This morning, I was awakened at 5 a.m. by loud thunder and intense lightning. Being as terrified of storms as you know I am, I immediately jumped out of bed, raced into my living room and turned on the television to check the weather. An audible groan escaped my lips when I heard that we were under a severe thunderstorm warning, and I quickly grabbed my backpack, food and dogs and headed to the basement. I had barely gotten Julie and Ollie into their kennel when I knew I had a big problem ... water that had been trickling in around one of the windows in the basement suddenly went from a trickle to two spouting fountains, one of which was soaking the outlet where my dryer was plugged in. I stood there for a few seconds staring at the black box wondering if I should risk grabbing the wet plug and removing it from the outlet, unsure whether I would be electrocuted if I did. I decided the risk of unplugging the dryer cord was less than leaving it connected, so I quickly jerked the plug out ... obviously since I'm typing this post, I didn't fry myself by doing so. I am, however, wondering if I should ever use my dryer again.
I spent the next hour and a half holding containers up to the leaking window trying to catch as much of the flowing fountains as I could and then mopping up the floor when the rain finally slacked off. When I eventually took Ollie out to potty in the front yard on his leash (no rabbit or bird killing when he's on the leash), I was greeted by several of my neighbors who were out in their yards watching the water rising quickly into their yards from the creek across the street. In the 16 years that I've lived in my house, I think I've only seen the creek cross the road and come so close to my house one other time. I chatted with my neighbors for a few minutes about the storm, traded Oliver for Julie's potty time, showered and ate breakfast, checked the basement one more time and hopped in my car to head to work. Dark clouds still covered the sky as I drove, and as rain began to fall on my car, I said aloud, "Not more rain! No!" I wondered if I should turn around and go home, convinced that water was probably pouring in around my basement window again, but decided to trust ... there's that word again ... trust that the weather guys were correct when they said that most of the rain was over. I grumbled aloud about the water in my basement, wondering how much money it will cost to repair the window. Only a week or so ago, I had to have a new water heater installed, which pretty much exhausted my supply of extra cash. But it was as I pulled into a parking place at work that I had "a moment," a moment when God spoke. And this time ... this time ... I listened.
I've written a great deal about the beating my faith has taken over the last year or so ... I've written about my struggle to believe that God loves me ... I've written about not attending church. What I haven't written about was how angry I have been with God ... how deep my self-hatred really goes ... how I feel as though I will never find my way back to some semblance of peace. I've been trying to ignore all the signs that God has been placing before me ... I've been trying to deny His love ... I've been trying to believe that He couldn't possibly still have a purpose or plan for me. I'm wrong, friends ... I'm wrong. Not only does He love me now, He always has ... from before I was born. And not only did He love me then, He created me. God loves me ... and He created me ... just the way I am. As I talked with a friend at the end of the day at work, I said those very words ... "He has always loved me ... He always has. It's time for me to go back to church ... it's time for me to stop hating myself so much ... He kept me here for a reason ... it's time for me to listen." Tears filled my eyes as I spoke, and when I read an email from my friend later, my tears fell like rain as I read the following words ... "He made it through. YAY!!!"
I know it's time ... He knows it's time ... I'm listening ... ears wide open ... I'm listening.
Friday, May 31, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
It's All About Trust
Whenever I hear someone speak the words, "Trust me," I am instantly transported back to when I was 5 years old, trembling as I stood at the edge of the high diving board above the glistening water of the Red Bank swimming pool. My brother Jerry paddled patiently in the water below me as he chanted, "Come on, Little Bit ... jump in! I promise I'll be right here ... trust me!" I don't remember how long it took before I finally put my hand over my nose and jumped off the board, but I do remember one thing very clearly ... I remember Jerry's strong arms reaching into the water and pulling me to the surface, and then hanging onto his shoulders as he swam through the water to the ladder at the side of the pool. I also remember what my big brother said to me as I grabbed hold of the cool metal steps ... "You were great, Little Bit! Told you that you could trust me!"
If you've been reading along with me for any length of time, you know that I am a little afraid of thunderstorms ... yeah, right, eh? I am completely terrified of storms if the weather guys mention the word severe in conjunction with those storms. Long-time readers, you know about the storm fort I built in my basement and the bungeeing of my dogs' kennels to the water pipes ... 'nuff said. For the last week, the weather guys here in Kansas City have been warning us that severe weather was on its way for today and tomorrow, and yes, I grew more and more nervous with every passing day. I've been watching and reading about the weather for days ... I even read one of the local weather guy's blog every single day. It speaks volumes about the level of my storm fears that the two relatively new gals who sit near me at work asked me yesterday and today if there were any watches or warnings in place for our area. And this morning, it brought me great pleasure to report to them that I wasn't even a little bit frightened today because the weather guys and gals on Fox 4 said we were in absolutely no danger of severe weather today.
Here's the thing ... I trust the weather folks at Fox 4 for two reasons. They are right most of the time, and they don't hype things up in a shameless attempt to garner more viewers. The weather folks on the other channels, not so much ... in fact, they generally scare the living daylights out of me. As I've thought today about how I trust certain weather folks and not others, it's caused me to ponder how hugely important trust is in life ... trusting God, trusting other people, trusting myself. And the more I've pondered it, the more I've come to realize that my ability to trust has taken a pounding over the last year or so. I struggle with trusting that God has a plan for my life or even that He really does love me. People I trusted deeply have chosen to no longer have a relationship with me. And trusting myself? Good grief ... obviously, I've never had much confidence in myself.
But ... but ... but ... God keeps teaching me lessons and putting signs right in front of my face that are difficult to ignore. There are people who prove to me each day that they are trustworthy and loyal with some of the really gigantic things in my life. And slowly, slowly, slowly, perhaps I'm even learning to trust myself a little. Tonight, I'm also very much aware of how important it is not only for me to trust, but how important it is that I be trustworthy as well. I think I'll close tonight with some quotes ... quotes about trust ... because that really is what it's ultimately all about ... trust me.
"Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God." --- Corrie Ten Boom
"All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen." --- Ralph Waldo Emerson
"O Lord of hosts, how blessed is the man who trusts in You." --- Psalm 84:12
"Few delights can equal the presence of one whom we trust utterly." --- George MacDonald
"A blessed thing it is for any man or woman to have a friend, one human soul whom we can trust utterly, who knows the best and worst of us, and who loves us in spite of all our faults." --- Charles Kingsley
"As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live." --- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
"Today I trust my instinct, I trust myself. Finally." --- Isabelle Adjani
If you've been reading along with me for any length of time, you know that I am a little afraid of thunderstorms ... yeah, right, eh? I am completely terrified of storms if the weather guys mention the word severe in conjunction with those storms. Long-time readers, you know about the storm fort I built in my basement and the bungeeing of my dogs' kennels to the water pipes ... 'nuff said. For the last week, the weather guys here in Kansas City have been warning us that severe weather was on its way for today and tomorrow, and yes, I grew more and more nervous with every passing day. I've been watching and reading about the weather for days ... I even read one of the local weather guy's blog every single day. It speaks volumes about the level of my storm fears that the two relatively new gals who sit near me at work asked me yesterday and today if there were any watches or warnings in place for our area. And this morning, it brought me great pleasure to report to them that I wasn't even a little bit frightened today because the weather guys and gals on Fox 4 said we were in absolutely no danger of severe weather today.
