Not One More Mile

It’s surprising to me how many questions I continue to receive asking about what actually happened on this day one year ago … what made me completely break down at my office that day, why I didn’t just gather my things and leave when I got upset, whether I have any regrets about the emotion and the words that poured out of me. One year ago today … a day that began as any other day … a day that changed my life forever … a day worthy of being recognized and marked and celebrated. After much thought and consideration as to how I could best do that … how I could best remember and honor the deep meaning this day will forever hold for me … I decided it was time to share part of it with those of you who have faithfully followed my journey through the words of this blog. Once I decided to answer some of your questions, I knew that this post should be a collaborative one … one that contains not only my words, but also the words of two people to whom I owe an immeasurable debt of gratitude. My hope … my prayer … my deepest desire for today's post is that it will speak to your hearts about the need for honesty, the power of listening and the importance of seeking help if you are struggling. It’s a longer post, so grab something to drink and settle in to read for a bit … I promise you’ll be glad you did. Then perhaps consider passing it along to someone else who may need to read it, too. I hope you'll read with your hearts open, friends … I hope you'll read with your hearts wide open.

When my son Matt was a baby, we were in an automobile accident that could have easily killed both of us. He was in his infant carrier on the front seat, and I was driving … and no, there weren’t laws back then that stated kids had to be in the rear seat of a car. We were on a narrow, winding, two-lane Tennessee road that ran alongside a creek … a road I had driven countless times before in every kind of weather imaginable, through the darkest of nights and the sunniest of days. I knew the road like I knew the back of my hand, because I had traveled it for many years. I had driven on the road believing it was the best, safest, most correct way for me to get home. But then the steering column on my car suddenly snapped, I lost control, and I crashed head-on into a large utility pole.

I’ll spare you the details of the injuries I sustained that day when I plowed through the windshield face first onto the hood of my car, but I will tell you that Matt didn’t have a scratch on him … not a single scratch. I’ve never driven on that road again, and I can say without question that I never will. And here’s the thing I’d like you to remember as you read the remainder of this post … that day was like any other day in my life up until that point. I was traveling on the same road I always traveled on, driving like I always drove, talking like I always talked, doing what I always did. Until something deep inside my car broke loose … and without warning, in the blink of an eye, I couldn’t drive another mile … not one more mile … on the road I was trying so desperately to follow. 

“Authenticity – to be genuine, real, representing yourself exactly as you are. It sounds simple enough to live in a manner where my actions match my values, where my words speak my truth, my heart, without shrinking back to be less than, or even worse, to be something I’m not, possibly what someone else wants for me. We live in a world where we are constantly bombarded with messages of what we ‘should’ be, from politics to deodorant to food to appearance. If I am uncertain of how to live, all I need to do is look outside of myself for direction. Yet when I begin to disconnect from the truest part of me, whether it’s in the smallest of ways such as ignoring an inner voice saying, ‘This doesn’t feel right,’ or more overt ways of making a decision to do something because of my fear of someone else’s reactions, then I am automatically rejecting ‘me.’ The moment I shift my focus away from my authentic self is the moment I am no longer fully living.” 

Thursday, August 30, 2012. I remember not wanting to get out of bed that morning, staring into the mirror for a long time wondering how long I could maintain the pretense that was my life, driving to work, sitting at my desk, reading some ads and a friend stopping by to say hello. I remember the tears that descended upon me and wouldn’t go away, trying to contact my supervisor to ask if I could leave for the day and not being able to reach her, walking to the desk of a manager to get permission to leave, her rising from her chair, leading me into a conference room, closing the door and asking me what was wrong. And I remember sobbing … I remember sobbing like I never had before … I remember struggling to breathe … I remember rambling … rambling about how sorry I was … about how much I loved my children and how badly I wanted to be a good mother to them … about my Love Thy Neighbor shirt. I remember I couldn’t breathe … I remember sobbing … and sobbing … and sobbing. 

