There are times when I feel very old ... times like when it's really cold outside and my bones ache or when I'm asked if I should receive a senior discount because of my white hair or when I'm so tired at the end of a day that I go to bed at 8:00. But then there are other times when I don't feel my 53 years ... times like when I walk fast enough to pass much younger walkers on the trail or when I carry Ollie on my shoulder for several miles or when I used to visit folks in the retirement home or when I interact with some of the young people at my office or when I used to help out with the little kids at church. I'm glad that the times I feel younger than my age are still greater than the times I don't, though I'm well aware that those feeling younger days are probably quite numbered. I had a conversation with a couple of my friends at work on Friday in which I mentioned that I think I'm still pretty young at heart. I mean, seriously ... how many 53-year-old women do you know who can totally rock bow ties, suspenders and Converse shoes, not to mention super-cool spiky hair? It's odd to me that I said those words to my friends on Friday ... it's odd to me because of what I did last night ... something that was so fun, so engaging, so ... well ... so very cool and awesome, dudes. (That's me sounding young and hip in case you older folks missed it.)
Most of you know that my son Brad is a filmmaker, and as such, he often enters his work for consideration in various film festivals ... one of these days, my boy will have a film in the Sundance Film Festival ... I guarantee it. For the last several years, Brad and his crew have competed in a local film festival in the town where he lives; I think last evening's festival marked the fourth year Brad has submitted a film. This particular festival is rather unique in that the filmmakers have 48 hours to write, produce, film, edit and submit their film to the judges. If you know anything at all about movie production, you know that's a very difficult task to accomplish. The participants can't work ahead because each year the criteria and requirements for the films change, and the filmmakers don't know the topic or the specifics until right before the 48-hour time period begins. The films are all relatively short, sort of like a movie trailer, and the top 25 are selected to be shown at a theater to an audience and then prizes for 1st, 2nd, 3rd place and People's Choice are awarded. I had never attended this particular festival with Brad before, so when he invited me last week, I assured him I would definitely be there this year.
It's about a 35-minute drive from my house to the town where Brad lives ... a really cool university town that seems to always be teaming with people, especially on the main street that runs through the center of the city. I was delighted when I received a text from Brad on Friday evening asking if I'd like to come early on Saturday and go to dinner with him and Shelby. As I've mentioned before, weekends are difficult for me ... sometimes the loneliness of those two days is almost more than I can handle, so it's good for me to have something to occupy my time and I always love spending time with my kids. I met Brad and Shelby at one of their favorite restaurants, along with Brad's roommate Roy and their friend Kevin. I've known Roy since he and Brad were in high school, but it's only recently that I've gotten to know Kevin ... two great young men with brilliant minds and truly good hearts. I couldn't help but smile at the four young people around the table as they ate, and I was truly tickled when Kevin casually dipped some of his food in my blue cheese dressing and Roy offered me a taste of the spicy mustard that accompanied his meal. As I listened to them talking and laughing, I was struck by how comfortable I am with all of them ... how open our conversations are ... how much they treat me as one of them when we're together.
After dinner, we walked to the theater where the festival was being held ... a nice, leisurely stroll on a beautiful, cool Kansas summer evening, made even better by the lighthearted conversation that took place as we walked. Some of Brad and Shelby's other friends met us at the theater and as I watched them all greet one another with hugs and handshakes, I found myself thinking how wonderful it is that Brad has such a devoted group of young men and women as friends who encourage him in his filmmaking career ... that group of friends often makes time to attend the various film festivals to support Brad, and it's always touching for me to see their loyalty and commitment to my son.
Brad recently sold his film production company and went to work for the company that bought him out as their director of film. I'll be honest, when Brad first told me of his decision, I was a bit concerned as to whether or not it was the right move for him. Once again, however, I was completely wrong ... Brad absolutely loves working for the new company, and he can't say enough wonderful things about the folks he's working with. I certainly can relate to how life-changing it can be to work for a great company filled with incredible people who become like family to you. Last night, one of the guys Brad works with and his wife attended the film festival to cheer Brad on in the competition ... very, very, very cool. The young man's wife was quick to strike up a conversation with me and let me know that she is friends with several people I either currently work with or have in the past. During the intermission time, our conversation shifted to a topic of a more serious nature, and I was blown away by the young couple's words of acceptance and affirmation ... just blown away ... in a good way ... in a very, very good way.
As I said my goodbyes to Mike and Mary and Brad and Shelby and their friends, there were high-fives and hugs all around, and of course, Brad's traditional kiss and "Love you, Mom." And as I pulled out of the parking lot, I smiled the smile of the young at heart ... I smiled the smile of feeling accepted and appreciated and loved for exactly who I am ... I smiled the smile of a mom who is so very thankful for the love of my children (all six of them) ... so very, very thankful. Driving home in the darkness of the night with the cool, crisp air wafting through the lowered window of my car, it hit me ... it's my children who keep me young at heart ... it's my children who remind me that I belong, that I fit, that I'm wanted and loved.
Oh to be young again? Nah ... I think I like being 53. I think I like being old enough to look back on my past and both forgive myself for the mistakes I've made and appreciate the lessons it has taught me. I think I like being young enough to believe there may still be an adventure or two for me out there somewhere. I think I'm beginning to hate myself a little less and maybe even like myself a little more. I think I'm growing more certain with every passing day that God loves me ... the real me, not the me I pretended to be for all those years. Even as I type those words, I'm reminded of last fall and the very difficult conversations I had with my children ... conversations that caused me to wonder if I would lose the most important people in my life forever. Now ... now, friends ... I go shopping with my daughter Meghann and watch her run in 10k races and have dinner with her and my son-in-law Barrett. Now ... now, friends ... I get on airplanes and fly to Canada and walk with my son Matt and cook breakfast with my daughter-in-law Becca and play games around their table and giggle with my granddaughter C.J. Now ... now, friends ... I eat dinner with Brad and Shelby and attend film festivals and laugh with their friends and collaborate with my son on films.
Oh to be young again? Nah ... I think I like it here ... I think I like it here a whole lot.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Friday, June 28, 2013
The Ah-ha Moment
Every once in a while ... and those once in a whiles are fewer and farther between, trust me ... but every once in a while, I have a really good idea. I'm not talking about the good ideas I've had like unplugging my dryer while water was pouring into the socket and I was standing barefoot in an inch of water on the concrete floor or taking my bed off the frame at 3:00 a.m. so J.R. wouldn't get hurt if he jumped out of bed in the night. I'm talking about seriously good ideas like bungeeing my dogs' kennels to the water pipes in the basement when the tornado sirens begin to sound or getting my neighbor boys to pee around the fence in my back yard to keep the rabbits out ... don't judge me ... Ollie hasn't killed a rabbit in two weeks. When one of those awesomely, amazingly, incredibly fantastic ideas pops into my head, I quite often say out loud, "Ah-ha ... I've got it! That's a brilliant idea!" You've had them, too, I'm sure ... your own ah-ha moments when you realize you've either thought of something super intelligent or you've come to understand that you're witnessing something truly spectacular.
My morning was much better today than it was yesterday ... so much better that I wore my blue and burgundy argyle suspenders. Friday is the day I absolutely have to get to work on time, because every Friday, we have a meeting in the main conference room for the whole agency. The meetings have always been generally fun and lighthearted, which is just another reason why I love my job so much. Over the last several weeks, Seth has been running the meetings and he's been doing something different ... something that has been exceptionally fun. Each week, he asks for someone to share something cool that happened to them during the week ... seven cool things each week from seven people ... remember when I wrote about our company's seven tenants? Yep, pretty darn cool all the way around ... seven tenants, seven cool things, seven people. I was surprised when Seth announced in the meeting this morning that I did something cool this week and asked me to share about speaking at the conference. As I walked back to my desk, emotion swept through me as I realized all over again how much we are a family at work ... we care about each other ... if I haven't learned anything over the last several months, I've learned that in a gigantic way.
Later in the morning, my supervisor arrived from Wichita to meet with the company who installed our new security system and make sure Hilary, Louis and I were all trained and well-versed on how to manage it. Donna has been my supervisor ever since I came to work for the company almost 11 years ago, and I've written about her many times over the years. She's a fantastic supervisor, but so much more than that, she's one of my dearest friends. As she sat in the chair next to my desk and talked about her grandchildren before she left this afternoon, I struggled not to let her see the emotion that welled up within me ... Donna is retiring in August, and the thought of her not being in our office periodically is more than difficult for me. I've been trying to write a post dedicated to Donna for several weeks, but I'm having a hard time putting my feelings into words when it comes to her ... it's hard to do justice to what she means to me with mere words, it truly is. When she hugged me as she said goodbye, I realized all over again how much Donna is like a sister to me ... family ... we care about each other ... if I haven't learned anything over the last 10+ years, I've learned that in a gigantic way.
One of the toughest things for me in my struggle with depression over the last couple of years has been that for a long, long, long time, I didn't laugh much. That's not really true ... for a long, long, long time, I didn't laugh at all. The truth is for a long, long, long time, I had trouble finding a smile ... forget laughing, I could barely smile. As Hilary and I walked toward the door to leave this evening, I made a comment to our friend Ali who was still at her desk working ... a comment that caused Hilary to make another comment which led to a comment from Ali which led to me to say ... well, never mind ... by the time we said goodbye, we were all cracking up, and I've laughed on and off about our little exchange all evening. As I walked with Ollie this evening, I couldn't help but think about how different I am from Ali and Hil. They are tall and thin ... they have young children ... they know a ton about fashion ... they are girly ... they like purses and sparkles and sequins ... they are Midwesterners ... they are quite a few years younger than me. I'm short ... my kids are adults ... I ask Hil and Ali what I should wear (or beg them to go shopping with me) ... I've never been girly a day in my life ... seriously, I carry a backpack and wouldn't be caught dead in shiny crap ... I'm Southern through and through ... I'm more than half a century old. And yet ... I am blessed to count Ali and Hilary among my very closest and dearest friends even though we are so very different ... no, they are more than friends to me, they are family ... we care about each other ... if I haven't learned anything over the last year, I've learned that in a gigantic way.
As I was thinking about this post tonight, I couldn't help but think about the ah-ha moments I had today ... the many ah-ha moments I've had since last fall. Moments when I say, "Ah-ha ... now I get it." As I clicked off of Skype tonight after talking with Matt and C.J., I realized what all the ah-ha moments I had today were about ... they were about love. Love that is unconditional ... love that cheers me on ... love that doesn't quit ... love that rejoices with me when I conquer my fear ... love that sheds tears for me when I stumble and fall ... love that is steadfast ... love that believes in me ... love that challenges me ... love that is carried in the laughter of my little C.J. or the smiles of my children ... love that loves and loves and loves again and again and again ... love that ties us all together ... ah-ha ... now I get it, God, now I get it.
"Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.
Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?
Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." --- Ecclesiastes 4:9-12
My morning was much better today than it was yesterday ... so much better that I wore my blue and burgundy argyle suspenders. Friday is the day I absolutely have to get to work on time, because every Friday, we have a meeting in the main conference room for the whole agency. The meetings have always been generally fun and lighthearted, which is just another reason why I love my job so much. Over the last several weeks, Seth has been running the meetings and he's been doing something different ... something that has been exceptionally fun. Each week, he asks for someone to share something cool that happened to them during the week ... seven cool things each week from seven people ... remember when I wrote about our company's seven tenants? Yep, pretty darn cool all the way around ... seven tenants, seven cool things, seven people. I was surprised when Seth announced in the meeting this morning that I did something cool this week and asked me to share about speaking at the conference. As I walked back to my desk, emotion swept through me as I realized all over again how much we are a family at work ... we care about each other ... if I haven't learned anything over the last several months, I've learned that in a gigantic way.
Later in the morning, my supervisor arrived from Wichita to meet with the company who installed our new security system and make sure Hilary, Louis and I were all trained and well-versed on how to manage it. Donna has been my supervisor ever since I came to work for the company almost 11 years ago, and I've written about her many times over the years. She's a fantastic supervisor, but so much more than that, she's one of my dearest friends. As she sat in the chair next to my desk and talked about her grandchildren before she left this afternoon, I struggled not to let her see the emotion that welled up within me ... Donna is retiring in August, and the thought of her not being in our office periodically is more than difficult for me. I've been trying to write a post dedicated to Donna for several weeks, but I'm having a hard time putting my feelings into words when it comes to her ... it's hard to do justice to what she means to me with mere words, it truly is. When she hugged me as she said goodbye, I realized all over again how much Donna is like a sister to me ... family ... we care about each other ... if I haven't learned anything over the last 10+ years, I've learned that in a gigantic way.