Here's the thing ... I trust the weather folks at Fox 4 for two reasons. They are right most of the time, and they don't hype things up in a shameless attempt to garner more viewers. The weather folks on the other channels, not so much ... in fact, they generally scare the living daylights out of me. As I've thought today about how I trust certain weather folks and not others, it's caused me to ponder how hugely important trust is in life ... trusting God, trusting other people, trusting myself. And the more I've pondered it, the more I've come to realize that my ability to trust has taken a pounding over the last year or so. I struggle with trusting that God has a plan for my life or even that He really does love me. People I trusted deeply have chosen to no longer have a relationship with me. And trusting myself? Good grief ... obviously, I've never had much confidence in myself.
But ... but ... but ... God keeps teaching me lessons and putting signs right in front of my face that are difficult to ignore. There are people who prove to me each day that they are trustworthy and loyal with some of the really gigantic things in my life. And slowly, slowly, slowly, perhaps I'm even learning to trust myself a little. Tonight, I'm also very much aware of how important it is not only for me to trust, but how important it is that I be trustworthy as well. I think I'll close tonight with some quotes ... quotes about trust ... because that really is what it's ultimately all about ... trust me.
"Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God." --- Corrie Ten Boom
"All I have seen teaches me to trust the Creator for all I have not seen." --- Ralph Waldo Emerson
"O Lord of hosts, how blessed is the man who trusts in You." --- Psalm 84:12
"Few delights can equal the presence of one whom we trust utterly." --- George MacDonald
"A blessed thing it is for any man or woman to have a friend, one human soul whom we can trust utterly, who knows the best and worst of us, and who loves us in spite of all our faults." --- Charles Kingsley
"As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live." --- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
"Today I trust my instinct, I trust myself. Finally." --- Isabelle Adjani
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Just Be You. Awesome You.
It shouldn't have come as a surprise to me that my son Brad grew up to be a filmmaker since he was my kid who loved to dress up in all kinds of costumes. He spent at least a couple of years dressing like a fireman every day, and then there was his Dick Tracy phase. And when he got into junior high and high school, he couldn't wait to perform in the school plays and musicals. I've written before about Brad's gift for storytelling and how I think that is part of what makes him such an incredible filmmaker, but I also think part of what makes Brad so very good behind the camera is that he also understands what it means to be in front of it as well. I think all those years of acting ... of pretending to be someone else ... formed the basis for Brad's love of filmmaking and helped to teach him to tell stories not just through the lens of the camera, but through the eyes of the heart.
In my post "Looking for Normal," I wrote about how I had been trying to "girl up" my look a little and that I hadn't worn suspenders for a while. What I didn't write about was why ... a few weeks ago, someone asked me why I dressed the way I do. And it bothered me. A lot. A lot enough that I spent the weeks following that question trying ... well ... trying really hard to dress to fit someone else's definition of what normal should look like for me. And the harder I tried to do it, the more miserable I became. Yes, I know that a chunk of my depression is due to physical and chemical changes within my brain, but another great, big huge part of it is caused from spending my life pretending to be someone else ... dressing in costume, acting, if you will, trying to be someone I'm not. I like suspenders ... and ties ... and jeans ... and Converse ... and blazers. I do not like dresses ... or skirts ... or sequins ... or sparkles ... or lace ... or heels. And you know what? That doesn't make me less of a person or even less of a woman for that matter. I dress the way I do for no other reason than that's what I feel most comfortable wearing. I dress the way I do because for the first time in my life, I'm trying desperately to be me ... nothing more, nothing less ... just me. And just so you know ... for the last two days, I've worn suspenders.
On December 31, 2012, I did something I had never done before in this blog ... I asked another person to write the words for that night's post. I didn't give her any direction as to what to write about, and quite honestly, when I first read her words, I didn't think I could post them. Not because they were poorly written, because they were truly a work of art. My hesitation in posting what she had written was because her words were so kind ... so thoughtful ... so supportive of me. I had no idea that evening when I clicked "Publish" just how many people would be touched by her words, especially the last line of her post. A line that has taken on a life of its own ... a line that appears near the close of our video Ears Wide Open? ... a line that every single one of us should take to heart. If you haven't read the post, here's the link ... and if you have read it, go back and read it again. But when you get to the parts where my friend talks about me, change my name to yours ... yep, instead of Terrie, read your name instead. Why? Because just like me, you need to be you. Awesome you.
Life is short, friends ... too short to spend it being anyone other than who you are. Be real. Be open. Be honest. Be transparent. And most important ... most important of all ... just be you. Awesome you.
In my post "Looking for Normal," I wrote about how I had been trying to "girl up" my look a little and that I hadn't worn suspenders for a while. What I didn't write about was why ... a few weeks ago, someone asked me why I dressed the way I do. And it bothered me. A lot. A lot enough that I spent the weeks following that question trying ... well ... trying really hard to dress to fit someone else's definition of what normal should look like for me. And the harder I tried to do it, the more miserable I became. Yes, I know that a chunk of my depression is due to physical and chemical changes within my brain, but another great, big huge part of it is caused from spending my life pretending to be someone else ... dressing in costume, acting, if you will, trying to be someone I'm not. I like suspenders ... and ties ... and jeans ... and Converse ... and blazers. I do not like dresses ... or skirts ... or sequins ... or sparkles ... or lace ... or heels. And you know what? That doesn't make me less of a person or even less of a woman for that matter. I dress the way I do for no other reason than that's what I feel most comfortable wearing. I dress the way I do because for the first time in my life, I'm trying desperately to be me ... nothing more, nothing less ... just me. And just so you know ... for the last two days, I've worn suspenders.
On December 31, 2012, I did something I had never done before in this blog ... I asked another person to write the words for that night's post. I didn't give her any direction as to what to write about, and quite honestly, when I first read her words, I didn't think I could post them. Not because they were poorly written, because they were truly a work of art. My hesitation in posting what she had written was because her words were so kind ... so thoughtful ... so supportive of me. I had no idea that evening when I clicked "Publish" just how many people would be touched by her words, especially the last line of her post. A line that has taken on a life of its own ... a line that appears near the close of our video Ears Wide Open? ... a line that every single one of us should take to heart. If you haven't read the post, here's the link ... and if you have read it, go back and read it again. But when you get to the parts where my friend talks about me, change my name to yours ... yep, instead of Terrie, read your name instead. Why? Because just like me, you need to be you. Awesome you.
Life is short, friends ... too short to spend it being anyone other than who you are. Be real. Be open. Be honest. Be transparent. And most important ... most important of all ... just be you. Awesome you.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Almightily Speaking
I've probably watched more television in the last three days than I have in the last six months ... funny how much more TV I watch when I don't feel well. Although today, I'm finally feeling a bit better I think. Or perhaps I'm willing myself to feel better ... either way, I actually got off the couch today and cleaned my house, washed the mountain of dishes in the sink, bathed the dogs and did some laundry. My stomach isn't at all happy at the moment, but that seems to be the new normal for me now about an hour or so after I take my medicine. But I digress ... back to my television-watching marathon over the last few days. Last night, I shifted from watching movies about a superhero to watching movies about ... well ... I guess you could say the main character in the two movies I watched last night is the greatest superhero of all time ... God. Yep, I laid on my couch for four hours and watched two Almighty movies ... Bruce and Evan, to be specific. Now before you blast me ... of course I don't agree with the theology of the films ... of course I don't. But the flicks are quite entertaining, and for tonight's post, I'm going to use some words from the movies rather than my own. There are some wonderful lessons in them if you choose to pay attention. Hmmm ... if you choose to pay attention ... if you see the signs all around you ... if your ears are wide open. Wow.
