or "Hugs to you" or "Fondly" or "Cheers" or even "Until then." But, as I'm sure is true for many of you as well, the closing I've used most often is "Sincerely yours." I think I use those words most often because they are the ones my teacher Mrs. Gault taught me to use. I can't remember the name of the class Mrs. Gault taught, but I do remember that she taught us to stand every time we heard the Hallelujah Chorus, how to properly place a napkin in our laps at a fancy dinner and which silverware to use, to hold a teacup with our pinky finger extended, to always hold the door for the elderly, the correct way to give a firm handshake and to always end a letter, note or card with the words "Sincerely yours."
Those two words are pounding in my head ... sincerely yours ... sincerely yours ... sincerely yours. And each time they course through my mind, an overwhelming question accompanies them ... am I? Am I sincere? Am I sincere in the words I speak? In the words I write? Am I sincere not only in word but in deed as well? And so much, much, much more ... am I sincere deep within where it really matters? Am I sincere of heart? Am I?
Sincerely yours ... sincerely yours ... sincerely yours. Am I? Are you?
I think the older I get, the more sentimental I become. I wish I had kept some of those cards from Granny, if for no other reason than I would have liked to have shown them to my children and grandchildren. Granny had a very unique style in her handwriting, kind of swirly and fancy. I remember wishing that I could write "pretty" like Granny, and when she would come to visit us from Kentucky, I would ask her to teach me to write the way she did. Granny would always laugh and say, "Child, everybody's got their own way of writin' ... I got my way and you got yours." Not only did Granny have her own special penmanship, she also had her own way of signing the birthday cards she sent to me. Each card always had the same closing, "Love you forever, Granny." Not just "Love you, Granny," or even "Love, Granny" ... nope ... every single one of Granny's birthday cards to me ended with the words "Love you forever, Granny."
I've been thinking a lot over the last couple of days about beginnings and endings, greetings and closings. I've thought about the many different methods I've used to close letters or cards I've sent over the years. I've used "Kind regards" or "Warmly" or "Much love" or "Hugs to you" or "Fondly" or "Cheers" or even "Until then." But, as I'm sure is true for many of you as well, the closing I've used most often is "Sincerely yours." I think I use those words most often because they are the ones my teacher Mrs. Gault taught me to use. I can't remember the name of the class Mrs. Gault taught, but I do remember that she taught us to stand every time we heard the Hallelujah Chorus, how to properly place a napkin in our laps at a fancy dinner and which silverware to use, to hold a teacup with our pinky finger extended, to always hold the door for the elderly, the correct way to give a firm handshake and to always end a letter, note or card with the words "Sincerely yours."
Those two words are pounding in my head ... sincerely yours ... sincerely yours ... sincerely yours. And each time they course through my mind, an overwhelming question accompanies them ... am I? Am I sincere? Am I sincere in the words I speak? In the words I write? Am I sincere not only in word but in deed as well? And so much, much, much more ... am I sincere deep within where it really matters? Am I sincere of heart? Am I?
Sincerely yours ... sincerely yours ... sincerely yours. Am I? Are you?
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Monumentally Momentous Moments
Alliteration is defined as the use of the same letter or sound at the beginning of words in a sentence, often used in poetry ... or in the title of my post tonight. Those of you who are wordsmiths will probably readily agree that employing alliteration effectively when you write is no easy task. It's simple to pen the words "silly skiing squirrels," but to pen words that evoke emotion such as "her harsh, hate-filled heart" is much more difficult. I have a tremendous amount of respect for gifted writers who can paint pristine pictures with words that cause readers to not only read them but to feel those words as well. Yep, yep, yep ... I will always appreciate the art of alliteration. Now to explain my tremendously terrific title for tonight's post ... and yes, just in case you are wondering, I am indeed a gloriously gifted guru when it comes to alliteration.