One of the toughest things for me in my struggle with depression over the last couple of years has been that for a long, long, long time, I didn't laugh much. That's not really true ... for a long, long, long time, I didn't laugh at all. The truth is for a long, long, long time, I had trouble finding a smile ... forget laughing, I could barely smile. As Hilary and I walked toward the door to leave this evening, I made a comment to our friend Ali who was still at her desk working ... a comment that caused Hilary to make another comment which led to a comment from Ali which led to me to say ... well, never mind ... by the time we said goodbye, we were all cracking up, and I've laughed on and off about our little exchange all evening. As I walked with Ollie this evening, I couldn't help but think about how different I am from Ali and Hil. They are tall and thin ... they have young children ... they know a ton about fashion ... they are girly ... they like purses and sparkles and sequins ... they are Midwesterners ... they are quite a few years younger than me. I'm short ... my kids are adults ... I ask Hil and Ali what I should wear (or beg them to go shopping with me) ... I've never been girly a day in my life ... seriously, I carry a backpack and wouldn't be caught dead in shiny crap ... I'm Southern through and through ... I'm more than half a century old. And yet ... I am blessed to count Ali and Hilary among my very closest and dearest friends even though we are so very different ... no, they are more than friends to me, they are family ... we care about each other ... if I haven't learned anything over the last year, I've learned that in a gigantic way.
As I was thinking about this post tonight, I couldn't help but think about the ah-ha moments I had today ... the many ah-ha moments I've had since last fall. Moments when I say, "Ah-ha ... now I get it." As I clicked off of Skype tonight after talking with Matt and C.J., I realized what all the ah-ha moments I had today were about ... they were about love. Love that is unconditional ... love that cheers me on ... love that doesn't quit ... love that rejoices with me when I conquer my fear ... love that sheds tears for me when I stumble and fall ... love that is steadfast ... love that believes in me ... love that challenges me ... love that is carried in the laughter of my little C.J. or the smiles of my children ... love that loves and loves and loves again and again and again ... love that ties us all together ... ah-ha ... now I get it, God, now I get it.
"Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.
Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?
Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." --- Ecclesiastes 4:9-12
Thursday, June 27, 2013
A Love Thy Neighbor Kind of Day
Ever have a morning when you just didn't want to wake up? A morning when your dogs didn't rouse you before 6 a.m. and were snuggled next to you snoring? A morning when you hit the snooze button 11 times before you finally hauled your rear out of bed? A morning when you had planned to wear dress slacks and a nice shirt but instead opted for shorts and a t-shirt? That was my morning today. I was exhausted last night ... I hadn't slept well the night before because I was nervous about speaking yesterday. So when my alarm began to beep this morning, I groaned and pushed the snooze button time and time again. I eventually got up, took care of Julie and Ollie, showered and ate breakfast. By the time I finally got around to getting dressed, I was completely unmotivated to dress up for the day. I chose shorts and one of my favorite t-shirts ... yep, I chose my Love Thy Neighbor t-shirt. As I pulled the royal blue shirt with the white lettering on the back over my head, I said aloud to Julie and Ollie, "It's a Love Thy Neighbor kind of day, dogs ... a Love Thy Neighbor kind of day for sure."
For those of you who don't recall the words on my Love Thy Neighbor shirt, please allow me to refresh your memory ...
Love Thy Neighbor
Thy Homeless Neighbor
Thy Muslim Neighbor
Thy Black Neighbor
Thy Gay Neighbor
Thy White Neighbor
Thy Jewish Neighbor
Thy Christian Neighbor
Thy Atheist Neighbor
Thy Racist Neighbor
Thy Addicted Neighbor
I'm a gum chewer ... I chew gum every single day, and the first thing I do when I get in my car each morning to drive to work is pop a couple of pieces of Trident gum in my mouth. I usually have a couple of packs stashed in the little cubby under the radio in my car, two or three different flavors so that I can choose based on the mood I'm in that day. So this morning as I waited for the garage door to close before I backed out of the driveway, I opened the compartment where I keep my gum ... only to discover that the two packages of Trident were completely empty. I knew I would never be able to wait until my lunch hour to run to the gas station close to my office to buy gum, so I made an instant (and quite necessary) decision to make a quick stop at the station down the street from my house.
As is always the case when I'm in a hurry and running late for work, the parking lot was full of cars and there were several people waiting to pay for their items. I grabbed three packs of Trident and headed to take my place in line. I sensed that someone had gotten in line behind me, so when the gentleman said, "I like your shirt ... very nice ... great message," I turned so that I could see him and say thanks. I was a little surprised to see an older gray-haired gentleman ... I'm not sure why, but for some reason, it surprised me to receive such a positive comment from someone who was obviously quite a bit older than me. I smiled as I thanked him, and he asked where I got my shirt, saying he would like to have one. That's when the much younger man in line behind the older gentleman spoke up ... and I was once again surprised, not by his kind words, mind you, not by his kind words.
"That's just b.s.," he said angrily, except that he actually said the words and not the letters. "Just b.s. ... no one needs to love those people." I didn't say a word and instead turned back toward the counter, wondering exactly which of "those people" the young man was referring to in his comment. "Please let these people just pay and go, and get me out of here," I thought to myself. I could see the older gentleman out of the corner of my eye as he turned to face the younger guy. "Don't say anything, old man," I thought. "Don't say anything, please." Obviously the old guy couldn't read my mind, because he calmly and patiently said, "Young man, I like this nice lady's shirt, and if I can find one to purchase, I will wear it proudly. I believe the words on the shirt are true and that God commands us to love all people. According to God's Word, son, you are as much my neighbor as any of the people listed on this little gal's shirt." The young man didn't say a word as the older gentleman smiled, turned back toward the counter and nodded his head at me as if to say, "Don't worry, gal ... I've got this."
Needless to say, I haven't been able to get those two guys out of my mind all day. Needless to say, I learned a huge lesson this morning ... one that will stay with me for a very, very, very long time. Here's the thing ... every time I wear my Love Thy Neighbor shirt, I'm reminded of the day I broke down at work. I'm reminded of the sobbing confession I made to my friend as I told her I was once the person who judged the very people my shirt and the Bible tell me to love unconditionally. I'm reminded of saying that I had learned what it felt like to be judged and that I never wanted to judge another person again. I'm reminded of how I felt the first day I felt brave enough to actually wear the shirt to work. I'm reminded of the people who continue to love me ... unconditionally ... faithfully ... tirelessly ... fearlessly. I'm reminded that love and acceptance often comes from the most unexpected souls ... the soul of an older, silver-haired gentleman at the gas station ... the soul I would have expected judgment from ... the soul who surprised me this morning.
Suddenly I'm struck by a thought ... it's not just today that's a Love Thy Neighbor kind of day, or at least it shouldn't be. Every day should be a Love Thy Neighbor day ... every single day, friends ... every single day.
For those of you who don't recall the words on my Love Thy Neighbor shirt, please allow me to refresh your memory ...
Love Thy Neighbor
Thy Homeless Neighbor
Thy Muslim Neighbor
Thy Black Neighbor
Thy Gay Neighbor
Thy White Neighbor
Thy Jewish Neighbor
Thy Christian Neighbor
Thy Atheist Neighbor
Thy Racist Neighbor
Thy Addicted Neighbor
I'm a gum chewer ... I chew gum every single day, and the first thing I do when I get in my car each morning to drive to work is pop a couple of pieces of Trident gum in my mouth. I usually have a couple of packs stashed in the little cubby under the radio in my car, two or three different flavors so that I can choose based on the mood I'm in that day. So this morning as I waited for the garage door to close before I backed out of the driveway, I opened the compartment where I keep my gum ... only to discover that the two packages of Trident were completely empty. I knew I would never be able to wait until my lunch hour to run to the gas station close to my office to buy gum, so I made an instant (and quite necessary) decision to make a quick stop at the station down the street from my house.
As is always the case when I'm in a hurry and running late for work, the parking lot was full of cars and there were several people waiting to pay for their items. I grabbed three packs of Trident and headed to take my place in line. I sensed that someone had gotten in line behind me, so when the gentleman said, "I like your shirt ... very nice ... great message," I turned so that I could see him and say thanks. I was a little surprised to see an older gray-haired gentleman ... I'm not sure why, but for some reason, it surprised me to receive such a positive comment from someone who was obviously quite a bit older than me. I smiled as I thanked him, and he asked where I got my shirt, saying he would like to have one. That's when the much younger man in line behind the older gentleman spoke up ... and I was once again surprised, not by his kind words, mind you, not by his kind words.
"That's just b.s.," he said angrily, except that he actually said the words and not the letters. "Just b.s. ... no one needs to love those people." I didn't say a word and instead turned back toward the counter, wondering exactly which of "those people" the young man was referring to in his comment. "Please let these people just pay and go, and get me out of here," I thought to myself. I could see the older gentleman out of the corner of my eye as he turned to face the younger guy. "Don't say anything, old man," I thought. "Don't say anything, please." Obviously the old guy couldn't read my mind, because he calmly and patiently said, "Young man, I like this nice lady's shirt, and if I can find one to purchase, I will wear it proudly. I believe the words on the shirt are true and that God commands us to love all people. According to God's Word, son, you are as much my neighbor as any of the people listed on this little gal's shirt." The young man didn't say a word as the older gentleman smiled, turned back toward the counter and nodded his head at me as if to say, "Don't worry, gal ... I've got this."
Needless to say, I haven't been able to get those two guys out of my mind all day. Needless to say, I learned a huge lesson this morning ... one that will stay with me for a very, very, very long time. Here's the thing ... every time I wear my Love Thy Neighbor shirt, I'm reminded of the day I broke down at work. I'm reminded of the sobbing confession I made to my friend as I told her I was once the person who judged the very people my shirt and the Bible tell me to love unconditionally. I'm reminded of saying that I had learned what it felt like to be judged and that I never wanted to judge another person again. I'm reminded of how I felt the first day I felt brave enough to actually wear the shirt to work. I'm reminded of the people who continue to love me ... unconditionally ... faithfully ... tirelessly ... fearlessly. I'm reminded that love and acceptance often comes from the most unexpected souls ... the soul of an older, silver-haired gentleman at the gas station ... the soul I would have expected judgment from ... the soul who surprised me this morning.
Suddenly I'm struck by a thought ... it's not just today that's a Love Thy Neighbor kind of day, or at least it shouldn't be. Every day should be a Love Thy Neighbor day ... every single day, friends ... every single day.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Calling All Head Doctors
On Saturday evening, Matt called and asked if I'd like to Skype for a while with my granddaughter. Is there ever a time when I don't want to Skype with my son, daughter-in-law and little C.J.? On Sunday evening, Meghann called and asked if I'd like to meet her and Barrett for dinner at their favorite sushi restaurant. Is there ever a time when I don't want to eat dinner with my daughter and son-in-law? On Monday morning, Brad called and asked if I'd like to have lunch with him at the Thai place across the street from my office. Is there ever a time when I don't want to have lunch with my son? This morning, Brad's girlfriend Shelby sent me a message telling me she loved me and would be thinking of me today as I spoke. Is there ever a time when I don't absolutely love reading her messages? I know I've said it a ton of times in my posts, but I'm saying it again ... my children ... all six of them ... are incredible young adults with such amazing hearts. Their love for me and their acceptance of me inspire me every day ... those six young people inspire me to love ... to laugh ... to live.
Those of you who've been reading with me for a while know that I used to speak to women's groups ... a lot. Though I've mentioned in previous posts that all of the engagements I had booked cancelled after I told the truth about my sexuality, I've written very little about where my heart has been in recent months concerning whether or not I would ever speak again. Perhaps because I spoke before a group this morning for the first time since last fall, I feel like there are a few things I should share with you this evening as to where I am concerning speaking. But before I do, please know this ... I don't have the answers to so very many questions that have arisen since the first of the year. In fact, I have far more questions than I do answers at this point in my life. But there is one question I believe I finally know the answer to ... God still has a plan for my life, and I believe part of that plan involves helping others through telling my story.