“It was lunchtime. I was prepping for a meeting. When Terrie walked over to ask me a question, I guess I thought it was more of an opportunity to talk. Terrie says that she was going along the same path that she always had, but the office thought differently. For months, Terrie was in a different zone. And by different, I mean not good. She wasn’t looking people in the eye, she was withdrawn, she seemed sad, distant. Everyone in the office noticed, and many discussed it. It wasn’t ‘Terrie.’

Many of us had worked with Terrie for years. Terrie was happy, cheerful, a problem solver, always willing to help out. But lately, she wasn’t. And it was very obvious to all of us. 

So, back to the talk. I didn’t know what we were going to talk about. I didn’t know the impact of this discussion. I had no idea what was going to transpire. I just knew Terrie needed a friend. Someone to listen to her. Someone to try to break through the sadness. I think if I would have known the impact, the severity, the critical nature of what was going to happen, I would have been scared to death. I wasn’t a trained professional, I couldn’t give professional, schooled, time-tested advice. I didn’t know what was going to come out of my mouth, I was just there to listen. To simply be there as Terrie’s friend.” 

“Terrie’s journey is a clear and dramatic example of how dark, hopeless, and alone we can feel when we disconnect from our own knowingness. Not only did she disconnect from her authentic self at a very early age, she was taught to judge and condemn others who did not fit a certain mold, thereby learning to judge and condemn herself. Shame developed in the gap between the authentic knowing of who she was and the person whom she needed to portray in order to fit in and be accepted. We all have a need to feel accepted, connected to others, and loved. When who you are is not acceptable to those you love or the larger community, it is only natural to want to hide it, ignore it, or deny it. And so goes the creation of an identity that people will accept and love openly, with no judgment or fear.” 

I can’t tell you what caused me to fall apart on that otherwise ordinary Thursday morning, and honestly, I’m not sure I will ever know why the events of that day played out the way they did. While much of the conversation that took place between my friend and I remains somewhat cloudy to me, there are certain words that were spoken in the conference room on that hot summer day that will be etched into both my mind and my heart forever. Words of despair and pain that poured forth from the prisons I had locked myself away in for decades … the prison of hiding … the prison of self-hate … the prison of shame … the prison of lying. Words such as, “You can put a snake in a sheepskin, and it’s still a snake,” or “You don’t get it … I don’t want to wear a dress, ever,” or “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be who everyone else wants me to be, and I can’t do it anymore,” or “I tried so hard to do the right thing.” Words of compassion and acceptance that flowed from the heart of my friend, fighting to control her own tears as she felt the depth of my hurt and saw the walls of the closet where I had spent my life in hiding come crumbling down around me. Words such as, “Just be you, Terrie, because the you I know is wonderful,” or “You’re one of the strongest women I know,” or “There’s no judgment here, no judgment here at all, friend,” or “I’m behind you all the way … hang in there.” I remember the overwhelming thoughts that consumed me as I drove home after our conversation. “That couldn’t have just happened, no, no, no. What I said was veiled … I never actually said the words … maybe she didn’t get what I was really saying. I didn’t tell her I’m gay, did I? I never said those words … did I? What just happened? Why her? We aren’t close friends. Why did I say those things to her? That couldn’t have happened ... that couldn’t have happened … I’m going to lose my job. Oh, God … that could not have just happened.” I remember those thoughts … I remember those thoughts so very well. 

“So there it was. Terrie was coming out. I thought. She thought. But she didn’t want to. And she wasn’t ready. But she did. But then tried not to. I just listened. And reassured. And did my best not to say anything stupid or mess this up. Most of all, I didn’t judge. I didn’t do it consciously, I just didn’t judge. I listened with an open mind and an open heart.

Terrie told me a lot that day. To me, it’s a bit of a blur. I wasn’t taking notes, I wasn’t hanging on every word. I wasn’t listening to remember every word. I was simply listening as a friend, trying to give the best advice and support I could. Did I mention that I’m not a trained professional?