Monumentally momentous moments ... I've had way more than a smattering of those over the last few days, some that were amazingly good and profound, and others not so much. I had one when the weather guys said we were under a tornado watch (long-time readers may go straight to my basement fort and recline there with me). I had one as I glanced through another batch of hate mail. I had one when a little kid on the trail ran up to me and hugged me. I had one when I woke up with a big chip on my shoulder and very low blood sugar on Monday morning. I had one when I read a message from a young man telling me that his sister had seen our video in one of her classes at college. I had one this morning as I ate breakfast and listened to the heartfelt story of someone who is working diligently to bring about change in the world. I had one when my old dog Julie placed her head in my lap and thumped her tail as she looked up at me with her golden eyes. I had one when Ollie peed on a person's shoe who stopped to chat as we were out for our evening walk ... seriously, Ollie, what the heck??? I had one at work yesterday when a friend made a very difficult endeavor easier by first making me laugh and then doing it with me. I had one last night as tears filled my eyes as I listened to someone speak about horrible child abuse. I had one when my daughter Meg texted me about the Mother's Day walk we are going to participate in together in a few weeks. I had one when my son Brad told me how proud he is that I'm his mom and how thankful he is that I'm here for him to tell me. I had one when I Skyped with Matt, Becca and Coraline this afternoon and my granddaughter waved goodbye to me.
Monumentally momentous moments ... there are moments in life that define me, moments that determine me, moments that devour me and moments that deliver me. There are moments that silence me, moments that surprise me, moments that stun me and moments that speak to me. There are moments that cause me to weep, moments that cause me to wonder, moments that cause me to worship and moments that cause me to waver. There are moments that teach me, moments that try me, moments that trouble me and moments that tug me. There are moments when I understand, moments when I undo, moments when I underestimate and moments when I unveil. There are moments when I know love, moments when I know laughter, moments when I know languish and moments when I know life. There are moments when I see goodness, moments when I see grace, moments when I see giving and moments when I see God.
I realized today that I've been conditioned to look for the giant lessons in life in big events, or even in a series of big events. But that's not where the greatest truths are found, friends ... the greatest truths come in the monumentally momentous moments ... they really, really, really do.
Monumentally momentous moments ... I've had way more than a smattering of those over the last few days, some that were amazingly good and profound, and others not so much. I had one when the weather guys said we were under a tornado watch (long-time readers may go straight to my basement fort and recline there with me). I had one as I glanced through another batch of hate mail. I had one when a little kid on the trail ran up to me and hugged me. I had one when I woke up with a big chip on my shoulder and very low blood sugar on Monday morning. I had one when I read a message from a young man telling me that his sister had seen our video in one of her classes at college. I had one this morning as I ate breakfast and listened to the heartfelt story of someone who is working diligently to bring about change in the world. I had one when my old dog Julie placed her head in my lap and thumped her tail as she looked up at me with her golden eyes. I had one when Ollie peed on a person's shoe who stopped to chat as we were out for our evening walk ... seriously, Ollie, what the heck??? I had one at work yesterday when a friend made a very difficult endeavor easier by first making me laugh and then doing it with me. I had one last night as tears filled my eyes as I listened to someone speak about horrible child abuse. I had one when my daughter Meg texted me about the Mother's Day walk we are going to participate in together in a few weeks. I had one when my son Brad told me how proud he is that I'm his mom and how thankful he is that I'm here for him to tell me. I had one when I Skyped with Matt, Becca and Coraline this afternoon and my granddaughter waved goodbye to me.
Monumentally momentous moments ... there are moments in life that define me, moments that determine me, moments that devour me and moments that deliver me. There are moments that silence me, moments that surprise me, moments that stun me and moments that speak to me. There are moments that cause me to weep, moments that cause me to wonder, moments that cause me to worship and moments that cause me to waver. There are moments that teach me, moments that try me, moments that trouble me and moments that tug me. There are moments when I understand, moments when I undo, moments when I underestimate and moments when I unveil. There are moments when I know love, moments when I know laughter, moments when I know languish and moments when I know life. There are moments when I see goodness, moments when I see grace, moments when I see giving and moments when I see God.
I realized today that I've been conditioned to look for the giant lessons in life in big events, or even in a series of big events. But that's not where the greatest truths are found, friends ... the greatest truths come in the monumentally momentous moments ... they really, really, really do.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
God Doesn't Care
When my daughter Meghann was young, she had a gift for saying funny things. Actually, she had a gift for combining different phrases together to create some really funny statements. Some of her "Meghann-isms," as we called them, have lived on, and I'm sure that someday she'll tell her children about her very funny combo phrases. One of my all-time favorite Meghann sayings was, "It doesn't care." That was my sweet daughter's combination of "I don't care," and "It doesn't matter." She whipped that phrase out of her repertoire most often when she was angry with her brothers, but she also used it on countless other occasions as well. In fact, "It doesn't care," became somewhat of a trademark statement for my Megs ... one that still makes me smile even now all these years later.