I thought I was prepared for all of my speaking engagements to cancel when I hit publish on my post at the beginning of the year ... I was abundantly aware that telling the truth about myself would carry with it some far-reaching and painful consequences. I was wrong about being prepared for the fallout concerning speaking ... it hurt, and it hurt deeply. Some of the groups were kind and compassionate when they contacted me to cancel, and some were ... well ... some were just plain old hateful and mean. Though I was aware of the depth and scope that the consequences could involve, I was wrong about just how incredibly painful some of those consequences would turn out to be. It didn't take long for me to understand that being a public speaker was over for me ... the one thing in my life that I felt a true calling to do was over. I resigned myself to the fact that I had been wrong ... wrong about so very many things in my life.
This morning, I stood in front of a group of professionals, counseling professionals, people who change and save lives every single day, and told my story. And for those of you who are waiting with bated breath to know ... I didn't throw up or faint. I did sweat a lot in my purple shirt, but I didn't toss my cookies or have a close encounter with the floor ... and honestly, I'm pretty darned happy about both of those things tonight. I wore my shiny shoes and suspenders to give me confidence, and I even threw on a paisley bow tie for an extra boost in the good luck department. I was super nervous this morning, so much so that I couldn't bring myself to talk or text with anyone because I knew I would get teary. The closer it got to the time for me to stand before the group, the more nervous I grew ... and the more I sweated in my purple shirt. I don't know if the folks in the audience could see it, but my hands were shaking as I placed my watch on the podium so that I could keep an eye on the time as I spoke. But the minute I started speaking, something happened ... something big happened that no other person in that room realized was happening ... just me ... and God.
It only took a few seconds for the old familiar feeling to return ... the feeling I used to always get when I spoke for a group. Even though what I was speaking about today was deeply personal and quite painful at times, I felt it once again ... I felt the calling ... the deep in my gut gnawing that I'm supposed to be speaking, that I'm supposed to be helping other people ... the deep in my gut gnawing that God wants something from me. And this morning, like never before, I understood just what it is He wants ... He wants me to listen ... with my ears wide open ... to the calling ... to His calling.
My eyes filled with tears several times as I spoke this morning, and I saw tears in the eyes of many of the people as they listened. My voice cracked with emotion more than once, and the note card I held in my hands was bent and crinkly from my non-stop fiddling with it. I was truly humbled by the hugs and the comments from the people in the session after we wrapped up with a question and answer time. Several of them placed their business cards in my hand as they said, "I want to talk to you further about speaking for my group ... I'll be in touch soon," and a couple of the women talked to me about speaking in a national arena.
Though I don't understand why, and though I feel so very unworthy of His love, I don't think God is finished with me just yet, friends ... I think He may just be getting started ... He may just be indeed.
Those of you who've been reading with me for a while know that I used to speak to women's groups ... a lot. Though I've mentioned in previous posts that all of the engagements I had booked cancelled after I told the truth about my sexuality, I've written very little about where my heart has been in recent months concerning whether or not I would ever speak again. Perhaps because I spoke before a group this morning for the first time since last fall, I feel like there are a few things I should share with you this evening as to where I am concerning speaking. But before I do, please know this ... I don't have the answers to so very many questions that have arisen since the first of the year. In fact, I have far more questions than I do answers at this point in my life. But there is one question I believe I finally know the answer to ... God still has a plan for my life, and I believe part of that plan involves helping others through telling my story.
I thought I was prepared for all of my speaking engagements to cancel when I hit publish on my post at the beginning of the year ... I was abundantly aware that telling the truth about myself would carry with it some far-reaching and painful consequences. I was wrong about being prepared for the fallout concerning speaking ... it hurt, and it hurt deeply. Some of the groups were kind and compassionate when they contacted me to cancel, and some were ... well ... some were just plain old hateful and mean. Though I was aware of the depth and scope that the consequences could involve, I was wrong about just how incredibly painful some of those consequences would turn out to be. It didn't take long for me to understand that being a public speaker was over for me ... the one thing in my life that I felt a true calling to do was over. I resigned myself to the fact that I had been wrong ... wrong about so very many things in my life.
This morning, I stood in front of a group of professionals, counseling professionals, people who change and save lives every single day, and told my story. And for those of you who are waiting with bated breath to know ... I didn't throw up or faint. I did sweat a lot in my purple shirt, but I didn't toss my cookies or have a close encounter with the floor ... and honestly, I'm pretty darned happy about both of those things tonight. I wore my shiny shoes and suspenders to give me confidence, and I even threw on a paisley bow tie for an extra boost in the good luck department. I was super nervous this morning, so much so that I couldn't bring myself to talk or text with anyone because I knew I would get teary. The closer it got to the time for me to stand before the group, the more nervous I grew ... and the more I sweated in my purple shirt. I don't know if the folks in the audience could see it, but my hands were shaking as I placed my watch on the podium so that I could keep an eye on the time as I spoke. But the minute I started speaking, something happened ... something big happened that no other person in that room realized was happening ... just me ... and God.
It only took a few seconds for the old familiar feeling to return ... the feeling I used to always get when I spoke for a group. Even though what I was speaking about today was deeply personal and quite painful at times, I felt it once again ... I felt the calling ... the deep in my gut gnawing that I'm supposed to be speaking, that I'm supposed to be helping other people ... the deep in my gut gnawing that God wants something from me. And this morning, like never before, I understood just what it is He wants ... He wants me to listen ... with my ears wide open ... to the calling ... to His calling.
My eyes filled with tears several times as I spoke this morning, and I saw tears in the eyes of many of the people as they listened. My voice cracked with emotion more than once, and the note card I held in my hands was bent and crinkly from my non-stop fiddling with it. I was truly humbled by the hugs and the comments from the people in the session after we wrapped up with a question and answer time. Several of them placed their business cards in my hand as they said, "I want to talk to you further about speaking for my group ... I'll be in touch soon," and a couple of the women talked to me about speaking in a national arena.
Though I don't understand why, and though I feel so very unworthy of His love, I don't think God is finished with me just yet, friends ... I think He may just be getting started ... He may just be indeed.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Break Time
It's always puzzled me that though I only have 14 listed followers on this blog, my posts garner a ton of views. So many that over the last couple of months, I've been approached by three different big blogging groups asking me to come into their fold of bloggers. I know that sounds like it could be a good thing, right? But the catch is that I have to sign my blog over to the group; in essence, I would no longer be the sole owner of The Tree House blog. I've said no to all of them and will continue to say no to any others that approach me. I don't care if those groups promise me a gazillion readers ... that's never been and never will be what my blog is about. I blog because it's therapeutic to me, and I hope that maybe the things I struggle with, the lessons I learn, the adventures of Ollie the rabbit killer, and all the other stuff I write about help some of you as much as it helps me to write about them. Having said that, I wouldn't be opposed to a bunch of you who read my posts on a regular basis signing up to follow the blog ... I wouldn't be opposed to that at all, in fact.
Now that I've asked you to consider signing up to follow my crazy ramblings, I'm going to give you some time to think about it. I'm taking a break from posting for the next couple of days ... yes, I'm OK ... I need to spend a lot of time tomorrow and Tuesday evening freaking out about speaking at the conference on Wednesday ... ummm ... I mean preparing, preparing, preparing to speak on Wednesday. I promise I will post on Wednesday evening and fill you in on whether or not I faint or throw up ... it's a given that I'm going to get teary; good grief, I get teary watching a baseball game on television.
So ... have a great beginning to your week. Make a point of listening to someone who needs to talk ... go out of your way to care about someone who is lonely ... do whatever it takes to let the people you love know you love them ... be determined, passionate and driven to be kind to one another. Really ... seriously ... if we are kind to one another, listening, caring and loving happen easily and naturally. Really. Seriously. Just be kind.
Now that I've asked you to consider signing up to follow my crazy ramblings, I'm going to give you some time to think about it. I'm taking a break from posting for the next couple of days ... yes, I'm OK ... I need to spend a lot of time tomorrow and Tuesday evening freaking out about speaking at the conference on Wednesday ... ummm ... I mean preparing, preparing, preparing to speak on Wednesday. I promise I will post on Wednesday evening and fill you in on whether or not I faint or throw up ... it's a given that I'm going to get teary; good grief, I get teary watching a baseball game on television.
So ... have a great beginning to your week. Make a point of listening to someone who needs to talk ... go out of your way to care about someone who is lonely ... do whatever it takes to let the people you love know you love them ... be determined, passionate and driven to be kind to one another. Really ... seriously ... if we are kind to one another, listening, caring and loving happen easily and naturally. Really. Seriously. Just be kind.
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Who Are You?
There are many things I remember quite clearly from the early days of my Dad's descent into the void of Alzheimer's disease, but some of my most vivid memories involve the questions he would repeatedly ask me when I would travel to Tennessee from Florida (we lived there for a couple of years before we moved to Kansas) or Kansas to visit my family. It was so very sad to watch my dad forget how to do things he had done his whole life, and not to recognize the people he loved so dearly. In the beginning stages, he would ask more about things than people, and he would often get fixated on one certain item ... like his watch, for example. Daddy would ask over and over where his watch was, and when I would tell him it was on his wrist, he would say, "That's not my watch ... where's my watch?" Or he would ask where he should go to buy a new saw blade or seeds for the garden, even though he had traveled to the Red Bank Hardware store for decades to purchase those items. For as difficult as it was to hear Daddy ask those kinds of questions, the sadness I felt the first time he looked into my eyes with a puzzled look on his face and said, "Who are you?" was the deepest I had ever felt before.
It's really hot in Kansas City today, hot and humid. I took Ollie for a walk at 6:30 this morning, and by the time we got home, my t-shirt and shorts were completely soaked with sweat. I've been trying to convince myself all afternoon to go outside and mow the lawn, but my "It's way too hot to mow" chant has managed thus far to win out. Instead, I did some cleaning and laundry, and then plopped down on the couch and began channel searching in the hope that I could find a good movie to watch. I settled on "Jerry Maguire" ... I haven't seen that movie for a really long time, it was just beginning, and the little boy in it is simply adorable. For some reason now, certain lines in movies seem to strike chords with me like they never did before ... and no, I'm not talking about the two most well-known ones from the Jerry movie, "Show me the money!" and "You had me at hello." Yes, those are both great lines, but there were a couple of questions that spoke to me so deeply this morning ... questions that Jerry utters near the beginning of the movie.
If you haven't seen the movie, or if it's been a long time since you've seen it, you really should watch it ... it's filled with some great life lessons (and the little boy in it is simply adorable ... oh, wait, I said that already). Several events had caused Jerry to do some serious soul searching, and he decides he doesn't like the person he's become ... a shallow, money-hungry, arrogant man who cares only about making his way to the top, not caring who he has to hurt or step on or cheat or lie to or betray in order to get there. In a moment of what seems to him to be clarity and inspiration, he writes a mission statement ... for himself personally and also for how business is conducted in the field of sports management. But before he begins filling page after page with his revelation on his laptop, he asks himself the questions, "Who are you? Who have you become?" Did you catch that? Before he could write a mission statement for himself (or anyone else for that matter), Jerry had to figure out who he was ... who he was and who he wanted to be. He took a serious look at himself and knew that he wasn't who he wanted to be, but so much more ... he saw the man he wanted to become, and he changed.
I can certainly relate to taking a serious look at myself and asking, "Who are you?" Yep, I can relate to that question in a big way ... I've been asking it of myself for decades. And for the first time in my life, I think I know the answer ... well ... I think I'm starting to figure out the answer anyway. There are a couple of other lines Jerry says during the scene when he's coming to grips with who he is and who he wants to become ... lines that I think I'll leave you with tonight, along with a couple of my favorite verses from the Old Testament. Think about the lines ... think about the questions ... think about the verses ... and maybe ask yourself ... "Who are you?" Here's the thing ... maybe we should all want to be better than we are ... to care more, love more, complain less, judge less, help more, listen more, talk less, look deeper, give more ... and more ... and more of ourselves to one another. I've got a feeling that's the kind of person God wants me to be ... I've got a feeling that's the kind of people He wants all of us to be.
"I hated myself ... no, I hated my place in the world."
"It was the me I'd always wanted to be."