She went to the doctor, then home, then on her way on her road trip. I texted the next day to see if she was ok, and told her again that I really couldn’t give a rip one way or the other. I just wanted her to be happy and know that I was there if she needed to chat. Well, I later found out that she threw her phone down when she read my message. She thought, “SHE KNOWS!!!” We laugh about it now, because it was pretty obvious to me as I listened to her in the conference room the day before. But at the time, it wasn’t one bit funny. Terrie didn’t want it to be so obvious.” 

“Ignoring aspects of yourself, particularly aspects that are at the very core of you, is exhausting. Denial, whether it is to yourself or others, takes mental and physical energy above and beyond the tasks of daily living. The pain and confusion become too much to tolerate, and the need to be loved and accepted for who you really are overpowers. One year ago today, Terrie had reached the point of exhaustion. Although she was no longer living in denial to herself, she was still hiding to the world around her, and the weight and energy that required was more than she could handle for even one more day.

It was the serendipity of the tipping point: several different events and circumstances pulling on her emotionally all while continuing the strenuous exercise of existing in a life of facades, of ignoring what was real and ever-present within. So although that day was like any other, the moment occurred where the exhaustion and mental anguish overpowered Terrie's usual mechanisms for hiding. Although she didn’t really want to share her secret, her emotions could not be held back any longer because the secret was slowly wearing her down mentally and physically. In fact, the depression she was experiencing from keeping the secret, the secret that disconnected her from all that was important to her, was killing her. Terrie had wanted to die for quite a long while in order to escape the pain. By the time August 30, 2012 arrived, she was merely clinging to a buoy in an extremely rough sea.” 

I don’t know how long I was in the conference room that day, but I know that it was long enough … long enough to be the beginning of a journey toward living honestly … long enough to be the beginning of living as the me God created me to be. A lot of people ask me what’s the biggest thing I’ve learned since that day. For all the questions I don’t have the answers to and very well may never have, I can sort of answer that one. I say sort of answer because it’s impossible for me to choose one lesson that is the greatest of all the ones I’ve learned over the last year. I’ve learned that you never know what’s inside a person’s heart unless you make the time to listen with the ears of your own heart wide open. I’ve learned that real friends, true friends, committed friends shine brightest in the darkest of nights. I’ve learned to never underestimate God … His design, His love, His purpose, His calling, His plan. I’ve learned that something needed to break inside of me … that I needed to be forced off the road I was on … that crashing head-on into the conference room ended up being the best thing … the very best thing … that’s ever happened to me. That day took me off the road of pretending and placed me on the path of becoming real … real with myself … real with my children and others who know me … real with God. 

“With a year of reflection behind me, I have to thank my parents (this sounds like an Oscars speech). I was raised in an environment of acceptance and support. An environment that was far from perfect, but one that taught me to be kind.

I talk to my pre-teen kids about this a lot. They will be put in many, many different situations in life. They will find that they might not always be the smartest person in the room. They might not be the best looking, the most athletic, the funniest or the most liked. But they have the choice to be the most kind. I remind them that they always have this choice, and it’s the one that is likely to make them the most proud.

Without kindness that day, without taking the time to listen, without taking the time to care, Terrie might be in a different place today. I’m not saying I made all the difference in the last year, not even close. She has so much support from so many people. But in the end, I’m really glad I was kind. She deserves it. 

So remind your kids, and remind yourself, of these two words: Be kind. You have no idea how one act of kindness may change someone else’s life.” 

“The truth is that being authentic isn’t easy for anyone. We all share the universal experience of wishing parts of ourselves were different or better; some even wish they were completely different people than who they are. When a person is disconnected from parts of themselves, they are disconnected from others as well and that disconnect is the obstacle that stands in the way of getting help. Getting help begins when we first reach for connection, to share whatever part of ourselves we can muster. In the conference room one year ago today, Terrie shared her pain, visibly and openly, with another person, allowing connection, real authentic connection, to take place. As she connects with others in her truth, she is likewise connecting more to herself.” 