I've had Meghann's "It doesn't care" on my mind a lot this week for some reason, perhaps because I've been feeling rather nostalgic for the last few days and have been thinking a lot about things my kiddos did or said when they were little guys. I met with an attorney today to discuss some updates to my will, and when I left his office, I was in a rather somber mood. I suppose there's nothing like discussing your eventual demise to put you in a somber mood, though, eh? As I dodged raindrops on the way to my car after my meeting, I found myself once again thinking about Meghann's words. And as quickly as her words entered my mind, I thought about my will ... I thought about the people who matter most to me ... I thought about what I really do care about. By the time I put the key in the ignition of my car, my mind had skipped from the words of my daughter down an entirely different path. I was suddenly struck with a realization ... I was hit full in the face with a truth that I had never even considered before. If anyone doesn't care, it's God. God doesn't care ... He doesn't care at all.
God doesn't care what kind of car I drive ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I offer someone a ride who has no means of transportation.
God doesn't care about the brand of clothes I wear ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I clothe someone who is naked.
God doesn't care if I drink water or tea or coffee or beer ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I offer a cool drink to someone who is thirsty.
God doesn't care that I have a prestigious job ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I am kind to my co-workers.
God doesn't care about the size of my house ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not it's a home filled with love.
God doesn't care how much money I have ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I give to someone who has nothing.
God doesn't care what I eat for breakfast ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I feed someone who is hungry.
God doesn't care if I'm an eloquent speaker ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I talk to someone who is lonely.
God doesn't care if my muscles are toned ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I carry the burden of someone who is hurting.
God doesn't care about so many things I think are important ... but He cares a whole lot about me.
"For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.' Then the righteous will answer Him, 'Lord, when did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? And when did we see You a stranger, and invite You in, or naked, and clothe You? When did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?' The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.'" Matthew 25:35-40
I've had Meghann's "It doesn't care" on my mind a lot this week for some reason, perhaps because I've been feeling rather nostalgic for the last few days and have been thinking a lot about things my kiddos did or said when they were little guys. I met with an attorney today to discuss some updates to my will, and when I left his office, I was in a rather somber mood. I suppose there's nothing like discussing your eventual demise to put you in a somber mood, though, eh? As I dodged raindrops on the way to my car after my meeting, I found myself once again thinking about Meghann's words. And as quickly as her words entered my mind, I thought about my will ... I thought about the people who matter most to me ... I thought about what I really do care about. By the time I put the key in the ignition of my car, my mind had skipped from the words of my daughter down an entirely different path. I was suddenly struck with a realization ... I was hit full in the face with a truth that I had never even considered before. If anyone doesn't care, it's God. God doesn't care ... He doesn't care at all.
God doesn't care what kind of car I drive ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I offer someone a ride who has no means of transportation.
God doesn't care about the brand of clothes I wear ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I clothe someone who is naked.
God doesn't care if I drink water or tea or coffee or beer ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I offer a cool drink to someone who is thirsty.
God doesn't care that I have a prestigious job ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I am kind to my co-workers.
God doesn't care about the size of my house ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not it's a home filled with love.
God doesn't care how much money I have ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I give to someone who has nothing.
God doesn't care what I eat for breakfast ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I feed someone who is hungry.
God doesn't care if I'm an eloquent speaker ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I talk to someone who is lonely.
God doesn't care if my muscles are toned ... but He cares a whole lot about whether or not I carry the burden of someone who is hurting.
God doesn't care about so many things I think are important ... but He cares a whole lot about me.