"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
And when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze." Isaiah 43:1-2
It's really hot in Kansas City today, hot and humid. I took Ollie for a walk at 6:30 this morning, and by the time we got home, my t-shirt and shorts were completely soaked with sweat. I've been trying to convince myself all afternoon to go outside and mow the lawn, but my "It's way too hot to mow" chant has managed thus far to win out. Instead, I did some cleaning and laundry, and then plopped down on the couch and began channel searching in the hope that I could find a good movie to watch. I settled on "Jerry Maguire" ... I haven't seen that movie for a really long time, it was just beginning, and the little boy in it is simply adorable. For some reason now, certain lines in movies seem to strike chords with me like they never did before ... and no, I'm not talking about the two most well-known ones from the Jerry movie, "Show me the money!" and "You had me at hello." Yes, those are both great lines, but there were a couple of questions that spoke to me so deeply this morning ... questions that Jerry utters near the beginning of the movie.
If you haven't seen the movie, or if it's been a long time since you've seen it, you really should watch it ... it's filled with some great life lessons (and the little boy in it is simply adorable ... oh, wait, I said that already). Several events had caused Jerry to do some serious soul searching, and he decides he doesn't like the person he's become ... a shallow, money-hungry, arrogant man who cares only about making his way to the top, not caring who he has to hurt or step on or cheat or lie to or betray in order to get there. In a moment of what seems to him to be clarity and inspiration, he writes a mission statement ... for himself personally and also for how business is conducted in the field of sports management. But before he begins filling page after page with his revelation on his laptop, he asks himself the questions, "Who are you? Who have you become?" Did you catch that? Before he could write a mission statement for himself (or anyone else for that matter), Jerry had to figure out who he was ... who he was and who he wanted to be. He took a serious look at himself and knew that he wasn't who he wanted to be, but so much more ... he saw the man he wanted to become, and he changed.
I can certainly relate to taking a serious look at myself and asking, "Who are you?" Yep, I can relate to that question in a big way ... I've been asking it of myself for decades. And for the first time in my life, I think I know the answer ... well ... I think I'm starting to figure out the answer anyway. There are a couple of other lines Jerry says during the scene when he's coming to grips with who he is and who he wants to become ... lines that I think I'll leave you with tonight, along with a couple of my favorite verses from the Old Testament. Think about the lines ... think about the questions ... think about the verses ... and maybe ask yourself ... "Who are you?" Here's the thing ... maybe we should all want to be better than we are ... to care more, love more, complain less, judge less, help more, listen more, talk less, look deeper, give more ... and more ... and more of ourselves to one another. I've got a feeling that's the kind of person God wants me to be ... I've got a feeling that's the kind of people He wants all of us to be.
"I hated myself ... no, I hated my place in the world."
"It was the me I'd always wanted to be."
"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
And when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze." Isaiah 43:1-2
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Jimmy Kidney Rides Again
During one of my mom's hospital stays a few years before she passed away, the doctors made a discovery that upset her in a big way. It always struck me as odd that what the doctors found worried Mom the way it did, considering all the other major physical issues she was having ... big things like congestive heart failure or a giant hematoma in her abdomen or having a hip replacement when she was in her 70s. Nope, none of those things upset Mom like being told that one of her kidneys had, in Mom's words, "shriveled up to nothin' and ain't workin' no more." And what was even more interesting to me was Mom's explanation as to why her kidney had "shriveled up to nothing." According to her, the doctors had burned up her kidney by doing too many x-rays when she had the hematoma ... seriously, that's what Mom believed until the day she drew her last breath. Don't even go there ... I did not inherit one ounce of my mother's irrational reasoning skills ... not one ounce. The truth is that the doctors thought Mom's shriveled up, non-functioning kidney had been with her since birth ... there had never been cause for the sort of scan or tests that revealed she only had one functioning kidney, so Mom just never knew about it. Sorry, Mom, but I'm cracking up as I sit here typing thinking about all the times you said, "Did you know I ain't got but one kidney that works, Terrie? Them dern doctors burned up my other one with all them dern x-rays they took when all the blood was in my belly. Lord, help ... one good kidney at my age, and the other one all burned up by x-rays. Ain't that just a mess?" For the record, Mom lived to be 85 with her one good kidney even though she was more than certain the shriveled-up one would surely be the death of her.
Back in April, I wrote a post titled "From the Heart" in which I talked about one of my guy friends at work and a most serious conversation we had that day. I mentioned that we talked about an important event that was occurring in his life the following week, and many of you have asked about him over the last several weeks (which is awesomely cool, by the way, that you cared enough to ask about him). I've been thinking of writing a follow-up post about him for a while, and today I asked his permission to do so. And since I'm writing about him this evening, you are correct in your assumption that he gave me the OK to share his story. You would also be correct if you have surmised that his most serious event had something to do with his kidney, hence my opening paragraph about Mom's. No, my friend Jim didn't have a shriveled kidney like Mom; in fact, he had two very healthy ones ... so healthy that he made the decision to give one to his brother who had two unhealthy ones.
As I believed he would, Jim did great with the surgery, and he even came to the office a couple of times to say hello during his recovery time. He was doing really well, and then had a complication that sent him back to the hospital for a few days, but I'm thrilled to tell you that he's now back in the office and is getting healthier every day. I can't begin to tell you how good it is to see his smiling face each day, or how truly honored I am to call him my friend. When I think of the selflessness that was required to do what he did and the love for his brother that his sacrifice embodies ... well ... all I can say is that it's humbling to me, and it causes me to wonder if I could be as selfless and loving if I were faced with the same decision. And get this ... there's a gal in my office who donated one of her kidneys to her mom last year. No kidding ... I work with two people who quite literally gave a big part of themselves to save the lives of people who are dear to them. In the weeks leading up to Jim's surgery, I heard the young woman encourage him, tell him what to expect, ease his fears ... it was flipping cool to witness, friends ... flipping, stinking cool to witness her taking her selflessness to another level by helping Jim as he waited to travel the same road she had. Flipping, stinking, amazingly, awesomely cool.
Jim is a Twitter buff, so it was only fitting that he set up an account for his kidney a few days prior to his surgery with the moniker "Jimmy Kidney." Hilarious, totally hilarious. From you to your brother, friend, Jimmy Kidney does indeed ride again and will for many, many years to come. Here's to you, Jim ... you truly inspire me and make me want to be a better person ... to be selfless ... to care more about the needs of others than my own ... to love with a sacrificial heart. I'm glad you're back, man ... really glad you're back.
Back in April, I wrote a post titled "From the Heart" in which I talked about one of my guy friends at work and a most serious conversation we had that day. I mentioned that we talked about an important event that was occurring in his life the following week, and many of you have asked about him over the last several weeks (which is awesomely cool, by the way, that you cared enough to ask about him). I've been thinking of writing a follow-up post about him for a while, and today I asked his permission to do so. And since I'm writing about him this evening, you are correct in your assumption that he gave me the OK to share his story. You would also be correct if you have surmised that his most serious event had something to do with his kidney, hence my opening paragraph about Mom's. No, my friend Jim didn't have a shriveled kidney like Mom; in fact, he had two very healthy ones ... so healthy that he made the decision to give one to his brother who had two unhealthy ones.
As I believed he would, Jim did great with the surgery, and he even came to the office a couple of times to say hello during his recovery time. He was doing really well, and then had a complication that sent him back to the hospital for a few days, but I'm thrilled to tell you that he's now back in the office and is getting healthier every day. I can't begin to tell you how good it is to see his smiling face each day, or how truly honored I am to call him my friend. When I think of the selflessness that was required to do what he did and the love for his brother that his sacrifice embodies ... well ... all I can say is that it's humbling to me, and it causes me to wonder if I could be as selfless and loving if I were faced with the same decision. And get this ... there's a gal in my office who donated one of her kidneys to her mom last year. No kidding ... I work with two people who quite literally gave a big part of themselves to save the lives of people who are dear to them. In the weeks leading up to Jim's surgery, I heard the young woman encourage him, tell him what to expect, ease his fears ... it was flipping cool to witness, friends ... flipping, stinking cool to witness her taking her selflessness to another level by helping Jim as he waited to travel the same road she had. Flipping, stinking, amazingly, awesomely cool.
Jim is a Twitter buff, so it was only fitting that he set up an account for his kidney a few days prior to his surgery with the moniker "Jimmy Kidney." Hilarious, totally hilarious. From you to your brother, friend, Jimmy Kidney does indeed ride again and will for many, many years to come. Here's to you, Jim ... you truly inspire me and make me want to be a better person ... to be selfless ... to care more about the needs of others than my own ... to love with a sacrificial heart. I'm glad you're back, man ... really glad you're back.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Dirty Costco
Several times over the last almost 11 years since I went to work for the advertising agency where I'm employed, other companies have come knocking on my door attempting to persuade me to come and work for them instead. I've written enough about my job and the company I work for that those of you who've been reading along with me for any length of time at all know how I feel about both the company itself and the people I work with every day ... beyond blessed pretty much sums it up ... I am beyond blessed to work for SHS, and the people there are truly some of the best folks I've ever known, both inside the office and out as well. Today was one of those days when I was acutely aware that were it not for some of my friends there, I probably would not be here today sitting on my couch typing these words.
My day didn't get off to the best start ... a visit to my doctor for blood work is never on the top of my list as a great way to begin the day. I'm pretty sure the vampire lady drained at least half of the blood from my body through the needle she stuck in the top of my hand. I will say, however, that she is the best vampire ever ... she never hurts me, and she's great at getting blood out of my tiny, hard-to-stick veins. It was 9:30 by the time I got to work, and I was thankful that the stack of work waiting for me on my desk was quite manageable and didn't take me long to read. I always feel a little "off" after those bigger blood draws, and today was no exception so I was grateful for a slower morning on the editing front.
One of the many responsibilities that my good friend Hil is responsible for at work is periodically going to Costco or Sam's to purchase various items for the office ... things like paper plates and cups, snacks, Clorox wipes, hand lotion, candy ... you get the picture. There was a time a few years ago when that particular responsibility fell to me, and you all know how very much I love shopping ... not. But I do love my job, so I made many a trip to the big warehouse stores and bought like a gazillion bags of M&Ms and a million bottles of hand lotion. The truth is that it's kind of a big job to go buy all the stuff for our office ... lots of loading and unloading and putting away, so when time allows, I often accompany Hil when she needs to make a run to Costco or Sam's. Today was one of those days when we needed a ton of items, and since it was a slower morning for me, I quickly agreed to go with Hil to Costco.
Did I mention that I had blood drawn this morning? And that I'm always a little off when they suck half the blood out of my body? Oh, yeah ... I did. Well, Hil and I weren't even out of the building this morning before we were bantering ... not arguing, bantering. That's one of the things I love most about her, you know, her fun sense of humor and her feisty spirit. She loves to tease me about things, especially when I'm down or when I'm a bit off my game. Sometimes I think that's one of her primary goals each day ... to make me smile and laugh at myself. And you know what else I think? I think that's the mark of a true friend, a true friend indeed ... one who comes to work each day with such a caring and giving heart that wants to see me happy and smiling.
By the time we walked into Costco, we were both laughing as Hil teased me about finding someone to date. As much as I wish that I could say that our conversation shifted to all things holy and righteous, that would simply be a lie. The truth is that the longer we shopped, the more raucous our comments became and the louder our laughter grew. While some might say that our conversation was ... I'll let you fill in your own words ... I can't remember when I've laughed like I did this morning. It was more than appropriate that when we got to the cashier to pay for the two fully loaded carts of stuff, there was an issue with the name on our business membership Costco card (it's my name on the card, but Hil was paying with her company credit card). The cashier asked for identification, and I had left my wallet at the office ... and the harder we tried to explain why the membership card had my name on it and Hil was paying with a card with her name on it ... well, suffice it to say that the outcome involved a not-so-nice manager who finally let us pay for the $600 worth of things as she uttered under her breath, "I'll let it go just this one time." Really? Let it go this one time? Let us spend $600 in your store today, but don't try it again? Really???
To say that Hil and I were ticked off is a big fat understatement, and we were grumbling in a big way as we waited for the guy to check our carts and allow us to exit the store. I stood with my mouth open as he began to lift things in the carts to make sure we weren't stealing any granola bars or paper plates. As we walked to the car, I told Hil that the checkout experience made me feel more like a criminal than I do when I go to the pharmacy to pick up certain medications. I cracked up as Hil let loose with a couple of choice words, and I quipped, "This needs to be my blog post for tonight ... Dirty Costco!" And Hil cracked up as she readily agreed and laughed right along with me.