"No matter how filthy something gets, you can always clean it right up." --- God
"God is a mean kid sitting on an anthill with a magnifying glass, and I'm the ant. He could fix my life in five minutes if He wanted to, but he'd rather burn off my feelers and watch me squirm." --- Bruce
"Triumph is born out of struggle, faith is the alchemist." --- God
"What if I need you? What if I have questions?" --- Bruce
"You have a gift for bringing joy and laughter to the world. I know, I created you." --- God
"You've had My powers for a week now and how many people have you helped?" --- God
"Okay, You win. I'm done. Please, I don't wanna do this anymore. I don't wanna be God! I want You to decide what's right for me! I surrender to your will!" --- Bruce
"Do I know you?" --- Evan
"Not as much as I'd like." --- God
"No. No. I believe you. But why me? --- Evan
"You said you want to change the world. So do I." --- God
"What makes you think God chose you?" --- The reporter
"He chose all of us." --- Evan
"Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does He give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does He give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does He give them opportunities to love each other?" --- God
Almightily speaking, friends ... I do believe the Almighty is speaking to me ... and perhaps to you as well.
"No matter how filthy something gets, you can always clean it right up." --- God
"God is a mean kid sitting on an anthill with a magnifying glass, and I'm the ant. He could fix my life in five minutes if He wanted to, but he'd rather burn off my feelers and watch me squirm." --- Bruce
"Triumph is born out of struggle, faith is the alchemist." --- God
"What if I need you? What if I have questions?" --- Bruce
"You have a gift for bringing joy and laughter to the world. I know, I created you." --- God
"You've had My powers for a week now and how many people have you helped?" --- God
"Okay, You win. I'm done. Please, I don't wanna do this anymore. I don't wanna be God! I want You to decide what's right for me! I surrender to your will!" --- Bruce
"Do I know you?" --- Evan
"Not as much as I'd like." --- God
"No. No. I believe you. But why me? --- Evan
"You said you want to change the world. So do I." --- God
"What makes you think God chose you?" --- The reporter
"He chose all of us." --- Evan
"Let me ask you something. If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does He give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does He give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does He give them opportunities to love each other?" --- God
Almightily speaking, friends ... I do believe the Almighty is speaking to me ... and perhaps to you as well.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Faster Than a Speeding Wiener
My love for Superman goes way back to when I was a kid. I remember the day my brother Jerry gave me my first Superman comic book, and I remember reading it over and over while I was stretched out high above the ground in my tree house. If I had that comic book today, I would be rich ... gosh, I probably pitched a million dollars or more into the trash between all the comics and baseball cards I had, but back then I had no idea how valuable they might be someday. Superman was always my favorite superhero of all the Justice League gang ... he had x-ray vision, super strength and speed, incredible hearing, he could fly and he had a completely cool costume ... seriously ... what's not to love about Superman? After the comics came the movies and eventually two different television series ... Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman and Smallville. And yes, I watched both of those shows faithfully ... of course I did.
Over the last couple of days, several of the Superman movies have been on television, and since my stomach is still more than a bit upset, I've spent a good part of those days stretched out on my couch watching them. In my total couch potato state, I've been thinking about the famous description of the man of steel ... "Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound." And I've come to the conclusion that I now live with a wiener dog who possesses his own superpower ... speed ... flying, leaping, unbelievable speed. Remember the rabbit kill count I mentioned a few posts ago? Well, that's now up to five for my little hunter dog ... but ... he's added a new species to his list of "critters I can hunt, catch and kill if they come into my yard." Yep, over the last few days, Ollie has mastered the art of snagging birds in flight when they fly down out of the tree ... three thus far. I know some of you may find it hard to believe that my seemingly mild-mannered wiener hound can run fast enough and jump high enough to catch a bird, but I promise you, he's learned how to do just that ... in fact, this morning, I sprayed my trash can with Lysol once again because there's a newly deceased feathered creature inside of it.
Here's the thing ... Ollie has lived with me and Julie for a little over two years, and not once during that time did he ever kill another animal, not once. But, he's been on a diet for the last few months because he had gotten too chubby, and he's lost a fair amount of weight ... enough that he's now lightning fast when he runs ... faster than a speeding wiener. And just like Superman lived as Clark Kent and kept his true identity a secret, Oliver lived as a peace-loving, overfed dog, never letting me see his true identity ... a super fast wiener dog who was born and bred to be a hunter. I'm certainly hoping that both the rabbit and bird communities have gathered for a tribal council of some sort to warn one another to stay away from Oliver Chance Johnson's yard if they value their lives. And I'm also hoping that my loud and stern reprimanding of Ollie combined with multiple baths and teeth brushings (which he hates, by the way) will cause him to think twice before he goes into full-blown attack mode ... yeah, right.
Last night as I got ready for bed, I was thinking about Superman and Ollie ... about secret identities ... about superpowers ... about good versus evil. And the more I thought about those things, the more I realized something ... something big. I related to Superman so much when I was young because I understood what it meant to hide ... even way back then, I understood about creating an identity that would cover my secret and keep me safe and protected from those who would want to harm me should they ever discover the truth. And just as Ollie has found a new sense of freedom since he got skinny, losing so much weight over the last three years has been liberating to me on so many levels ... I can walk for miles, bike deep into the woods, mow my lawn and play basketball with my neighbor boys. And maybe ... maybe one day, I'll understand what I was born to do ... what God created me to do.
Faster than a speeding wiener ... more powerful than the train coming toward me ... able to leap the obstacles I encounter along the way. Faster than a speeding wiener ... not such a bad thing to be, I think ... not such a bad thing at all.
Over the last couple of days, several of the Superman movies have been on television, and since my stomach is still more than a bit upset, I've spent a good part of those days stretched out on my couch watching them. In my total couch potato state, I've been thinking about the famous description of the man of steel ... "Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound." And I've come to the conclusion that I now live with a wiener dog who possesses his own superpower ... speed ... flying, leaping, unbelievable speed. Remember the rabbit kill count I mentioned a few posts ago? Well, that's now up to five for my little hunter dog ... but ... he's added a new species to his list of "critters I can hunt, catch and kill if they come into my yard." Yep, over the last few days, Ollie has mastered the art of snagging birds in flight when they fly down out of the tree ... three thus far. I know some of you may find it hard to believe that my seemingly mild-mannered wiener hound can run fast enough and jump high enough to catch a bird, but I promise you, he's learned how to do just that ... in fact, this morning, I sprayed my trash can with Lysol once again because there's a newly deceased feathered creature inside of it.
Here's the thing ... Ollie has lived with me and Julie for a little over two years, and not once during that time did he ever kill another animal, not once. But, he's been on a diet for the last few months because he had gotten too chubby, and he's lost a fair amount of weight ... enough that he's now lightning fast when he runs ... faster than a speeding wiener. And just like Superman lived as Clark Kent and kept his true identity a secret, Oliver lived as a peace-loving, overfed dog, never letting me see his true identity ... a super fast wiener dog who was born and bred to be a hunter. I'm certainly hoping that both the rabbit and bird communities have gathered for a tribal council of some sort to warn one another to stay away from Oliver Chance Johnson's yard if they value their lives. And I'm also hoping that my loud and stern reprimanding of Ollie combined with multiple baths and teeth brushings (which he hates, by the way) will cause him to think twice before he goes into full-blown attack mode ... yeah, right.
Last night as I got ready for bed, I was thinking about Superman and Ollie ... about secret identities ... about superpowers ... about good versus evil. And the more I thought about those things, the more I realized something ... something big. I related to Superman so much when I was young because I understood what it meant to hide ... even way back then, I understood about creating an identity that would cover my secret and keep me safe and protected from those who would want to harm me should they ever discover the truth. And just as Ollie has found a new sense of freedom since he got skinny, losing so much weight over the last three years has been liberating to me on so many levels ... I can walk for miles, bike deep into the woods, mow my lawn and play basketball with my neighbor boys. And maybe ... maybe one day, I'll understand what I was born to do ... what God created me to do.