"For I was hungry, and you gave Me something to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave Me something to drink; I was a stranger, and you invited Me in; naked, and you clothed Me; I was sick, and you visited Me; I was in prison, and you came to Me.' Then the righteous will answer Him, 'Lord, when did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? And when did we see You a stranger, and invite You in, or naked, and clothe You? When did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?' The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.'" Matthew 25:35-40
Monday, April 15, 2013
On My Tombstone
Today our country was once again shaken by a senseless act of violence, and tonight we grieve for those who lost their lives and pray for the ones who were injured in the explosions that took place at the Boston Marathon. There are so many questions following such a heinous act, many that will probably never be answered. It is impossible for me to ever conceive the type of mind that would intentionally harm innocent people. My heart goes out to all the people who were present in Boston today, and my prayers are especially with the families of those who were killed or wounded.
I've written so often in this blog about lessons that God teaches me and the many different methods He uses to teach me those truths. Four people in my office at various times today said the following words to me ... "Life is short." And when I heard about the tragedy that unfolded in Boston, I understood why God wanted me to sear those words into my soul today. Life can be so very, very short, friends ... so very, very short. In the blink of an eye, a life can be forever altered ... in the blink of an eye, a life can be lost. The more I thought about the brevity of life today, the more I began to think about the legacy each of us leave behind ... the more I began to wonder about the legacy I will leave ... the more I began to ponder how I will be remembered. It's odd to me that I had that very conversation with two different people today ... about what people will remember when I leave this earthly life. And as I drove home this evening, I couldn't shake the words from earlier today ... the words of my friends or the words I spoke. And the question that pounded in my head as I took Oliver for a short walk after dinner was this ... how do I hope to be remembered when I'm gone?
I hope I'm not remembered for being short rather than tall ... I hope I stand behind those I love and that's what you remember. I hope I'm not remembered for being eloquent with words ... I hope I listen to those who need to talk and that's what you remember. I hope I'm not remembered for my deep blue eyes ... I hope I see the pain of those who are hurting and that's what you remember. I hope I'm not remembered for being gay ... I hope I have a heart for everyone God created and that's what you remember. I hope I am kind ... I hope I am loyal ... I hope I am trustworthy ... I hope I am compassionate ... I hope I am loving. I hope I am all of those things and so many more ... I hope that's what you remember.
I've mentioned before about the quotes I have hanging in my cubicle and on my computer screen at work, and there is one that has had a lot of meaning for me recently ... and even more so today. I'm going to close with the quote, but first ... life really is short, friends, it really is. Love each other ... take care of each other ... look out for each other ... be kind to each other ... listen to each other ... help each other. If you live out those words ... if I live out those words ... we'll all be remembered for the things that really matter.
"I don't want my life to be defined by what is etched on a tombstone. I want it to be defined by what is etched in the lives and hearts of those I've touched."
I've written so often in this blog about lessons that God teaches me and the many different methods He uses to teach me those truths. Four people in my office at various times today said the following words to me ... "Life is short." And when I heard about the tragedy that unfolded in Boston, I understood why God wanted me to sear those words into my soul today. Life can be so very, very short, friends ... so very, very short. In the blink of an eye, a life can be forever altered ... in the blink of an eye, a life can be lost. The more I thought about the brevity of life today, the more I began to think about the legacy each of us leave behind ... the more I began to wonder about the legacy I will leave ... the more I began to ponder how I will be remembered. It's odd to me that I had that very conversation with two different people today ... about what people will remember when I leave this earthly life. And as I drove home this evening, I couldn't shake the words from earlier today ... the words of my friends or the words I spoke. And the question that pounded in my head as I took Oliver for a short walk after dinner was this ... how do I hope to be remembered when I'm gone?
I hope I'm not remembered for being short rather than tall ... I hope I stand behind those I love and that's what you remember. I hope I'm not remembered for being eloquent with words ... I hope I listen to those who need to talk and that's what you remember. I hope I'm not remembered for my deep blue eyes ... I hope I see the pain of those who are hurting and that's what you remember. I hope I'm not remembered for being gay ... I hope I have a heart for everyone God created and that's what you remember. I hope I am kind ... I hope I am loyal ... I hope I am trustworthy ... I hope I am compassionate ... I hope I am loving. I hope I am all of those things and so many more ... I hope that's what you remember.
I've mentioned before about the quotes I have hanging in my cubicle and on my computer screen at work, and there is one that has had a lot of meaning for me recently ... and even more so today. I'm going to close with the quote, but first ... life really is short, friends, it really is. Love each other ... take care of each other ... look out for each other ... be kind to each other ... listen to each other ... help each other. If you live out those words ... if I live out those words ... we'll all be remembered for the things that really matter.