So here's the thing ... I spent a lot of my life trying not to say or do anything even a little raucous or naughty, in large part because I was afraid I would slip up and reveal my true self. Getting real and honest, however, has caused me to understand that it's OK to kid around about who I am from time to time ... that I need to let my guard down and have fun once in a while ... that it's important to let those who love me help me find my smile again. This one's for you, Hil, my dear friend ... I love you like a sister, and I mean it ... one of the best, most important, special days of my life was the day you walked in the door of SHS and decided to become part of our family there. Tell your hubs and your girls that I sure appreciate them sharing you and your heart with me and all the other folks at work every day. You bless us all, girl ... you surely, surely do.
My day didn't get off to the best start ... a visit to my doctor for blood work is never on the top of my list as a great way to begin the day. I'm pretty sure the vampire lady drained at least half of the blood from my body through the needle she stuck in the top of my hand. I will say, however, that she is the best vampire ever ... she never hurts me, and she's great at getting blood out of my tiny, hard-to-stick veins. It was 9:30 by the time I got to work, and I was thankful that the stack of work waiting for me on my desk was quite manageable and didn't take me long to read. I always feel a little "off" after those bigger blood draws, and today was no exception so I was grateful for a slower morning on the editing front.
One of the many responsibilities that my good friend Hil is responsible for at work is periodically going to Costco or Sam's to purchase various items for the office ... things like paper plates and cups, snacks, Clorox wipes, hand lotion, candy ... you get the picture. There was a time a few years ago when that particular responsibility fell to me, and you all know how very much I love shopping ... not. But I do love my job, so I made many a trip to the big warehouse stores and bought like a gazillion bags of M&Ms and a million bottles of hand lotion. The truth is that it's kind of a big job to go buy all the stuff for our office ... lots of loading and unloading and putting away, so when time allows, I often accompany Hil when she needs to make a run to Costco or Sam's. Today was one of those days when we needed a ton of items, and since it was a slower morning for me, I quickly agreed to go with Hil to Costco.
Did I mention that I had blood drawn this morning? And that I'm always a little off when they suck half the blood out of my body? Oh, yeah ... I did. Well, Hil and I weren't even out of the building this morning before we were bantering ... not arguing, bantering. That's one of the things I love most about her, you know, her fun sense of humor and her feisty spirit. She loves to tease me about things, especially when I'm down or when I'm a bit off my game. Sometimes I think that's one of her primary goals each day ... to make me smile and laugh at myself. And you know what else I think? I think that's the mark of a true friend, a true friend indeed ... one who comes to work each day with such a caring and giving heart that wants to see me happy and smiling.
By the time we walked into Costco, we were both laughing as Hil teased me about finding someone to date. As much as I wish that I could say that our conversation shifted to all things holy and righteous, that would simply be a lie. The truth is that the longer we shopped, the more raucous our comments became and the louder our laughter grew. While some might say that our conversation was ... I'll let you fill in your own words ... I can't remember when I've laughed like I did this morning. It was more than appropriate that when we got to the cashier to pay for the two fully loaded carts of stuff, there was an issue with the name on our business membership Costco card (it's my name on the card, but Hil was paying with her company credit card). The cashier asked for identification, and I had left my wallet at the office ... and the harder we tried to explain why the membership card had my name on it and Hil was paying with a card with her name on it ... well, suffice it to say that the outcome involved a not-so-nice manager who finally let us pay for the $600 worth of things as she uttered under her breath, "I'll let it go just this one time." Really? Let it go this one time? Let us spend $600 in your store today, but don't try it again? Really???
To say that Hil and I were ticked off is a big fat understatement, and we were grumbling in a big way as we waited for the guy to check our carts and allow us to exit the store. I stood with my mouth open as he began to lift things in the carts to make sure we weren't stealing any granola bars or paper plates. As we walked to the car, I told Hil that the checkout experience made me feel more like a criminal than I do when I go to the pharmacy to pick up certain medications. I cracked up as Hil let loose with a couple of choice words, and I quipped, "This needs to be my blog post for tonight ... Dirty Costco!" And Hil cracked up as she readily agreed and laughed right along with me.
So here's the thing ... I spent a lot of my life trying not to say or do anything even a little raucous or naughty, in large part because I was afraid I would slip up and reveal my true self. Getting real and honest, however, has caused me to understand that it's OK to kid around about who I am from time to time ... that I need to let my guard down and have fun once in a while ... that it's important to let those who love me help me find my smile again. This one's for you, Hil, my dear friend ... I love you like a sister, and I mean it ... one of the best, most important, special days of my life was the day you walked in the door of SHS and decided to become part of our family there. Tell your hubs and your girls that I sure appreciate them sharing you and your heart with me and all the other folks at work every day. You bless us all, girl ... you surely, surely do.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Out of the Blue
I had made up my mind that I wasn't going to write a post tonight ... I'm tired, and I need to work on a couple of other writing projects that popped up since yesterday. And I need to practice for speaking to the head doctors next week. And I need to do several other things before I go to bed tonight. But I opted for taking Oliver for a short walk before tackling those tasks ... a short walk that turned into a most unexpected encounter that ... well ... an unexpected encounter that totally blessed my socks off.
I've mentioned many times in this blog about all the folks I have met as I've walked along the trail over the last three years ... so many great folks, so very many. I've seen kids grow up on the trail ... I've seen older folks grow older ... I've seen parents welcome new babies into their family ... I've seen people say goodbye to their much-loved pups ... I've seen people be kind to one another ... I've seen people be mean to one another. So many people I've met over the last three years, so many hearts I've gotten to know, so many stories I've been told.
It was as Ollie walked along the sidewalk part of our path toward home that I noticed one of the sweet ladies I met when J.R. and I walked together out working in her yard. I tugged the earphone out of my ear as she waved, and I hollered out a "Hey, there!" when I got close enough for her to hear me. it's been a while since I had seen her out, and I asked how she was doing. She told me she'd had a medical procedure done earlier today, and we chatted about health and work and children and life. She spoke about the things that beat a person down, things that make life hard to understand at times. She asked how I was, and as her eyes bored into mine, I looked down and kicked at the concrete beneath my feet. "I'm doing okay ... I'm getting better. Last year was a tough year, but I'm getting better." And when I raised my head and looked into her eyes, I knew ... I knew that she knew. And then she said something that caused my eyes to brim with tears ... something out of the blue ... something that touched my heart in a giant way.
"You light up this trail, friend ... you light up this trail with your smile and your loving heart. You're something special, very special ... and that is all that matters to me. You light up this trail, and all the lives of the people you touch with your spirit. That's all that matters to me ... that's all that matters."
Her husband walked up and patted Ollie on the head, and the woman asked if she could give me a hug. She told her husband what she had just told me, and he said, "She's smart, my wife, and she's right. You should listen to her." I thanked both of them and told them how much what they said means to me ... and though I tried to express it as best I could as my voice cracked and the tears came, I'm sure that they will never fully understand how much I needed to hear their words of acceptance and love tonight.
Out of the blue ... such an unexpected blessing out of the blue ... God has a way of doing that, you know, sending along someone to remind me of what's most important in this life ... touching the heart of another ... bringing some light into the darkness ... loving unconditionally ... encouraging our fellow travelers on the trail of life. Sleep well, friends, and keep your eyes and hearts and ears wide open ... you might just get a blessing of your own ... out of the blue.
I've mentioned many times in this blog about all the folks I have met as I've walked along the trail over the last three years ... so many great folks, so very many. I've seen kids grow up on the trail ... I've seen older folks grow older ... I've seen parents welcome new babies into their family ... I've seen people say goodbye to their much-loved pups ... I've seen people be kind to one another ... I've seen people be mean to one another. So many people I've met over the last three years, so many hearts I've gotten to know, so many stories I've been told.
It was as Ollie walked along the sidewalk part of our path toward home that I noticed one of the sweet ladies I met when J.R. and I walked together out working in her yard. I tugged the earphone out of my ear as she waved, and I hollered out a "Hey, there!" when I got close enough for her to hear me. it's been a while since I had seen her out, and I asked how she was doing. She told me she'd had a medical procedure done earlier today, and we chatted about health and work and children and life. She spoke about the things that beat a person down, things that make life hard to understand at times. She asked how I was, and as her eyes bored into mine, I looked down and kicked at the concrete beneath my feet. "I'm doing okay ... I'm getting better. Last year was a tough year, but I'm getting better." And when I raised my head and looked into her eyes, I knew ... I knew that she knew. And then she said something that caused my eyes to brim with tears ... something out of the blue ... something that touched my heart in a giant way.
"You light up this trail, friend ... you light up this trail with your smile and your loving heart. You're something special, very special ... and that is all that matters to me. You light up this trail, and all the lives of the people you touch with your spirit. That's all that matters to me ... that's all that matters."
Her husband walked up and patted Ollie on the head, and the woman asked if she could give me a hug. She told her husband what she had just told me, and he said, "She's smart, my wife, and she's right. You should listen to her." I thanked both of them and told them how much what they said means to me ... and though I tried to express it as best I could as my voice cracked and the tears came, I'm sure that they will never fully understand how much I needed to hear their words of acceptance and love tonight.
Out of the blue ... such an unexpected blessing out of the blue ... God has a way of doing that, you know, sending along someone to remind me of what's most important in this life ... touching the heart of another ... bringing some light into the darkness ... loving unconditionally ... encouraging our fellow travelers on the trail of life. Sleep well, friends, and keep your eyes and hearts and ears wide open ... you might just get a blessing of your own ... out of the blue.
Monday, June 17, 2013
No More Empty Words
When I was in my early teens, I was completely convinced that my calling in life was to be a ventriloquist. Seriously ... there was a time when I thought talking for a wooden dummy sitting on my knee was what I was born to do (no offense to those of you who are ventriloquists ... I truly think ventriloquism is an art). I was so determined that I was destined to wow millions with my as of then still undiscovered talking talent, I convinced Daddy to buy me a beginner dummy so that I could hone my craft. And my plan to become the most famous ventriloquist ever was actually going pretty well until I watched a really creepy movie about a famous ventriloquist who went insane and believed his dummy was directing him to kill a bunch of people. After several nights of waking up and seeing my dummy (Clyde was his name) staring at me in the darkness, I decided that being a ventriloquist wasn't really my life's calling after all. Now that I think about it ... I don't remember getting rid of Clyde ... oh, great ... now I'll have bad dreams tonight for sure.
Most of you know that I used to do a lot of speaking for women's groups, and not with a wooden dummy perched on my knee by the way. I suppose, however, that some would argue that there was indeed a wooden dummy on the stage doing the speaking all those years ... but that's one of those deep life subjects best addressed by my life-saving head doctor. I was well aware that my speaking career would most probably end when I made the incredibly difficult decision to tell the truth about myself in this blog at the beginning of the year. And I was quite correct in that assumption ... it wasn't long until all of the engagements I had booked for the next two years cancelled. I can't even begin to tell you how painful that part of telling the truth has been for me ... disappointing so many who knew me as a Christian speaker. No one will ever know how truly deep my sorrow is about that, friends ... believe me, no one will ever know.
While I was wrong about my calling in life as a ventriloquist, it seems as though God still has some plans for me in the speaking arena. On June 26, one week from this Wednesday, I'm going to stand up and speak to a group of counselors and head doctors ... tell me that doesn't scream irony and prove that God has a sense of humor, eh? To say that I'm a bit nervous is a humongous understatement, but knowing that sharing my story with the doctors will possibly help so many other people ... well ... suffice it to say that is worth far more than a serious case of nerves for me. I've written previously about how much more meaning words have for me now ... words I hear, words I read, words I speak ... I understand more than ever in my life just how much power words truly have.
As hard as it is to admit, I've spoken my fair share of empty words in my life ... words devoid of meaning or truth or sincerity ... words to hide behind ... words of pretense and denial. That's an interesting thing about getting real, about being nitty-gritty honest about who I am ... I don't want my words to be empty ever again ... never ever again. When I say words that are hard for me to say ... I don't want those words to ever be empty. When I speak words of love to my children, my family and my friends ... I don't want those words to ever be empty. When I pray and tell God I love Him ... I believe Him ... I trust Him ... I don't want those words to ever be empty.
No more empty words, friends ... no more empty words.