Faster than a speeding wiener ... more powerful than the train coming toward me ... able to leap the obstacles I encounter along the way. Faster than a speeding wiener ... not such a bad thing to be, I think ... not such a bad thing at all.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Love Rescue Me
It's a beautiful, cool, crisp evening in Kansas City, the perfect night to go for a long leisurely walk with Oliver the wiener dog. I have about an hour and a half window from the time I take my new medicine with dinner until the low-lying queasiness that is with me throughout the day progresses to the full-blown, think I'm going to hurl stage. So the minute I swallowed my dinnertime handful of drugs, I grabbed Ollie and we headed to the trail. We walked our usual route and had turned to head home when it happened ... and no, I didn't crash into the tree again this evening. But before I tell you, let me say this ... I'm a nice person with a kind heart. Period.
Part of the route that Ollie and I walk each night involves us walking on a sidewalk that runs next to a two-lane road that is pretty heavily traveled. There are houses all along the street, and I've met several of the folks who live in them over the years as I've walked, first with J.R. and now with Ollie. I suppose because it's cool outside, the trail was pretty deserted and no one was out in their yards as I walked on the sidewalk with my little wiener dog this evening. We were about halfway to the place where the sidewalk picks back up with the trail when a car with four young men in it slowed down and pulled over close to the curb. I normally don't pay a lot of attention to the cars on the road, but tonight for some reason, I glanced up as the car slowed almost to a stop. I had forgotten to charge my iPod last night, so it had just died not two minutes before the car came along. And that meant I could hear every word the young men shouted at me ... and they were not nice words, friends ... they were not nice words at all. I didn't say anything in reply to the young men ... I just scooped Ollie (who was barking his crazy head off, though, defending my honor with all of his little wiener dog might) into my arms, lowered my head and kept walking. The young men finally drove on down the road, but not before they had hurled a couple of certain words at me that hit me as hard as if the young men had tossed bricks from their open car windows.
It's probably not a coincidence that the last song that played in my ears before the iPod battery died was the shortened version of Love Rescue Me as performed by Playing for Change. Yes, I cried as Ollie and I made our way home, but I also found myself saying the words to the song out loud as the tears rolled down my cheeks. By the time I walked into my house, I was thinking of the people in my life who have chosen to continue to love me in spite of who I am. I'm not going to mention names because I'm tired, and my stomach is rolling, and I don't want to miss anyone ... you all know who you are. There are no words that can even begin to tell you how thankful I am for each one of you ... no way to convey to you how very much you mean to me. You have no idea how many times your love has rescued me ... carried me ... lifted me ... protected me ... comforted me ... encouraged me ... supported me ... challenged me. Every single day ... your love rescues me.
"Love rescue me
Come forth and speak to me
Raise me up and don't let me fall
No man is my enemy
My own hands imprison me
Love rescue me
Many strangers have I met
On the road to my regret
Many lost who seek to find themselves in me
They ask me to reveal
The very thoughts they would conceal
Love rescue me
And the sun in the sky
Makes a shadow of you and I
Stretching out as the sun sinks in the sea
I'm here without a name
In the palace of my shame
Said, love rescue me"
Part of the route that Ollie and I walk each night involves us walking on a sidewalk that runs next to a two-lane road that is pretty heavily traveled. There are houses all along the street, and I've met several of the folks who live in them over the years as I've walked, first with J.R. and now with Ollie. I suppose because it's cool outside, the trail was pretty deserted and no one was out in their yards as I walked on the sidewalk with my little wiener dog this evening. We were about halfway to the place where the sidewalk picks back up with the trail when a car with four young men in it slowed down and pulled over close to the curb. I normally don't pay a lot of attention to the cars on the road, but tonight for some reason, I glanced up as the car slowed almost to a stop. I had forgotten to charge my iPod last night, so it had just died not two minutes before the car came along. And that meant I could hear every word the young men shouted at me ... and they were not nice words, friends ... they were not nice words at all. I didn't say anything in reply to the young men ... I just scooped Ollie (who was barking his crazy head off, though, defending my honor with all of his little wiener dog might) into my arms, lowered my head and kept walking. The young men finally drove on down the road, but not before they had hurled a couple of certain words at me that hit me as hard as if the young men had tossed bricks from their open car windows.
It's probably not a coincidence that the last song that played in my ears before the iPod battery died was the shortened version of Love Rescue Me as performed by Playing for Change. Yes, I cried as Ollie and I made our way home, but I also found myself saying the words to the song out loud as the tears rolled down my cheeks. By the time I walked into my house, I was thinking of the people in my life who have chosen to continue to love me in spite of who I am. I'm not going to mention names because I'm tired, and my stomach is rolling, and I don't want to miss anyone ... you all know who you are. There are no words that can even begin to tell you how thankful I am for each one of you ... no way to convey to you how very much you mean to me. You have no idea how many times your love has rescued me ... carried me ... lifted me ... protected me ... comforted me ... encouraged me ... supported me ... challenged me. Every single day ... your love rescues me.
"Love rescue me
Come forth and speak to me
Raise me up and don't let me fall
No man is my enemy
My own hands imprison me
Love rescue me
Many strangers have I met
On the road to my regret
Many lost who seek to find themselves in me
They ask me to reveal
The very thoughts they would conceal
Love rescue me
And the sun in the sky
Makes a shadow of you and I
Stretching out as the sun sinks in the sea
I'm here without a name
In the palace of my shame
Said, love rescue me"
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
The Tree
Ever since my granddaughter C.J. was born, my son Matt and daughter-in-law Becca have peppered me with questions about things Matt did when he was a little guy. Questions like "Did I cry a lot when I was a baby?" or "How old was Matt when he crawled?" or "Did I have colic?" or "Was Matt this busy when he was so little?" or the most recent ones ... "Was I climber?" and "Did he climb on every single thing all day long???" And my answers ... he did; he never did, he stood up and walked when he was 8 months old; he still has a weird stomach; if he was, I don't remember it; nope and nope. Obviously, C.J. is indeed a climber, which she must have inherited from her Uncle Brad ... yep, it was Bradley who climbed on every single thing all day long. Once, I walked into the kitchen and found him happily sitting on top of the fridge, and when he was old enough, he spent more time in trees than he did on the ground. I used to say he was the monkey of the family ... Matt was the cautious one ... Meghann was the social butterfly ... and Bradley ... Bradley was the refrigerator, furniture, tree-climbing monkey.
Trees have meaning for me, and they have since I was very young. In fact, this blog is named after the structure that sat in the first tree in my life that still elicits deep emotion within me each time I think of it. I can close my eyes and picture it, the tree that stood in the yard next to my brother Jerry's house on Haywood Drive. I remember the day Jerry built the tree house in that tree, and I remember the first time we climbed the ladder and ate cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches under the stars. The massive oak tree that stood behind my parents' home is another of those trees that holds special meaning for me ... for many, many years, a metal swing hung from the lowest limb of that tree. I remember Daddy pushing me in the swing, and I pushed my old children in it as well. The tree eventually died and Mom had it cut down, but the last time I was home before the old tree was no more, I sat on the back porch watching the same swing sway in the gentle Tennessee breeze.
There are a couple of other trees out on my walking trail that have claimed spots in my heart as well ... two trees that I see every time I go for a walk, every single time. One is the tree that I spent countless evenings sitting under with J.R. snuggled in my arms ... that tree was where we would always stop and rest, a habit that was started back when I was too overweight to walk very far without getting winded. It's the tree where I've sat recently and read two special stories from the Bible to Oliver ... I know that sounds crazy, but there's a reason, trust me. The other tree on the trail that has one of those spots in my heart ... well ... that tree is the one I've smacked myself on ... more than once, including tonight. I'm not sure why, but if I'm going to walk head-on into a tree, it's always that same tree. It's not like it's in the middle of the trail, and I'm pretty sure it doesn't move itself into my path, but I have slammed into that stinking tree over and over again. But ... every single time I've hit the tree, I've been deep in thought or deep in tears, my head down and my eyes glued to the ground below my feet.