I never would have believed that being broken, losing control and plowing heart first through the windshield of hiding onto the hood of who I truly am could be such a good thing … well … I didn’t believe it until I walked into a conference room on a hot summer day in August of 2012. I believe it now, friends … I believe it now.

Not a Chance

There was a time in my life when I bought a lottery ticket every weekend with the hope that I would one day win the big jackpot and be an instant millionaire overnight. And for quite a long time, I actually believed I really had a chance to win. Never mind that the odds are far greater that I will be struck by lightning multiple times or have identical quadruplets (in my younger child-bearing years, of course) or that I will be crushed to death by a vending machine or that I'll become a movie star. Yep, you read that correctly ... it's more likely I will die whilst trying to purchase a snack from a huge metal box than it is that I will ever win the lottery. The lesson in this revelation is twofold: 1) I wish I had all the dollars back that I wasted on lottery tickets, and 2) I don't buy lottery tickets now ... unless, of course, the jackpot goes above $250 million.

I've been thinking a lot lately about chance, not games of chance, mind you, but the role that chance does or doesn't play in life. Some folks say that everything happens by chance ... that life is much like a toss of the dice. Those "chance" folks believe there's no purpose or design, no rhyme or reason to the events and circumstances that come our way in life. Then there are people who believe that we determine our own destiny ... that we choose our own paths and what to allow into or eliminate from our self-designed reality. And then there are those who believe that everything ... every single thing ... is part of a divinely orchestrated plan and path that God set into motion before we were born. What do I believe? Well ... I think perhaps I've believed all three at different times in my life. There have been times when I believed certain situations or opportunities or events were nothing more than random happenings. There have been times when I truly thought I could chart my own course and make my own way, directed only by the parameters of my own desires and wants. There have been times when ... like now, for example ... times when I simply cannot deny that there is a much greater force at work than mere chance or my own feeble attempts to map out the direction of my life. 

Over the last year, I've been forced to acknowledge in ways I never have before that God has a reason for my life. I'm not talking about His plan or purpose for me ... I'm talking about His reason for keeping me alive ... His reason for intervening that morning last year when I was minutes away from ending my life ... His reason for me being where I am at this very moment in time ... His reason for my life. I said I've been forced to acknowledge that He has a reason ... I didn't say that I know or understand what that reason is, and I'm not sure that I ever will. But I do know this ... I know that too many things have happened since I broke down and told the truth about who I really am to be purely random chance. Too many events, too many occurrences, too many situations to be accidents or coincidences or chance ... too many things that scream to me that He has a reason for my life.

Truthfully? I get rather overwhelmed when I think about it ... when I think about the possibility that everything that's taken place in my life up to this point has all been God preparing me for what He wants me to do right now ... in this moment ... for this time. So many things that seemed so random ... so out of the blue ... so unexpected at the time they took place are beginning to make more sense to me now. I think maybe ... just maybe ... He had a reason for my life then and maybe ... just maybe ... He has a reason for it today as well. Not all that long ago, all I wanted was to be done with living. Not all that long ago, all I saw was darkness. Not all that long ago, all I felt was shame and guilt. Not all that long ago, all I heard was judgment and condemnation.

Not all that long ago, something happened that changed my life forever. Random? Not a chance, friends ... not a chance at all.

(And remember ... if you never read another post ... read tomorrow's.)

If You Never Read Another Post ...

I'm taking a couple of days off from blogging. Well, technically, I guess I'm taking one night off since I'm posting this blurb tonight. But tomorrow night, I'm not writing. Nope, I'm not. I'm not writing a single word to post here tomorrow night. 

I am, however, posting on Thursday night. You should read that one because it will help pave the way for Friday's post. I think I may even post Friday's entry in the morning rather than Friday evening. Why? Just because. And why do I really, really, really want you to read Friday's post? Because it will be very special. Because it's important. Because ... well ... just because you should.

So if you have time, read Thursday evening's post. But if you have to choose between reading Thursday's entry or Friday's, read Friday's instead. Why? Because Friday's post will be very special. Because Friday's post is important. Because you just should.