Most of you know that I used to do a lot of speaking for women's groups, and not with a wooden dummy perched on my knee by the way. I suppose, however, that some would argue that there was indeed a wooden dummy on the stage doing the speaking all those years ... but that's one of those deep life subjects best addressed by my life-saving head doctor. I was well aware that my speaking career would most probably end when I made the incredibly difficult decision to tell the truth about myself in this blog at the beginning of the year. And I was quite correct in that assumption ... it wasn't long until all of the engagements I had booked for the next two years cancelled. I can't even begin to tell you how painful that part of telling the truth has been for me ... disappointing so many who knew me as a Christian speaker. No one will ever know how truly deep my sorrow is about that, friends ... believe me, no one will ever know.
While I was wrong about my calling in life as a ventriloquist, it seems as though God still has some plans for me in the speaking arena. On June 26, one week from this Wednesday, I'm going to stand up and speak to a group of counselors and head doctors ... tell me that doesn't scream irony and prove that God has a sense of humor, eh? To say that I'm a bit nervous is a humongous understatement, but knowing that sharing my story with the doctors will possibly help so many other people ... well ... suffice it to say that is worth far more than a serious case of nerves for me. I've written previously about how much more meaning words have for me now ... words I hear, words I read, words I speak ... I understand more than ever in my life just how much power words truly have.
As hard as it is to admit, I've spoken my fair share of empty words in my life ... words devoid of meaning or truth or sincerity ... words to hide behind ... words of pretense and denial. That's an interesting thing about getting real, about being nitty-gritty honest about who I am ... I don't want my words to be empty ever again ... never ever again. When I say words that are hard for me to say ... I don't want those words to ever be empty. When I speak words of love to my children, my family and my friends ... I don't want those words to ever be empty. When I pray and tell God I love Him ... I believe Him ... I trust Him ... I don't want those words to ever be empty.
No more empty words, friends ... no more empty words.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
Not Good Enough
My children spent most of their growing-up years being raised by a single mom ... a single mom who often thinks I did more things wrong than I did right back then, especially when it came to being the kind of mom I should have been to my kids. I shouldn't have worked so much ... I should have spent more time with them. I shouldn't have spent so much time talking ... I should have listened to them talk instead. I shouldn't have been so demanding about things that didn't matter ... I should have been more flexible and more laid back and had more fun with them. I shouldn't have focused so much about having them in church every time the doors were open ... I should have taught them more about God and His unconditional love. But for all the things I did wrong as a mom, there's one thing in particular that I hope and pray I never, ever did ... I hope I never once made my children feel as though they weren't good enough for me to love them ... that they weren't good enough to make me proud of them ... that they weren't good enough to deserve the very best that life has to offer them. I hope instead that my children always knew and still know that there are no rules, no measurements, no boundaries, no expectations, no conditions on my love and devotion to them. From the moment they were formed in my womb, Matt, Brad and Meghann have always been and will always be so much more than good enough.
I visited another church this morning, and before you ask, it hasn't gotten any easier for me to walk into a church ... yet ... there's a word that packs a lot of hope into three little letters ... yet. The music for the service was amazing, there's really no other word for it ... the music was simply amazing. The minister preached on the first eight verses from the gospel written by Mark, and he brought a new perspective to them that I had never considered before. My dad used to always say just when you thought you knew what the Bible says, God would teach you something new ... in case I haven't said it enough, my dad was the smartest man I've ever known. As the soft-spoken pastor began to talk about how we shouldn't hesitate when God asks something of us, I blinked back tears because I felt like the minister could read my mind and that he was speaking directly to me. He talked about how often we say we aren't good enough to do what God places before us ... about how we throw up every excuse we can for why we don't step out in faith and follow Him wherever He may lead. You bet I felt like he was preaching to me ... you bet I did.
As I drove home following the service, I couldn't get the words of the minister off my mind ... but more importantly, I haven't been able to get his words off my heart all day. You have no idea how many times I've said the words "I'm not good enough," over the last year, especially when it comes to God's love for me or believing that there is something He has for me to do for Him. I suppose I've always felt that way to a certain extent, but my feelings of unworthiness and self-hate hit a whole new level last year. The minister this morning said something that pierced the very core of my soul ... "If you wait until you're good enough to follow God, you'll never follow Him. If you wait until you're good enough to help your fellow man, you'll never help anyone." Perhaps more than any other time in my life, I understand the depth of truth contained in those words ... because I know with every fiber of my being that I will never be good enough ... never ever.
Here's the thing, friends ...I will never be good enough or kind enough or compassionate enough or loving enough or honest enough or caring enough or pure enough or true enough or selfless enough. I will never be anything enough to do what God asks me to do ... to be who He asks me to be ... to say what He asks me to say ... to go where He asks me to go.
I will never be good enough ... but He is.
I visited another church this morning, and before you ask, it hasn't gotten any easier for me to walk into a church ... yet ... there's a word that packs a lot of hope into three little letters ... yet. The music for the service was amazing, there's really no other word for it ... the music was simply amazing. The minister preached on the first eight verses from the gospel written by Mark, and he brought a new perspective to them that I had never considered before. My dad used to always say just when you thought you knew what the Bible says, God would teach you something new ... in case I haven't said it enough, my dad was the smartest man I've ever known. As the soft-spoken pastor began to talk about how we shouldn't hesitate when God asks something of us, I blinked back tears because I felt like the minister could read my mind and that he was speaking directly to me. He talked about how often we say we aren't good enough to do what God places before us ... about how we throw up every excuse we can for why we don't step out in faith and follow Him wherever He may lead. You bet I felt like he was preaching to me ... you bet I did.
As I drove home following the service, I couldn't get the words of the minister off my mind ... but more importantly, I haven't been able to get his words off my heart all day. You have no idea how many times I've said the words "I'm not good enough," over the last year, especially when it comes to God's love for me or believing that there is something He has for me to do for Him. I suppose I've always felt that way to a certain extent, but my feelings of unworthiness and self-hate hit a whole new level last year. The minister this morning said something that pierced the very core of my soul ... "If you wait until you're good enough to follow God, you'll never follow Him. If you wait until you're good enough to help your fellow man, you'll never help anyone." Perhaps more than any other time in my life, I understand the depth of truth contained in those words ... because I know with every fiber of my being that I will never be good enough ... never ever.
Here's the thing, friends ...I will never be good enough or kind enough or compassionate enough or loving enough or honest enough or caring enough or pure enough or true enough or selfless enough. I will never be anything enough to do what God asks me to do ... to be who He asks me to be ... to say what He asks me to say ... to go where He asks me to go.
I will never be good enough ... but He is.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
It Was a Wednesday
It had been a normal Wednesday for the most part, except that I had stopped at Mom's little apartment on my way to work to put some food I had cooked for her the night before in her fridge so that she could eat it for lunch. I used my key and entered as quietly as I could, knowing that Mom was probably still sleeping soundly in her tall bed ... a bed so tall that my short little mom had a step stool to stand on so that she could get in and out easier. After I put the food in the fridge and placed the roses I had bought for her in a vase on the small kitchen table, I tiptoed into Mom's bedroom to check on her. Mom was a snorer, and I could hear her before I could actually see her ... she was burrowed under the covers with only the right side of her face peeking out from under the heavy floral comforter. I remember thinking how small Mom looked in the giant bed, almost like a little child rather than an 85-year-old woman. I watched her sleep for a few minutes, thankful for the time my children and I were getting to spend with her since she had moved to Kansas City six weeks prior. I leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek, not wanting to wake her as I whispered, "Love you, Mom." I smiled as I climbed into my car and drove to work, thinking about Mom snuggled in her bed.
A normal Wednesday ... I worked ... I called Mom on my way home and told her the kids and I would be over soon to take her for ice cream to celebrate her six weeks being an official Kansan. Mom laughed as we chatted, and I could picture her crinkled nose and squinted eyes ... I always loved it when Mom laughed. Meghann didn't feel well, so Brad and I went to pick Mom up for ice cream ... that's when the normal Wednesday became anything but. Brad entered Mom's apartment before me, and he was already calling 911 by the time I saw her ... in her favorite chair, hands folded neatly in her lap, leaning forward with her chin on her chest. I knew immediately, just as Brad had when he saw her ... Mom was gone. That was eight years ago today ... eight years ... it was a Wednesday ... a Wednesday I will never forget.
Someone at my office asked me last week if there was one thing in my life I would do over if I could ... there are so many more than one ... so many, many, many more than one. But as I told my life-saving head doctor earlier today ... there's one in particular that would top the list for me. I would talk to my mom and dad ... honestly and openly ... I would look into their eyes, and I would talk to them. I would ask them some questions, and I would answer the ones they would ask of me. I would tell them how very much I loved them ... how very much I appreciated the love they gave to me. I would hold their hands, look into their eyes and talk to Mom and Dad ... honestly and openly.
So, today, Mom, as on so many other days ... I miss you. There's hardly a day that goes by that I don't think of you and Daddy ... the way you smiled, the twinkle in his eyes, the things you both taught me, the way you both loved me. I hope it's true that people know one another in heaven, and if it is, I know that Daddy was waiting to see you on that Wednesday. It was a Wednesday, Mom ... it was a Wednesday.
A normal Wednesday ... I worked ... I called Mom on my way home and told her the kids and I would be over soon to take her for ice cream to celebrate her six weeks being an official Kansan. Mom laughed as we chatted, and I could picture her crinkled nose and squinted eyes ... I always loved it when Mom laughed. Meghann didn't feel well, so Brad and I went to pick Mom up for ice cream ... that's when the normal Wednesday became anything but. Brad entered Mom's apartment before me, and he was already calling 911 by the time I saw her ... in her favorite chair, hands folded neatly in her lap, leaning forward with her chin on her chest. I knew immediately, just as Brad had when he saw her ... Mom was gone. That was eight years ago today ... eight years ... it was a Wednesday ... a Wednesday I will never forget.
Someone at my office asked me last week if there was one thing in my life I would do over if I could ... there are so many more than one ... so many, many, many more than one. But as I told my life-saving head doctor earlier today ... there's one in particular that would top the list for me. I would talk to my mom and dad ... honestly and openly ... I would look into their eyes, and I would talk to them. I would ask them some questions, and I would answer the ones they would ask of me. I would tell them how very much I loved them ... how very much I appreciated the love they gave to me. I would hold their hands, look into their eyes and talk to Mom and Dad ... honestly and openly.
So, today, Mom, as on so many other days ... I miss you. There's hardly a day that goes by that I don't think of you and Daddy ... the way you smiled, the twinkle in his eyes, the things you both taught me, the way you both loved me. I hope it's true that people know one another in heaven, and if it is, I know that Daddy was waiting to see you on that Wednesday. It was a Wednesday, Mom ... it was a Wednesday.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Just Because They Breathe
I get a ton of emails and Facebook messages from people I've never met (because of this blog and the Ears Wide Open? video), and I probably never will meet them ... unless perhaps I see them in heaven one day, providing, of course, that God lets me in when I kick the bucket. Sometimes the notes I receive are sweet and funny ... sometimes they are heart-breaking and sad ... sometimes they are encouraging and supportive ... sometimes they are mean-spirited and judgmental ... sometimes they are long and wordy ... sometimes they are so short that I'm left wishing the person had written more. Oftentimes, I get an email like I did last night with a link to another blog that the sender of the note would like for me to read. That's what happened last night ... I got an email with a link to another blog ... more specifically, the link was to a post in the blog from earlier this year. A post so powerful that I think I may forever remember the words ... words that caused me to sob as I read them. I'll give you the link, but before you click on it, there are a couple of things I want to say.
It's sort of a post within a post in that the blogger writes some words of her own and then, with the permission of the author, posts the words written by the other writer ... sort of like when I have a guest blogger who pens a post for me. As I said, the post is powerful ... incredibly powerful ... but it also deals with a subject that some of you will consider to be controversial in nature. If you choose to read it (and yes, you do have the choice to read it or not), I would simply ask that you try ... try really, really hard ... to read it through the heart of the mother who wrote it.
My prayer since I read the post last night ... and hopefully, it will be my prayer for the rest of my days here on this earth is this ...
Please give me the heart that loves Matt, Becca, C.J., Brad, Shelby, Meghann and Barrett ... just because they breathe, God. Give me the heart that loves my extended family ... just because they breathe. Give me the heart that loves my friends ... just because they breathe. Give me the heart that loves those who consider themselves to be my enemies, Father ... just because they breathe. Give me the heart that loves the weak, the rich, the lonely, the powerful, the outcast, the strong ... just because they breathe. Please give me the heart that loves people, Lord ... please, oh, please give me the heart that loves all people, Lord ... just because they breathe. Unconditionally ... no ifs ... no buts ... no nothing ... just because they breathe.