Here's the thing, friends ... I hit the tree when I'm not looking up ... I hit the tree when I'm not looking at what's ahead of me ... I hit the tree when I'm focused on what's weighing me down rather than what lies before me. And tonight ... tonight, I hit the tree so hard that it knocked both my ball cap and my glasses to the ground. The bill of my cap kept my face from taking a direct hit, but I've got a knot on the top of my head that is already sore to the touch this evening. Once I got my cap and glasses back on and started on my way again, a thought pounded in my brain stronger than the pain from the bump on my head.
"You've slammed into the tree, child ... you've slammed into the tree because you aren't watching Me. You've smacked the tree again because you refuse to look at what I've put before you. I know your heart is heavy ... I began its beating. I know your spirit is burdened ... I breathed it into existence. I know your mind is weary ... I created its first thoughts. Look up ... watch Me ... trust Me ... listen to Me. Ears wide open, Terrie ... ears wide open. Remember the tree that held my Son for you ... ears wide open, Terrie ... ears wide open."
Trees have meaning for me, and they have since I was very young. In fact, this blog is named after the structure that sat in the first tree in my life that still elicits deep emotion within me each time I think of it. I can close my eyes and picture it, the tree that stood in the yard next to my brother Jerry's house on Haywood Drive. I remember the day Jerry built the tree house in that tree, and I remember the first time we climbed the ladder and ate cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches under the stars. The massive oak tree that stood behind my parents' home is another of those trees that holds special meaning for me ... for many, many years, a metal swing hung from the lowest limb of that tree. I remember Daddy pushing me in the swing, and I pushed my old children in it as well. The tree eventually died and Mom had it cut down, but the last time I was home before the old tree was no more, I sat on the back porch watching the same swing sway in the gentle Tennessee breeze.
There are a couple of other trees out on my walking trail that have claimed spots in my heart as well ... two trees that I see every time I go for a walk, every single time. One is the tree that I spent countless evenings sitting under with J.R. snuggled in my arms ... that tree was where we would always stop and rest, a habit that was started back when I was too overweight to walk very far without getting winded. It's the tree where I've sat recently and read two special stories from the Bible to Oliver ... I know that sounds crazy, but there's a reason, trust me. The other tree on the trail that has one of those spots in my heart ... well ... that tree is the one I've smacked myself on ... more than once, including tonight. I'm not sure why, but if I'm going to walk head-on into a tree, it's always that same tree. It's not like it's in the middle of the trail, and I'm pretty sure it doesn't move itself into my path, but I have slammed into that stinking tree over and over again. But ... every single time I've hit the tree, I've been deep in thought or deep in tears, my head down and my eyes glued to the ground below my feet.
Here's the thing, friends ... I hit the tree when I'm not looking up ... I hit the tree when I'm not looking at what's ahead of me ... I hit the tree when I'm focused on what's weighing me down rather than what lies before me. And tonight ... tonight, I hit the tree so hard that it knocked both my ball cap and my glasses to the ground. The bill of my cap kept my face from taking a direct hit, but I've got a knot on the top of my head that is already sore to the touch this evening. Once I got my cap and glasses back on and started on my way again, a thought pounded in my brain stronger than the pain from the bump on my head.
"You've slammed into the tree, child ... you've slammed into the tree because you aren't watching Me. You've smacked the tree again because you refuse to look at what I've put before you. I know your heart is heavy ... I began its beating. I know your spirit is burdened ... I breathed it into existence. I know your mind is weary ... I created its first thoughts. Look up ... watch Me ... trust Me ... listen to Me. Ears wide open, Terrie ... ears wide open. Remember the tree that held my Son for you ... ears wide open, Terrie ... ears wide open."
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Looking for Normal
Before I get into my post for this evening, let me say that my heart grieves, as I'm sure yours does as well, for the people of Moore, Oklahoma. It's always heart-wrenching to watch on television the devastation following a tornado strike, but I can't imagine witnessing it firsthand. I remember when my son Brad went to Joplin, Missouri, to film a documentary in conjunction with a company from California just a couple of weeks following the massive EF5 tornado that hit the town two years ago tomorrow. I remember Brad calling me several times over the few days that he was there, often moved to tears at what he was seeing and the stories the survivors were telling him. I cannot even begin to comprehend how deep the sorrow must be for the people of Moore today, especially those who lost loved ones yesterday. There are no words ... but please know that millions of people around the world are lifting you and your families in prayer and will continue to do so.
Yesterday morning, I did something I haven't done for years ... when my alarm sounded at 6:15 a.m., I didn't wake up. At some point, I suppose I must have roused long enough to hit the snooze button to silence the beeping, but I don't remember doing it. And I had gone to bed pretty early the night before, too, so it wasn't like I hadn't gotten much sleep. I have no idea how or why I slept straight through the normally annoying, loud, wakeful beast that sits beside my bed on the dresser. I do know, however, that when my dogs finally woke me up and I saw what time it was, my first thought was, "Is it Sunday or Monday?" And when my fuzzy brain cleared enough for me to realize that it was indeed Monday, I bolted out of bed and raced through my morning routine so that I could at least attempt to get to work on time. Thankfully, either there were no rabbits in my yard yesterday morning or Ollie's wiener dog hunting radar was temporarily down ... that would have been all I needed, to have to dispose of another rabbit body on a morning when I was already running incredibly late. I did manage to make it to work close to on time, mainly because by the time I actually got on the road, traffic was relatively light.
All day yesterday, I couldn't help but wonder over and over what caused me not to hear my alarm, and one thought lodged in my mind and has stayed there all day today as well ... "That's not normal ... it's not normal at all for me not to wake up when the alarm sounds." Normal ... that's a word I've said a lot recently, a whole, whole, whole lot. But so much more important than the fact that I've been saying that word a lot is that I've been looking to be that word my entire life. See, here's what normal means to most girls ... normal is wearing dresses and liking sparkly fingernail polish and being able to actually walk in heels without tripping and participating in conversations with other gals about cute outfits or jewelry or any number of other girly things. And you know what I've come to understand lately? If that's the definition of a "normal" girl, well then, I've never been normal and I'm pretty sure I never will be. My definition of the perfect casual outfit is overalls, a flannel shirt and hiking boots in the winter or khaki shorts, a polo shirt and Converse shoes in the summer. And the perfect dressy outfit is slacks, a button-down collared shirt, suspenders, tie, jacket and wing-tip shiny shoes. Yep, I definitely don't fit the definition of a normal gal on any level ... not on any level at all.
I've been trying to "girl up" my look a little, so it's been three weeks since I've worn suspenders ... three miserable weeks since I've worn my beloved suspenders. This morning, I stood gazing into my closet wanting desperately to wear my blue slacks, blue oxford shirt, suspenders, blue and green plaid tie, and black wing-tip shoes. But instead, I wore skinny jeans and a pink, blue and lime green shirt with a girly white t-shirt underneath ... because I'm trying to be someone else's definition of what normal should be for me. And that definition is about so much more than clothing ... it's about so much more than clothing, friends.
Even as I type those words, I'm thinking of the people in Oklahoma ... looking for normal ... the true brevity of life ... looking for normal indeed.