"I don't want my life to be defined by what is etched on a tombstone. I want it to be defined by what is etched in the lives and hearts of those I've touched."
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Why I Write
When my three children all lived at home, the weekends were always crazy around our house. It wasn't just the activity of my own children that made the weekends busy, it was also due in part to all of their friends who spent countless hours in my house as well. My mom used to say that the entrance to my house was like a revolving door. I remember so many of them ... Mickey, Greg, Jackie, George, Lisa, Zach, Matt A. ... and my list could go on and on. They were all pretty good kids, and I loved that they enjoyed spending time at my house. I recently got a Facebook message from one of the young men telling me that I was always his favorite second mom ... I'm pretty sure it was because I made the best banana pudding in the world, and that young man could throw back some food like a champ. Add to the friend factor of my children all of their own activities, and things could get pretty darned hectic at times. I was a pretty laid-back mom on many things, but there was one thing that I wouldn't budge on ... there were times when it needed to be just our family ... me, Matt, Brad and Meghann. I'm not sure if my kiddos needed those times when it was just the four of us, but I know I surely did. My weekends are certainly different now ... most of the activity or noise around here is when Julie and Ollie get into a wrestling match in the living room, but even that doesn't happen as much as it used to because Julie is getting old.
While most of my weekends are pretty quiet now, every now and again, I get the opportunity to spend some time with Meghann and Barrett or Brad and Shelby. And yesterday was a super unusual day in that I got to spend some time in the afternoon with Meg and Barrett chatting and visiting at Olive Garden, and then went last night to the Kansas City Film Festival with Brad and Shelby for a screening of one of his films (and it was awesome, friends, to sit in a theater and see my son's work on the big screen!). Another film that was screened was about a couple who had given up their high-paying jobs a few years ago to do something huge ... they have adopted 10 children with special needs ... yep, 10 children with special needs ranging in age from 19 years old to 18 months. There were many things about the family's story that struck me last night as I watched, but it was one segment when the mom talked about finding purpose and meaning in her life that touched me the most deeply. As she spoke about her decision to give up a six-figure law practice to become a full-time mom to children who desperately need love and acceptance, tears filled my eyes as I listened. The segment ended with words that have haunted me today ... words that I can't shake from my mind. "Everyone has a purpose, a reason they were born. I thought mine was to be an attorney; I thought I had it all figured out. But my real purpose in life ... what I was born to do is to give love to those the world considers unlovable."
As I watched the love and affection of the family displayed on the screen before me, I thought about the time I've had recently with each of my children ... time a week or so ago with Matt, Becca and C.J., time yesterday afternoon with Meghann and Barrett, time last night with Brad and Shelby. And as I drove home alone and entered my quiet house, I was overwhelmed with thoughts that were crashing through my mind. Thoughts about my children, thoughts about my purpose in life. My children love me. They love me today the same way they have always loved me. They hug me when we greet, and they hug me when we part. That's something I miss a lot, you know ... hugs. I don't hug as freely or as quickly as I used to with other people. And honestly, that's been one of the hardest things for me since my post at the beginning of the year, having to be careful of what others might think if I hug someone. People don't hug me as much either ... I guess there's a reason for that, perhaps they think they'll catch something from me. But my children ... my children love me. They love me. They are not embarrassed to be with me ... they are still free and open in their demonstration of love for me ... they are still proud that I'm their mom. My children still love me, and I will always love them.
As to my purpose in life and the reason I was born ... well, I'm still working on that part. I do know one thing, though ... I do know why I write. I know why I wrote that post earlier this year and why we made our video. I know why I write about God and family and friends and pretending to be part of the Partridge Family and my dad's old green truck and rabbit-killing wiener dogs and diabetes and depression and the plethora of other things I write about. I know why I wrote the words that appear on the note cards in the video. I write because, for some reason that I will never understand, there are many of you who are moved or helped or touched by the words I pen ... and I know that because you have written to tell me so. I write for you, and we filmed Ears Wide Open? for you ... for those of you who need to laugh along with me when I'm outside in my underwear prying my wiener dog's mouth from a lifeless rabbit's neck, those of you who need to cry along with me when my tears fall like rain and sadness threatens to destroy me, those of you who need to hope along with me that the day will arrive when I'm OK with who I am, those of you who need to walk along the trail with me as I learn lesson after lesson about the gift of living, those of you who need to love along with me when what I really want to do is return hate for hate, those of you who need to believe along with me that God's love never fails, never ends and never abandons even when my faith is so very weak.