Click here to read the blog FreedHearts. And grab a tissue. You'll need it.
It's sort of a post within a post in that the blogger writes some words of her own and then, with the permission of the author, posts the words written by the other writer ... sort of like when I have a guest blogger who pens a post for me. As I said, the post is powerful ... incredibly powerful ... but it also deals with a subject that some of you will consider to be controversial in nature. If you choose to read it (and yes, you do have the choice to read it or not), I would simply ask that you try ... try really, really hard ... to read it through the heart of the mother who wrote it.
My prayer since I read the post last night ... and hopefully, it will be my prayer for the rest of my days here on this earth is this ...
Please give me the heart that loves Matt, Becca, C.J., Brad, Shelby, Meghann and Barrett ... just because they breathe, God. Give me the heart that loves my extended family ... just because they breathe. Give me the heart that loves my friends ... just because they breathe. Give me the heart that loves those who consider themselves to be my enemies, Father ... just because they breathe. Give me the heart that loves the weak, the rich, the lonely, the powerful, the outcast, the strong ... just because they breathe. Please give me the heart that loves people, Lord ... please, oh, please give me the heart that loves all people, Lord ... just because they breathe. Unconditionally ... no ifs ... no buts ... no nothing ... just because they breathe.
Click here to read the blog FreedHearts. And grab a tissue. You'll need it.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Duck, Duck ... God?
There are certain memories from my childhood that seem to grow stronger as I age rather than diminish in their intensity, or perhaps I am simply growing more nostalgic the older I become. One such memory involves a pond in the little town of Red Bank, Tennessee ... a pond that was covered in lily pads on one end and beautiful white ducks on the other. I'm sure the pond probably had an actual name, but for as long as I can remember, we just called it "The Duck Pond." And lots and lots of Sunday afternoons, Mom and Dad and I would take a bag of crackers or bread crumbs and drive to The Duck Pond so that I could feed the ducks. It's odd to me how vivid that memory is to me ... feeding the ducks at the pond while Mom and Dad sat on a blanket they had spread under a tree. I can see the bright orange of the ducks' bills and feet ... I can hear their squawking quacks ... I can feel the fear when too many of them would gather around my legs. I remember the Red Bank duck pond oh so well ... oh so well indeed.
I've written a lot about my evening walks on the trail ... walks that began with my little J.R. and that are now carried on with Oliver the wiener dog. Sometimes I wonder just how many hours and how many miles I've logged on that trail over the last three plus years, but I know it's a lot. And during all those hours and through all those miles, I've seen a lot of animals ... a whole lot ... both domesticated and wild alike. But for all the animals I've seen along the way, I recently witnessed something for three nights in a row that I've never seen before. In fact, it was so surprising to me the first two nights that I talked about it to Ollie the whole time we were walking ... yes, out loud, which explains why people look at me the way they do on the trail sometimes I suppose. Though I was keenly aware the first two nights that I was seeing a strange sight, it wasn't until the third night that I understood the huge, huge, huge lesson God was trying to teach me.
The first night, Ollie saw them first, and since he's become a serial rabbit killer, he immediately tried to drag me to them so he could ... well ... you know. And when I saw the objects of his hunting desire, I was quite simply amazed. Right in the middle of the asphalt trail sat two good-sized brown ducks. Yep, those ducks were sitting on the paved trail that is well-traveled by humans and canines alike, and they were sitting there quietly and patiently almost as if they were waiting for someone or something to come along. I lifted Ollie into my arms and we walked around the ducks, and I couldn't help but glance back several times to see if they had moved. "Oliver," I said, "those ducks don't belong on the trail, buddy ... they belong in the creek. I wonder what they are doing just sitting there on the trail." I said those words over and over to Ollie as we walked, and when we passed the ducks still sitting in the same spot as we walked toward home, I said, "I wonder if they are lost, Ollie ... I wonder if they just can't find their way back to where they belong. Those ducks belong in the creek, wiener dog ... they don't belong on the trail." And almost the same scene was repeated the next evening when we went for our nightly walk.
On the third night, I was anxious to get home and head over to the trail to see if the two ducks were still there. That night, it wasn't Ollie who saw them first, it was me. And the reason I saw the ducks first was because ... it was because I was looking for them, friends. And I was looking for them because I was concerned about them ... I was concerned about the ducks because I knew they weren't where they belonged. But more than knowing that they weren't where they belonged, I knew that there was a large field between the ducks and the creek. I knew if they didn't find their way through the grass and over the rocks along the edge of the water ... I knew if the ducks didn't make it back to the water, they would die. The minute I saw them, I bent over and scooped Ollie into my arms and said, "Let's sit and watch the ducks for a few minutes, buddy." I had no more than sat down on the grass by the side of the trail when another duck flew down and landed by the other two ... I swear to you, another duck came and sat by the others. The new duck quacked and squawked and flapped his wings, and the other two quacked back at him. The new duck began walking toward the creek ... and the other two ducks walked behind him ... all ... the ... way ... to ... the ... water.
My tears fell like rain as Ollie and I resumed our walk, and I cried the entire time we were on the trail that night. I cried because I got it ... I got it in a huge, gigantic way. God made those ducks, and He knew they were sitting on the trail because He was looking for them. He knew the water was life to those ducks, and He knew what stood between them and the creek and what they needed to overcome in order to make it back to the life-saving liquid. He knew all of that, and He sent another duck to help lead them home. I got it ... I got it ... I got the lesson ... the huge, gigantic lesson He's been trying desperately to teach me. God made me, and He knows I've been sitting on the trail ... He knows where I belong ... He knows the vast, barren field that stands between me and the water ... He knows what I must overcome to make it to the creek. And He has been sending other ducks ... lots of other ducks ... to help lead me home. I wonder ... I wonder if the duck who flew down and quacked and squawked to the other ducks ... I wonder if he was saying, "Please come home."
Prodigal Song --- Laura Story
"Henry loves the ballpark
But lately he ain't coming round
Things have been so different
Since his youngest boy left town
Fighting seem so harmless
Families sometimes disagree
It's hard to know the reason
Why he finally chose to leave
But he's gone away, his father waits
And he is watching and he is hoping
Though his eyes are weary, his arms are still open
And his prayer so softly spoken
Please come home
Now Henry sits and wonders
In that front porch rocking chair
Does his boy remember
All the love the family shared
And is he cold out there alone?
And he is watching and he is hoping
Though his eyes are weary, his arms are still open
And his prayer so softly spoken
Please come home
To your seat at the table
To your father who weeps
Every night in sleepless dreams
He longs to see his face in younger skin
Running down the driveway again
And he is watching and he is hoping
Though his eyes are weary, his arms are still open
And his prayer so softly spoken
Please come home"
I've written a lot about my evening walks on the trail ... walks that began with my little J.R. and that are now carried on with Oliver the wiener dog. Sometimes I wonder just how many hours and how many miles I've logged on that trail over the last three plus years, but I know it's a lot. And during all those hours and through all those miles, I've seen a lot of animals ... a whole lot ... both domesticated and wild alike. But for all the animals I've seen along the way, I recently witnessed something for three nights in a row that I've never seen before. In fact, it was so surprising to me the first two nights that I talked about it to Ollie the whole time we were walking ... yes, out loud, which explains why people look at me the way they do on the trail sometimes I suppose. Though I was keenly aware the first two nights that I was seeing a strange sight, it wasn't until the third night that I understood the huge, huge, huge lesson God was trying to teach me.
The first night, Ollie saw them first, and since he's become a serial rabbit killer, he immediately tried to drag me to them so he could ... well ... you know. And when I saw the objects of his hunting desire, I was quite simply amazed. Right in the middle of the asphalt trail sat two good-sized brown ducks. Yep, those ducks were sitting on the paved trail that is well-traveled by humans and canines alike, and they were sitting there quietly and patiently almost as if they were waiting for someone or something to come along. I lifted Ollie into my arms and we walked around the ducks, and I couldn't help but glance back several times to see if they had moved. "Oliver," I said, "those ducks don't belong on the trail, buddy ... they belong in the creek. I wonder what they are doing just sitting there on the trail." I said those words over and over to Ollie as we walked, and when we passed the ducks still sitting in the same spot as we walked toward home, I said, "I wonder if they are lost, Ollie ... I wonder if they just can't find their way back to where they belong. Those ducks belong in the creek, wiener dog ... they don't belong on the trail." And almost the same scene was repeated the next evening when we went for our nightly walk.
On the third night, I was anxious to get home and head over to the trail to see if the two ducks were still there. That night, it wasn't Ollie who saw them first, it was me. And the reason I saw the ducks first was because ... it was because I was looking for them, friends. And I was looking for them because I was concerned about them ... I was concerned about the ducks because I knew they weren't where they belonged. But more than knowing that they weren't where they belonged, I knew that there was a large field between the ducks and the creek. I knew if they didn't find their way through the grass and over the rocks along the edge of the water ... I knew if the ducks didn't make it back to the water, they would die. The minute I saw them, I bent over and scooped Ollie into my arms and said, "Let's sit and watch the ducks for a few minutes, buddy." I had no more than sat down on the grass by the side of the trail when another duck flew down and landed by the other two ... I swear to you, another duck came and sat by the others. The new duck quacked and squawked and flapped his wings, and the other two quacked back at him. The new duck began walking toward the creek ... and the other two ducks walked behind him ... all ... the ... way ... to ... the ... water.
My tears fell like rain as Ollie and I resumed our walk, and I cried the entire time we were on the trail that night. I cried because I got it ... I got it in a huge, gigantic way. God made those ducks, and He knew they were sitting on the trail because He was looking for them. He knew the water was life to those ducks, and He knew what stood between them and the creek and what they needed to overcome in order to make it back to the life-saving liquid. He knew all of that, and He sent another duck to help lead them home. I got it ... I got it ... I got the lesson ... the huge, gigantic lesson He's been trying desperately to teach me. God made me, and He knows I've been sitting on the trail ... He knows where I belong ... He knows the vast, barren field that stands between me and the water ... He knows what I must overcome to make it to the creek. And He has been sending other ducks ... lots of other ducks ... to help lead me home. I wonder ... I wonder if the duck who flew down and quacked and squawked to the other ducks ... I wonder if he was saying, "Please come home."
Prodigal Song --- Laura Story
"Henry loves the ballpark
But lately he ain't coming round
Things have been so different
Since his youngest boy left town
Fighting seem so harmless
Families sometimes disagree
It's hard to know the reason
Why he finally chose to leave
But he's gone away, his father waits
And he is watching and he is hoping
Though his eyes are weary, his arms are still open
And his prayer so softly spoken
Please come home
Now Henry sits and wonders
In that front porch rocking chair
Does his boy remember
All the love the family shared
And is he cold out there alone?
And he is watching and he is hoping
Though his eyes are weary, his arms are still open
And his prayer so softly spoken
Please come home
To your seat at the table
To your father who weeps
Every night in sleepless dreams
He longs to see his face in younger skin
Running down the driveway again
And he is watching and he is hoping
Though his eyes are weary, his arms are still open
And his prayer so softly spoken
Please come home"
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Need More Arrows and Nails?
Sometimes I wonder just how many nails I hammered into blocks of wood when I was a kid hanging out in my dad's workshop. I'm not sure why that was so fascinating to me, pounding nail after nail into scraps of wood that Daddy gave me as he worked on first one project and then another. I would stand for hours hammering away with my red hammer ... my red hammer with tape wrapped tightly around the handle. Daddy had carved my initials on the very end of the handle, I guess so that if any other little girls wandered into his workshop and used my hammer, they would know that it was mine. As much as I enjoyed driving the nails into the wooden blocks, what I enjoyed even more was choosing the nails I would use from Daddy's nail drawer. He had this huge drawer with a bunch of bins and dividers that separated the nails from each other ... and it was flipping awesome. There were so many different kinds of nails ... short nails, long nails, gold nails, silver nails, bronze nails, thin nails, chunky nails, nails with large round tops, nails with little tiny tops ... any kind of nail you could ever imagine was in Daddy's nail drawer. But the coolest, most awesomest, totally over-the-top incredibilest thing about the nails in Daddy's drawer? I always got to choose ... all by myself ... I got to choose the nails I wanted to use to build my fantastic wood and nail works of art.