Yesterday morning, I did something I haven't done for years ... when my alarm sounded at 6:15 a.m., I didn't wake up. At some point, I suppose I must have roused long enough to hit the snooze button to silence the beeping, but I don't remember doing it. And I had gone to bed pretty early the night before, too, so it wasn't like I hadn't gotten much sleep. I have no idea how or why I slept straight through the normally annoying, loud, wakeful beast that sits beside my bed on the dresser. I do know, however, that when my dogs finally woke me up and I saw what time it was, my first thought was, "Is it Sunday or Monday?" And when my fuzzy brain cleared enough for me to realize that it was indeed Monday, I bolted out of bed and raced through my morning routine so that I could at least attempt to get to work on time. Thankfully, either there were no rabbits in my yard yesterday morning or Ollie's wiener dog hunting radar was temporarily down ... that would have been all I needed, to have to dispose of another rabbit body on a morning when I was already running incredibly late. I did manage to make it to work close to on time, mainly because by the time I actually got on the road, traffic was relatively light.
All day yesterday, I couldn't help but wonder over and over what caused me not to hear my alarm, and one thought lodged in my mind and has stayed there all day today as well ... "That's not normal ... it's not normal at all for me not to wake up when the alarm sounds." Normal ... that's a word I've said a lot recently, a whole, whole, whole lot. But so much more important than the fact that I've been saying that word a lot is that I've been looking to be that word my entire life. See, here's what normal means to most girls ... normal is wearing dresses and liking sparkly fingernail polish and being able to actually walk in heels without tripping and participating in conversations with other gals about cute outfits or jewelry or any number of other girly things. And you know what I've come to understand lately? If that's the definition of a "normal" girl, well then, I've never been normal and I'm pretty sure I never will be. My definition of the perfect casual outfit is overalls, a flannel shirt and hiking boots in the winter or khaki shorts, a polo shirt and Converse shoes in the summer. And the perfect dressy outfit is slacks, a button-down collared shirt, suspenders, tie, jacket and wing-tip shiny shoes. Yep, I definitely don't fit the definition of a normal gal on any level ... not on any level at all.
I've been trying to "girl up" my look a little, so it's been three weeks since I've worn suspenders ... three miserable weeks since I've worn my beloved suspenders. This morning, I stood gazing into my closet wanting desperately to wear my blue slacks, blue oxford shirt, suspenders, blue and green plaid tie, and black wing-tip shoes. But instead, I wore skinny jeans and a pink, blue and lime green shirt with a girly white t-shirt underneath ... because I'm trying to be someone else's definition of what normal should be for me. And that definition is about so much more than clothing ... it's about so much more than clothing, friends.
Even as I type those words, I'm thinking of the people in Oklahoma ... looking for normal ... the true brevity of life ... looking for normal indeed.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
It Strikes Me As God
First ... I hate, despise, loathe, detest and all the other strong emotional words that don't really even come close to adequately conveying exactly how much I DO NOT LIKE stormy weather. Two days in a row of being under a tornado watch is almost more than my old ticker can stand, especially when you add in the fact that I still don't feel well and that the thunder and lightning woke me up at 3:00 a.m. and scared the crap out of me. Now that I've said that, on with my post for tonight.
As many of you have comically, kindly, jokingly and affectionately pointed out to me over the course of the last five years since I penned the first post for this blog, I have certain words and phrases that I use a lot when I write. I suppose you could look at that two different ways, you know ... my vocabulary is rather limited, or those well-used words and phrases have become sort of a trademark for me. If you happen not to already know the answer, I'll give you a hint ... it's the latter. Not the ladder, mind you, the latter.
One of those trademark phrases of mine is, "It strikes me as odd," because ... well ... because a lot of things strike me as odd these days, I guess. Things like when a bunch of people say the same thing to me within a short span of time. Not things like, "Your shirt is ugly," or "You're getting too skinny," or "Is your hair crunchy?" or even "You've got such a kind heart." No, I'm talking about things like, "God has a plan for you," or "You have a calling," or "You need to listen to what He is telling you to do," or even "This is so much bigger than you." You'd better believe it strikes me as odd when a whole lot of people say those things to me ... and they keep on saying them, even when I tell them they are wrong.
Recently, I was emailing back and forth with a friend one evening, and I wrote the words, "It does strike me as rather odd that you all three are saying the same things ... rather odd indeed." My friend replied so quickly that I marveled at her typing skills, and I will now never again type or utter the words, "It strikes me as odd," without thinking about what she said.
"Strike you as odd??? You are hilarious!! Shouldn't it be, 'strike you as God?' :)"
Maybe it should, friend ... maybe it should indeed.
As many of you have comically, kindly, jokingly and affectionately pointed out to me over the course of the last five years since I penned the first post for this blog, I have certain words and phrases that I use a lot when I write. I suppose you could look at that two different ways, you know ... my vocabulary is rather limited, or those well-used words and phrases have become sort of a trademark for me. If you happen not to already know the answer, I'll give you a hint ... it's the latter. Not the ladder, mind you, the latter.
One of those trademark phrases of mine is, "It strikes me as odd," because ... well ... because a lot of things strike me as odd these days, I guess. Things like when a bunch of people say the same thing to me within a short span of time. Not things like, "Your shirt is ugly," or "You're getting too skinny," or "Is your hair crunchy?" or even "You've got such a kind heart." No, I'm talking about things like, "God has a plan for you," or "You have a calling," or "You need to listen to what He is telling you to do," or even "This is so much bigger than you." You'd better believe it strikes me as odd when a whole lot of people say those things to me ... and they keep on saying them, even when I tell them they are wrong.
Recently, I was emailing back and forth with a friend one evening, and I wrote the words, "It does strike me as rather odd that you all three are saying the same things ... rather odd indeed." My friend replied so quickly that I marveled at her typing skills, and I will now never again type or utter the words, "It strikes me as odd," without thinking about what she said.
"Strike you as odd??? You are hilarious!! Shouldn't it be, 'strike you as God?' :)"
Maybe it should, friend ... maybe it should indeed.
Friday, May 17, 2013
I Wish I Was a Turtle
My son Matthew loved the Ninja Turtles when he was a little guy ... loved, loved, loved them. He watched the cartoon religiously, had all the action figures and vehicles and swords and other paraphernalia, and dressed up like a Turtle for Halloween (or whenever he and his buddy Cory decided they wanted to transform themselves into Donatello and Raphael). I've never seen a kid so excited as Mattie was when the Ninja Turtles came to life on the big screen ... I don't think my little guy slept for a week before the movie was released.
For the last couple of weeks, Ollie and I have made a special stop by the creek each evening while we are out for a walk. We've made a special stop to watch a turtle ... a big turtle about the size of a basketball. No, really, it's one flipping huge turtle, and we aren't the only ones who stop to watch him each evening. All the other nights, Ollie and I just stood and watched the turtle for a few minutes and then moved on. But tonight, I had a lot on my mind and I still don't feel well, so I scooped Ollie into my arms and sat on the rocks that are perched just above the water. The minute I sat down and Ollie nestled himself onto my lap, I had one of those moments ... you know, a moment when a memory crashes so hard and fast into your mind that it takes your breath away. I rubbed Ollie's back as I realized that I was sitting on the very same rock I sat on when J.R. and I watched our friend Bucky the beaver in the creek. And tears filled my eyes as I said, "Oliver, buddy ... if it weren't for J.R., neither one of us would be sitting on this rock tonight." For those of you who don't know, the lady who contacted me about adopting Ollie found out about me from someone who forwarded her my blog post titled "To Everything a Season" ... the post when I shared that J.R. had passed away. When she first emailed me, she said, "I have a dog you need to meet." My little fat buddy J.R. ... I swear he was more than just a dog ... he rescued me through his life, and he rescued Ollie through his death.