Now that I think about it ... maybe I do know at least part of my purpose in life and the reason God gave me life ... maybe I do after all.
While most of my weekends are pretty quiet now, every now and again, I get the opportunity to spend some time with Meghann and Barrett or Brad and Shelby. And yesterday was a super unusual day in that I got to spend some time in the afternoon with Meg and Barrett chatting and visiting at Olive Garden, and then went last night to the Kansas City Film Festival with Brad and Shelby for a screening of one of his films (and it was awesome, friends, to sit in a theater and see my son's work on the big screen!). Another film that was screened was about a couple who had given up their high-paying jobs a few years ago to do something huge ... they have adopted 10 children with special needs ... yep, 10 children with special needs ranging in age from 19 years old to 18 months. There were many things about the family's story that struck me last night as I watched, but it was one segment when the mom talked about finding purpose and meaning in her life that touched me the most deeply. As she spoke about her decision to give up a six-figure law practice to become a full-time mom to children who desperately need love and acceptance, tears filled my eyes as I listened. The segment ended with words that have haunted me today ... words that I can't shake from my mind. "Everyone has a purpose, a reason they were born. I thought mine was to be an attorney; I thought I had it all figured out. But my real purpose in life ... what I was born to do is to give love to those the world considers unlovable."
As I watched the love and affection of the family displayed on the screen before me, I thought about the time I've had recently with each of my children ... time a week or so ago with Matt, Becca and C.J., time yesterday afternoon with Meghann and Barrett, time last night with Brad and Shelby. And as I drove home alone and entered my quiet house, I was overwhelmed with thoughts that were crashing through my mind. Thoughts about my children, thoughts about my purpose in life. My children love me. They love me today the same way they have always loved me. They hug me when we greet, and they hug me when we part. That's something I miss a lot, you know ... hugs. I don't hug as freely or as quickly as I used to with other people. And honestly, that's been one of the hardest things for me since my post at the beginning of the year, having to be careful of what others might think if I hug someone. People don't hug me as much either ... I guess there's a reason for that, perhaps they think they'll catch something from me. But my children ... my children love me. They love me. They are not embarrassed to be with me ... they are still free and open in their demonstration of love for me ... they are still proud that I'm their mom. My children still love me, and I will always love them.
As to my purpose in life and the reason I was born ... well, I'm still working on that part. I do know one thing, though ... I do know why I write. I know why I wrote that post earlier this year and why we made our video. I know why I write about God and family and friends and pretending to be part of the Partridge Family and my dad's old green truck and rabbit-killing wiener dogs and diabetes and depression and the plethora of other things I write about. I know why I wrote the words that appear on the note cards in the video. I write because, for some reason that I will never understand, there are many of you who are moved or helped or touched by the words I pen ... and I know that because you have written to tell me so. I write for you, and we filmed Ears Wide Open? for you ... for those of you who need to laugh along with me when I'm outside in my underwear prying my wiener dog's mouth from a lifeless rabbit's neck, those of you who need to cry along with me when my tears fall like rain and sadness threatens to destroy me, those of you who need to hope along with me that the day will arrive when I'm OK with who I am, those of you who need to walk along the trail with me as I learn lesson after lesson about the gift of living, those of you who need to love along with me when what I really want to do is return hate for hate, those of you who need to believe along with me that God's love never fails, never ends and never abandons even when my faith is so very weak.