Only once in my life have I stepped on a nail, and that was one time too many. I think the pain I experienced when that nail pierced my foot (it went all the way through ... ouch, ouch, ouch) may rank right up there with the time a piece of spaghetti got stuck under my fingernail. One thing I know for sure, however, is that I never ever want to step on another nail for as long as I live. Last night I shared what my dad told me many years ago about how painful the arrows of hurtful words can be when they are sent flying toward you by someone you love. I mentioned that I'd been hit by some of those arrows yesterday, and I've received a ton of messages today asking if the arrows came from someone in my family. The answer to that question is no, no, no, no, no, no ... the arrows came from a former friend. The words in the email last night stung, and they still sting today ... no, that's not right ... they really hurt, and I cried buckets when I read them. And today, I've been thinking a lot about arrows and nails ... a whole lot, in fact, and here's what I have to say.
The truth is that I've spent my whole life shooting arrows of hate at myself, and I've driven more than a few nails into my own coffin of guilt and shame. But apparently, I haven't done a very good job of it, because there are folks who think I need more arrows and more nails. So ... I decided that once again in the spirit of being open, honest, real and transparent, I would help those of you who are archery experts and masters of carpentry tonight and give you some flaming arrows and super strong nails for you to shoot and hammer. Listen up, now, because these things are huge ... these things about me are really, really, really bad and warrant you slamming the lid on my wooden box, sealing it tightly with the biggest nails in your drawer and setting it ablaze with a fiery arrow.
I drink almond milk right out of the carton. I spit when I'm walking on the trail. I don't like cats; I've never liked cats, and I am certain beyond the shadow of any doubt that I came forth from my mother's womb not liking cats. Sometimes on the weekends, I don't take a shower unless I am forced to leave my house. (For the record on that truly despicable confession, I always shower before I go out in public.) I never pick up the poop from my dogs in the back yard (and I never will), dead rabbits, yes, poop, no. In the summer, I vacuum wearing only my underwear. I used to scrape the white stuff out of the middle of the Oreo cookies and put the cookie part back in the bag. I let dirty dishes pile up in my sink. I bite my nails, and I have since I was a kid. I'm pretty sure I was born a nail biter, and though I've tried everything possible including begging and pleading with God to make me not be a nail biter, I still am and I'm pretty sure I always will be. And even more, I think there must be some reason why God created me to be a nail biter.
There you have it ... those arrows and nails should give you shooters and hammerers enough ammo to last you for a while. I'm off to walk Oliver the wiener dog and then play ball with my old Julie dog for a bit and then I'll go to bed. Because that's my "lifestyle," you see ... five days a week, I go to work and do the best job I possibly can for my employer. Then I come home and eat dinner with my dogs, take Ollie for a walk, play ball with Julie, write a post for this blog, decide what to wear to work the next day and go to bed. And the other two days a week, I go grocery shopping, do laundry, mow the yard, clean my house, walk Ollie, play ball with Julie, write a post for this blog and go to bed. Except for the weekends when I do something completely radical and spend time with Meghann and Barrett or Brad and Shelby or Skype with Matt, Becca and C.J. or try to find a church to attend or do work that I brought home. Yep ... that's a dangerous and sinful lifestyle for sure.
If this post angers some of you, I apologize, and I'd encourage you to check out another blog or two instead of reading mine. Here's the thing ... I read blogs that I actually enjoy reading ... blogs that make me think, blogs that teach me things, blogs that are funny, blogs that inspire me, blogs that are real and raw and relevant. But my favorite blogs? My favorite blogs are the ones written by people who are just trying to do life ... just trying to help someone else along the way ... just trying to point others to the truth. Sleep well, friends, and remember that life is short ... really, really, really short, and we're all in it together so we should be good to one another ... love one another ... honor one another ... cherish one another ... as different as we all are ... as alike as we all are ... as His as we all are.
Only once in my life have I stepped on a nail, and that was one time too many. I think the pain I experienced when that nail pierced my foot (it went all the way through ... ouch, ouch, ouch) may rank right up there with the time a piece of spaghetti got stuck under my fingernail. One thing I know for sure, however, is that I never ever want to step on another nail for as long as I live. Last night I shared what my dad told me many years ago about how painful the arrows of hurtful words can be when they are sent flying toward you by someone you love. I mentioned that I'd been hit by some of those arrows yesterday, and I've received a ton of messages today asking if the arrows came from someone in my family. The answer to that question is no, no, no, no, no, no ... the arrows came from a former friend. The words in the email last night stung, and they still sting today ... no, that's not right ... they really hurt, and I cried buckets when I read them. And today, I've been thinking a lot about arrows and nails ... a whole lot, in fact, and here's what I have to say.
The truth is that I've spent my whole life shooting arrows of hate at myself, and I've driven more than a few nails into my own coffin of guilt and shame. But apparently, I haven't done a very good job of it, because there are folks who think I need more arrows and more nails. So ... I decided that once again in the spirit of being open, honest, real and transparent, I would help those of you who are archery experts and masters of carpentry tonight and give you some flaming arrows and super strong nails for you to shoot and hammer. Listen up, now, because these things are huge ... these things about me are really, really, really bad and warrant you slamming the lid on my wooden box, sealing it tightly with the biggest nails in your drawer and setting it ablaze with a fiery arrow.
I drink almond milk right out of the carton. I spit when I'm walking on the trail. I don't like cats; I've never liked cats, and I am certain beyond the shadow of any doubt that I came forth from my mother's womb not liking cats. Sometimes on the weekends, I don't take a shower unless I am forced to leave my house. (For the record on that truly despicable confession, I always shower before I go out in public.) I never pick up the poop from my dogs in the back yard (and I never will), dead rabbits, yes, poop, no. In the summer, I vacuum wearing only my underwear. I used to scrape the white stuff out of the middle of the Oreo cookies and put the cookie part back in the bag. I let dirty dishes pile up in my sink. I bite my nails, and I have since I was a kid. I'm pretty sure I was born a nail biter, and though I've tried everything possible including begging and pleading with God to make me not be a nail biter, I still am and I'm pretty sure I always will be. And even more, I think there must be some reason why God created me to be a nail biter.
There you have it ... those arrows and nails should give you shooters and hammerers enough ammo to last you for a while. I'm off to walk Oliver the wiener dog and then play ball with my old Julie dog for a bit and then I'll go to bed. Because that's my "lifestyle," you see ... five days a week, I go to work and do the best job I possibly can for my employer. Then I come home and eat dinner with my dogs, take Ollie for a walk, play ball with Julie, write a post for this blog, decide what to wear to work the next day and go to bed. And the other two days a week, I go grocery shopping, do laundry, mow the yard, clean my house, walk Ollie, play ball with Julie, write a post for this blog and go to bed. Except for the weekends when I do something completely radical and spend time with Meghann and Barrett or Brad and Shelby or Skype with Matt, Becca and C.J. or try to find a church to attend or do work that I brought home. Yep ... that's a dangerous and sinful lifestyle for sure.
If this post angers some of you, I apologize, and I'd encourage you to check out another blog or two instead of reading mine. Here's the thing ... I read blogs that I actually enjoy reading ... blogs that make me think, blogs that teach me things, blogs that are funny, blogs that inspire me, blogs that are real and raw and relevant. But my favorite blogs? My favorite blogs are the ones written by people who are just trying to do life ... just trying to help someone else along the way ... just trying to point others to the truth. Sleep well, friends, and remember that life is short ... really, really, really short, and we're all in it together so we should be good to one another ... love one another ... honor one another ... cherish one another ... as different as we all are ... as alike as we all are ... as His as we all are.
Monday, June 10, 2013
One Life to Lose
Originally, I had planned to write a different post this evening ... a post about ducks. But something happened this evening that made me know I couldn't write about ducks. But I will write about ducks soon, promise I will.
When I was a teenager, I had a big disagreement with one of my closest friends. A disagreement so big that it ended our friendship and caused my heart to hurt for a long, long time. I remember crying about it to my dad, and I've never forgotten what he said to me that night.
"Nothing wounds the heart like them fiery arrows shot from the bows of people you love and that you believe love you back. Arrows from strangers may tear up your flesh and even break your bones, but those will mend pretty quick. It's them arrows from the ones closest to a person that can wreak havoc on a man's heart and soul and leave the ugliest scars. Remember that, Sam, and treat the people you love with kindness and gentleness. Remember that words can't be taken back once they leave your mouth, so be careful the words you speak."
My dad was a very smart man, friends ... a very smart man indeed. And I believe with all my heart that if he were alive today, he would wrap me in his arms and tell me he loves me ... I believe Daddy would tell me he always loved me and that he would never stop loving me. I think he would remind me that I only have one life to live and one life to lose. And I hope ... I hope ... I hope that maybe, just maybe, Daddy would tell me he's proud to be my dad.
I got hit tonight by some of those arrows Daddy talked about all those years ago ... he was right ... Daddy was so very right in what he said about how deep the wounds can be from those who once loved and cared for me. I pray that God forgives me for the arrows I've sent flying toward others over the years ... arrows of self-righteousness ... arrows of condemnation ... arrows of betrayal ... arrows of judgment ... arrows of condescension ... arrows of hate shrouded and veiled in the name of God. I pray that He forgives me ... one life to lose ... one chance to find ... a newer, better me ... the old one left behind.
One Life to Lose
"I'm torn again between my pride, my old friend
And who you've called me to be
I've sworn again to lay it down, to bring an end
To this life lived for me
For I've one life to lose, one chance to find
A newer, better me, the old one left behind
For there's one Lord who leads, though steep the cost
I have learned when I am lost, it's there that I am found
I am found as your daughter, as your child
As one purchased by Your blood
And though there's nothing I can add to such a perfect sacrifice
How can I offer you less than all my life?
For I've one life to lose, one chance to find
A newer, better me, the old one left behind
For there's one Lord who leads, how steep the cost
I have learned when I am lost, it's there that I am found
It's there that I am found
For I've one life to lose, one chance to find
A newer, better me, the old one left behind
For there's one Lord who leads, how steep the cost
I have learned when I am lost
I have learned when I am lost, it's there that I am found
It's there that I am found" --- Laura Story
When I was a teenager, I had a big disagreement with one of my closest friends. A disagreement so big that it ended our friendship and caused my heart to hurt for a long, long time. I remember crying about it to my dad, and I've never forgotten what he said to me that night.
"Nothing wounds the heart like them fiery arrows shot from the bows of people you love and that you believe love you back. Arrows from strangers may tear up your flesh and even break your bones, but those will mend pretty quick. It's them arrows from the ones closest to a person that can wreak havoc on a man's heart and soul and leave the ugliest scars. Remember that, Sam, and treat the people you love with kindness and gentleness. Remember that words can't be taken back once they leave your mouth, so be careful the words you speak."
My dad was a very smart man, friends ... a very smart man indeed. And I believe with all my heart that if he were alive today, he would wrap me in his arms and tell me he loves me ... I believe Daddy would tell me he always loved me and that he would never stop loving me. I think he would remind me that I only have one life to live and one life to lose. And I hope ... I hope ... I hope that maybe, just maybe, Daddy would tell me he's proud to be my dad.
I got hit tonight by some of those arrows Daddy talked about all those years ago ... he was right ... Daddy was so very right in what he said about how deep the wounds can be from those who once loved and cared for me. I pray that God forgives me for the arrows I've sent flying toward others over the years ... arrows of self-righteousness ... arrows of condemnation ... arrows of betrayal ... arrows of judgment ... arrows of condescension ... arrows of hate shrouded and veiled in the name of God. I pray that He forgives me ... one life to lose ... one chance to find ... a newer, better me ... the old one left behind.
One Life to Lose
"I'm torn again between my pride, my old friend
And who you've called me to be
I've sworn again to lay it down, to bring an end
To this life lived for me
For I've one life to lose, one chance to find
A newer, better me, the old one left behind
For there's one Lord who leads, though steep the cost
I have learned when I am lost, it's there that I am found
I am found as your daughter, as your child
As one purchased by Your blood
And though there's nothing I can add to such a perfect sacrifice
How can I offer you less than all my life?
For I've one life to lose, one chance to find
A newer, better me, the old one left behind
For there's one Lord who leads, how steep the cost
I have learned when I am lost, it's there that I am found
It's there that I am found
For I've one life to lose, one chance to find
A newer, better me, the old one left behind
For there's one Lord who leads, how steep the cost
I have learned when I am lost
I have learned when I am lost, it's there that I am found
It's there that I am found" --- Laura Story
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