Ollie and I didn't have to wait long for our turtle friend to show himself, and we both sat quietly as he glided along in the water beneath my dangling feet. He stopped almost right below my left foot, and I watched as his tail swept gently back and forth, causing the dirt on the bottom of the creek bed to swirl around him. "I wonder what turtles think about, Ollie," I whispered to my wiener dog who was sitting patiently (for a change) in my lap. "Do you think turtles think, Ollie?" Ollie's tail wagged each time I said his name, and he turned to lick my chin as I spoke. I'm not sure how long we sat on the rock watching the turtle, but after he finally moved on through the water until he was out of sight, we got up and turned toward home. With each step I took, I found myself chanting, "I wish I was a turtle ... I wish I was a turtle ... I wish I was a turtle."
No, really ... think about turtles for a minute. They never get in a hurry to go anywhere or do anything ... they just move along at their own pace, slow though it may be, until they reach their destination. No pressure, no worries, no stress ... they're turtles, for gosh sakes. Turtles generally live a really long time; in fact, some turtles live to be 200 years old. And the very best thing about being a turtle? They have shells ... shells they can hide away in anytime they want ... shells that protect them from danger ... shells that are their homes ... shells that are with them their entire lives. I did some reading about turtles when I got home from my walk this evening, and it's more than interesting to me that turtles generally not only survive injuries or wounds to their shells ... their shells become stronger, and they don't just survive, friends ... they thrive.
Yep, I wish I was a turtle indeed.
For the last couple of weeks, Ollie and I have made a special stop by the creek each evening while we are out for a walk. We've made a special stop to watch a turtle ... a big turtle about the size of a basketball. No, really, it's one flipping huge turtle, and we aren't the only ones who stop to watch him each evening. All the other nights, Ollie and I just stood and watched the turtle for a few minutes and then moved on. But tonight, I had a lot on my mind and I still don't feel well, so I scooped Ollie into my arms and sat on the rocks that are perched just above the water. The minute I sat down and Ollie nestled himself onto my lap, I had one of those moments ... you know, a moment when a memory crashes so hard and fast into your mind that it takes your breath away. I rubbed Ollie's back as I realized that I was sitting on the very same rock I sat on when J.R. and I watched our friend Bucky the beaver in the creek. And tears filled my eyes as I said, "Oliver, buddy ... if it weren't for J.R., neither one of us would be sitting on this rock tonight." For those of you who don't know, the lady who contacted me about adopting Ollie found out about me from someone who forwarded her my blog post titled "To Everything a Season" ... the post when I shared that J.R. had passed away. When she first emailed me, she said, "I have a dog you need to meet." My little fat buddy J.R. ... I swear he was more than just a dog ... he rescued me through his life, and he rescued Ollie through his death.
Ollie and I didn't have to wait long for our turtle friend to show himself, and we both sat quietly as he glided along in the water beneath my dangling feet. He stopped almost right below my left foot, and I watched as his tail swept gently back and forth, causing the dirt on the bottom of the creek bed to swirl around him. "I wonder what turtles think about, Ollie," I whispered to my wiener dog who was sitting patiently (for a change) in my lap. "Do you think turtles think, Ollie?" Ollie's tail wagged each time I said his name, and he turned to lick my chin as I spoke. I'm not sure how long we sat on the rock watching the turtle, but after he finally moved on through the water until he was out of sight, we got up and turned toward home. With each step I took, I found myself chanting, "I wish I was a turtle ... I wish I was a turtle ... I wish I was a turtle."
No, really ... think about turtles for a minute. They never get in a hurry to go anywhere or do anything ... they just move along at their own pace, slow though it may be, until they reach their destination. No pressure, no worries, no stress ... they're turtles, for gosh sakes. Turtles generally live a really long time; in fact, some turtles live to be 200 years old. And the very best thing about being a turtle? They have shells ... shells they can hide away in anytime they want ... shells that protect them from danger ... shells that are their homes ... shells that are with them their entire lives. I did some reading about turtles when I got home from my walk this evening, and it's more than interesting to me that turtles generally not only survive injuries or wounds to their shells ... their shells become stronger, and they don't just survive, friends ... they thrive.
Yep, I wish I was a turtle indeed.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Idol Worship
Tonight is one of those nights when I don't feel like doing anything ... and I do mean anything. I don't feel like eating or talking or writing or thinking or walking (though I did force myself to walk the wiener dog tonight). I must confess, however, that other than my short walk with Ollie, I've done nothing but curl up on the couch with my dogs. Ever since I started the new medication a little over a week ago, I haven't felt well ... headache, queasy stomach and tired to the bone. My doctor says it will get better and that I just have to give my body time to adjust, adapt and accept the new drug ... to which I would very much like to say, "Pish posh," and flush the stupid medication down the toilet. Probably not the greatest idea, though, so I managed to choke down some peanut butter and take another pill this evening. But back to my slothlike behavior tonight ... for the first time in a very long time, I laid on my couch and channel surfed. And though I haven't watched American Idol very often, that's where I settled tonight ... on the American Idol finale show.
What caught my attention and caused me to stop changing channels was Aretha Franklin belting out a song that she made popular years ago, accompanied by the top five female contestants from this season's Idol. But what kept me watching until the end of the show was my interest in seeing which of the two women, Candice or Kree, became the new American Idol. I should probably put a spoiler alert in here before I say who was the winner; stop reading if you don't want to know. When Ryan Seacrest dramatically (of course) announced that Candice had won, she immediately began to cry. And the truth is ... and yes, I know it's dumb ... I got pretty misty-eyed myself as the scene unfolded on my TV. It's probably just as well that I got teary as I watched Candice crying, because it was a short hop from teary to bawling when she began singing her final song, I Am Beautiful.
When the show ended, I immediately Googled the lyrics to the song, and I'm not sure if it was meant to be a worship song or if that's just the way the words struck me (along with the way Candice kept looking toward heaven as she sang it). See, here's the thing ... as those of you who know me well are very aware, I'm still trying to find my way when it comes to how God sees me ... with who He made me to be ... with where He is calling me to serve ... with so many things when it comes to Him. It strikes me as odd, really odd, that during a time when everything in me wants to crawl into my cave and stay there, I happen to watch a show I rarely watch and hear the words to a song that went straight to my heart. I'm going to close with just part of the lyrics ... maybe some of you need to hear them tonight, too.
"Cause I’m listening to his words
And he says I am beautiful
And when I fall
It don’t matter that I’m not perfect
I am beautiful
I’m not alone
And in his eyes I’m so worth it
I’m worth every tear
And every scar
And even when you say I’m not
He says I’m beautiful."
What caught my attention and caused me to stop changing channels was Aretha Franklin belting out a song that she made popular years ago, accompanied by the top five female contestants from this season's Idol. But what kept me watching until the end of the show was my interest in seeing which of the two women, Candice or Kree, became the new American Idol. I should probably put a spoiler alert in here before I say who was the winner; stop reading if you don't want to know. When Ryan Seacrest dramatically (of course) announced that Candice had won, she immediately began to cry. And the truth is ... and yes, I know it's dumb ... I got pretty misty-eyed myself as the scene unfolded on my TV. It's probably just as well that I got teary as I watched Candice crying, because it was a short hop from teary to bawling when she began singing her final song, I Am Beautiful.