Now that I think about it ... maybe I do know at least part of my purpose in life and the reason God gave me life ... maybe I do after all.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Try Harder
Sometimes it's hard for me to believe it was over three years ago that I began my nightly walks with my little hound J.R. There are times when that seems like an eternity ago, and then there are other times when it seems like it was just yesterday. I weighed a lot more back then, and J.R. was a pretty chunky fellow himself. Walking was hard for both of us in the beginning ... really hard. In the book I wrote about our journey together, God Even Loves Wiener Dogs, I mentioned that I often wondered who waddled most as we walked together, me or my little fat buddy. I was so out of shape when J.R. and I first started walking on the trail across the street from my house that I would often have to stop and rest for a while before I could go on ... walking for more than 15 or 20 minutes seemed almost like an impossible feat for me to accomplish. Those walks began as an attempt to help J.R.'s injured back, but after I was diagnosed with diabetes, our walks together became a critical component in helping me manage my blood sugar levels.
I have a ton of memories from my time on the trail with J.R., but there's one in particular that's been pounding in my brain since I left the life-saving head doctor's office last night after my appointment. There were many evenings when I didn't think I could walk as far or as long as I needed to ... when I was so tired or my feet hurt or I struggled to breathe ... so many evenings when I would say to J.R., "I just can't do it, J.R. ... I can't do it. I'm never going to be able to lose the weight, buddy ... it's too hard ... I just can't do it." And quite often on those particular nights, I would gather J.R. into my arms and sit down in the grass by the creek for a while, feeling very much like I was failing my little dog, like I was letting him down because I wanted to stop trying. But there always came a point as we sat by the creek when a different feeling would begin to take root within me, a point when I would stand up and say, "I need to try harder, J.R. ... I need to try harder."
If you've been reading with me for even a short amount of time, you know that God has been trying to teach me a whole lot of lessons over the last few years. And if you know that, then you know that it often takes a while for those lessons to work their way into my stubborn brain, and that God usually has to use more than a few different means to get me to pay attention to what He's saying. So when the doctor said several times last night that I needed to try harder in regard to a certain "getting OK" exercise, her words struck a chord deep within me ... a chord that resonated back to a time when I felt as though I couldn't take one more step or walk one more mile. And when she spoke about how others are pushing me and challenging me because I'm not pushing myself, I thought about all those nights that I kept walking because J.R. was depending on me to do the right thing by him. The truth, though, the real truth is that the times when those walks were the hardest and most difficult for me were the times when they did me the most good ... physically, mentally and emotionally.
Three years ago, I could barely walk to the end of my street and back with J.R. Tonight, Oliver and I walked six miles together. The doctor's words are crashing through my mind ... "Try harder, Terrie ... you've got to try harder." Maybe she's right ... maybe she's right.
I have a ton of memories from my time on the trail with J.R., but there's one in particular that's been pounding in my brain since I left the life-saving head doctor's office last night after my appointment. There were many evenings when I didn't think I could walk as far or as long as I needed to ... when I was so tired or my feet hurt or I struggled to breathe ... so many evenings when I would say to J.R., "I just can't do it, J.R. ... I can't do it. I'm never going to be able to lose the weight, buddy ... it's too hard ... I just can't do it." And quite often on those particular nights, I would gather J.R. into my arms and sit down in the grass by the creek for a while, feeling very much like I was failing my little dog, like I was letting him down because I wanted to stop trying. But there always came a point as we sat by the creek when a different feeling would begin to take root within me, a point when I would stand up and say, "I need to try harder, J.R. ... I need to try harder."
If you've been reading with me for even a short amount of time, you know that God has been trying to teach me a whole lot of lessons over the last few years. And if you know that, then you know that it often takes a while for those lessons to work their way into my stubborn brain, and that God usually has to use more than a few different means to get me to pay attention to what He's saying. So when the doctor said several times last night that I needed to try harder in regard to a certain "getting OK" exercise, her words struck a chord deep within me ... a chord that resonated back to a time when I felt as though I couldn't take one more step or walk one more mile. And when she spoke about how others are pushing me and challenging me because I'm not pushing myself, I thought about all those nights that I kept walking because J.R. was depending on me to do the right thing by him. The truth, though, the real truth is that the times when those walks were the hardest and most difficult for me were the times when they did me the most good ... physically, mentally and emotionally.
Three years ago, I could barely walk to the end of my street and back with J.R. Tonight, Oliver and I walked six miles together. The doctor's words are crashing through my mind ... "Try harder, Terrie ... you've got to try harder." Maybe she's right ... maybe she's right.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)