When the show ended, I immediately Googled the lyrics to the song, and I'm not sure if it was meant to be a worship song or if that's just the way the words struck me (along with the way Candice kept looking toward heaven as she sang it). See, here's the thing ... as those of you who know me well are very aware, I'm still trying to find my way when it comes to how God sees me ... with who He made me to be ... with where He is calling me to serve ... with so many things when it comes to Him. It strikes me as odd, really odd, that during a time when everything in me wants to crawl into my cave and stay there, I happen to watch a show I rarely watch and hear the words to a song that went straight to my heart. I'm going to close with just part of the lyrics ... maybe some of you need to hear them tonight, too.
"Cause I’m listening to his words
And he says I am beautiful
And when I fall
It don’t matter that I’m not perfect
I am beautiful
I’m not alone
And in his eyes I’m so worth it
I’m worth every tear
And every scar
And even when you say I’m not
He says I’m beautiful."
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Boys to Men
I remember the first thing I noticed when my sons began to change from boys into men ... their necks. Yep, I know that sounds weird, but it was almost like they went to bed one night with chubby little boy necks and woke up the next morning with thinner grown-up man necks with protruding Adam's apples. It wasn't long after their necks thinned that their voices began to deepen, whiskers started to appear on their chins and they grew taller and slimmer. Meghann, of course, went through growing pains and changes as well, but the physical changes that took place in my sons were so much more outwardly noticeable and drastic. I remember having such mixed emotions as I watched my children grow into young adults ... being so thankful that they were healthy and happy and becoming the wonderful people they are today, but also a bit sad that the days of their childhoods were slipping away at what felt at the time like lightning speed.
On Monday evening, I wrote about my time chatting with Christian as Ollie and I rested on the bench by the side of the trail and how much Christian had grown up since I saw him last summer. I also wrote about how he touched my heart when he told me he had prayed for me every day since the day we spoke after J.R. passed away. Last night, I took Ollie for another short walk because I still don't feel too great from the new medication. I've written before about how Ollie and I play a game each time we cross the two wooden bridges that sit over the creek that runs back and forth along the trail ... the running, chasing, barking, hopping game I played once with him a really long time ago that my crazy little wiener dog has never forgotten. Ollie doesn't like it when other people are on his bridge, so we generally wait our turn if someone else is crossing when we arrive at his own personal wooden playground. But last night, Ollie encountered something he never had before ... not only was someone on his bridge, the someone was walking on the top rail of the bridge as if he were an Olympic gymnast. Ollie and I both stopped in our tracks and watched the young man as he walked, turned, jumped, balanced and eventually made his way to the end of the rail and jumped down.
He was wearing camo pants and a black t-shirt, and as Ollie and I got closer to him, he squatted down and extended his hand to let Ollie check him out and said with a huge smile on his face as he looked up at me, "How are you tonight, maam?"
"I'm fine," I said as he patted Ollie on the top of his head. "That was pretty awesome what you were doing on the rail there ... are you a gymnast?"
"No maam," the young man replied politely. "I'm in ROTC and the drills and exercises help with balance. I'm training to hopefully enter the Ranger program; my father is a Ranger."
Much like the night before as I listened to Christian talk about his plans for the future, I listened once again to a tall, strong young man as he spoke about what he hoped to do with his life. But it was as he spoke about honor, integrity and depth of character that my eyes grew misty, and all I could do was nod as I listened to him. When I was finally able to speak, I told him that Ollie and I needed to be heading home and that it was nice to meet him. He extended his hand to shake mine, and I was immediately aware of the strength within his grip. He held our handshake as he asked my name and told me his, and then he looked deeply into my eyes and said, "You won't always be so sad, Terrie ... you are stronger than you know." I cried all the way home after I said goodbye to Cameron and wondered how the young man could have possibly known how much I needed to hear his words last night.
It's no accident that three is such an important number when it comes to spiritual things ... think the Trinity, three days in the tomb ... the number three carries with it some deep, significant meaning in the Bible. So it probably shouldn't have surprised me today when one of the young men I worked with stopped me as I was leaving the kitchen and said, "Hey, Terrie, you've been frowning too much lately ... I miss your smile. What's wrong? You OK?" We walked back into the kitchen together and talked for a little while about life and ... well ... we just talked about stuff. And as I listened to him talk about support and unconditional love and understanding and acceptance, I couldn't help but think about how much he means to me ... how much I respect him ... how kind and gentle his heart is ... how proud his parents must be of the young man who is their son. And as I walked back to my desk after our chat, I knew that it was no accident that my young friend said what he did today.
Christian ... Cameron ... Danny ... three young men on three consecutive days ... three young men with a message for this old gal ... three young men who once were little boys and who now are men ... men of true honor ... men of strong integrity ... men of deep character. Thanks for touching my heart, gentlemen ... you blessed me ... you surely did.
On Monday evening, I wrote about my time chatting with Christian as Ollie and I rested on the bench by the side of the trail and how much Christian had grown up since I saw him last summer. I also wrote about how he touched my heart when he told me he had prayed for me every day since the day we spoke after J.R. passed away. Last night, I took Ollie for another short walk because I still don't feel too great from the new medication. I've written before about how Ollie and I play a game each time we cross the two wooden bridges that sit over the creek that runs back and forth along the trail ... the running, chasing, barking, hopping game I played once with him a really long time ago that my crazy little wiener dog has never forgotten. Ollie doesn't like it when other people are on his bridge, so we generally wait our turn if someone else is crossing when we arrive at his own personal wooden playground. But last night, Ollie encountered something he never had before ... not only was someone on his bridge, the someone was walking on the top rail of the bridge as if he were an Olympic gymnast. Ollie and I both stopped in our tracks and watched the young man as he walked, turned, jumped, balanced and eventually made his way to the end of the rail and jumped down.
He was wearing camo pants and a black t-shirt, and as Ollie and I got closer to him, he squatted down and extended his hand to let Ollie check him out and said with a huge smile on his face as he looked up at me, "How are you tonight, maam?"
"I'm fine," I said as he patted Ollie on the top of his head. "That was pretty awesome what you were doing on the rail there ... are you a gymnast?"
"No maam," the young man replied politely. "I'm in ROTC and the drills and exercises help with balance. I'm training to hopefully enter the Ranger program; my father is a Ranger."
Much like the night before as I listened to Christian talk about his plans for the future, I listened once again to a tall, strong young man as he spoke about what he hoped to do with his life. But it was as he spoke about honor, integrity and depth of character that my eyes grew misty, and all I could do was nod as I listened to him. When I was finally able to speak, I told him that Ollie and I needed to be heading home and that it was nice to meet him. He extended his hand to shake mine, and I was immediately aware of the strength within his grip. He held our handshake as he asked my name and told me his, and then he looked deeply into my eyes and said, "You won't always be so sad, Terrie ... you are stronger than you know." I cried all the way home after I said goodbye to Cameron and wondered how the young man could have possibly known how much I needed to hear his words last night.
It's no accident that three is such an important number when it comes to spiritual things ... think the Trinity, three days in the tomb ... the number three carries with it some deep, significant meaning in the Bible. So it probably shouldn't have surprised me today when one of the young men I worked with stopped me as I was leaving the kitchen and said, "Hey, Terrie, you've been frowning too much lately ... I miss your smile. What's wrong? You OK?" We walked back into the kitchen together and talked for a little while about life and ... well ... we just talked about stuff. And as I listened to him talk about support and unconditional love and understanding and acceptance, I couldn't help but think about how much he means to me ... how much I respect him ... how kind and gentle his heart is ... how proud his parents must be of the young man who is their son. And as I walked back to my desk after our chat, I knew that it was no accident that my young friend said what he did today.
Christian ... Cameron ... Danny ... three young men on three consecutive days ... three young men with a message for this old gal ... three young men who once were little boys and who now are men ... men of true honor ... men of strong integrity ... men of deep character. Thanks for touching my heart, gentlemen ... you blessed me ... you surely did.
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