If you never read another post I write, friends, read Friday's post. 

Have a great evening, a happy tomorrow, and I'll catch up with you on Thursday. Or Friday. Or both.

And remember, if you never read another post I write ... not one more word ... read Friday's post. 

Guest Blog Post # 4

I've sort of fallen down on my commitment to having guest bloggers join me in writing posts, and I apologize for being remiss in that regard. I know if I were you, I would tire of reading only my words and long for a bit of variety now and again. So tonight's post is written by someone who knows the true meaning of sacrificial love, though she would tell you she doesn't. She is a most humble, kind, gracious, loving, intelligent soul, and she's taught me more lessons over the last years than I could even begin to recount. I would encourage you to read her words tonight with your hearts, because I know beyond the shadow of a doubt, they come directly from her own. 

"Love Beyond the Vows"

"If you have ever stood before an officiant and spoken the words of commitment “in sickness and in health,” then perhaps at the time you focused only on the mention of 'health.' When standing next to the one you love, you never consider that 'sickness' might invade your life until far, far down the road in the journey of your marriage. And, even then, you probably don’t think that perhaps the impact of spousal illness will completely change your life. No, it’s not what you concentrate on during your wedding ceremony. But, friends, it happens. Never did I dream that the life of my beloved spouse would be filled with the horror of chronic, debilitating illness and its requisite pain and suffering.

One life event is forever etched in my mind. I crept slowly into the bedroom on that fateful evening to check and found that his breathing had ceased. I remember my frantic call to 911, the urgency and confusion from the EMTs, a complicated hospital admission, ICU and then a private room for so many days, and finally a diagnosis of chronic, incurable disease. From the moment I found him, I never left his side, except to go home once to shower and get more clean clothes along with his favorite brands of unscented soap and tissues. The nursing staff seemed baffled by my steadfastness. They insisted my presence distracted from the healing process.

His team of doctors tried to evict me from his room, but I respected his wishes for me to stay with him. Even when he returned home, I stayed with him for as long as I could before returning to full-time work, mainly because I had the full support of my employer. Since that day, I have been his caregiver in both big and small ways as well as the family breadwinner.

Many times over the past 20 years, people ask me why we haven’t hired outside help or, even worse, considered inpatient care in a long-term facility. The answer is simple; we choose to stay together and care for one another. Yes, he provides as much love and support for me as I do for him. We desire to make sacrifices for each other. God provides for us and, because of His grace and mercy, we are able now to be with each other 24/7.

Family and friends often say to me that I need to “get a life” outside of caring for my beloved. That strikes me oddly because I am quite content providing the care my spouse needs. Perhaps it’s because I believe with all my heart that we are blessed to be with one another. It’s a privilege to take care of my best friend. He’s the kind of friend that everyone longs for…he loves me unconditionally and accepts me in spite of all of my flaws. He makes it easy to be kind, caring, giving, and compassionate.

One reason it is never difficult to provide care is that my 'patient' is forever grateful for my help. Never a day goes by that he doesn’t thank me for even the little things I do for him. Gratitude begets gratitude…it makes me thankful that he lets me know that I do a good job. Of course, both of us are human. Sometimes our patience with one another wears thin. When that happens, we try to reasonably discuss our differences and resolve them as quickly as possible. We pray together when we can’t find the perfect solution, and God is faithful to give us the answers we seek.

Some of my Christian friends congratulate me for performing what they call my 'duty' to my husband. Perhaps what they really mean is that when love AND duty are one, then God’s grace lives within you. God’s grace is always sufficient.

With the current longer life expectancy, many of you reading this guest blog may be caring for someone you love or will be sometime in the future. The advice that I offer is to never consider it a 'burden,' but rather consider it God’s faith in your ability to love as He would love…your hands and heart are His while on the earth.

Would I change things if I could? Yes, I pray daily for my husband’s total healing. The granting of that prayer is in God’s hands and timing. Until then, I have the joy of being with my husband…talking, laughing, loving, sharing, enjoying, and just being. And, for me, it’s never a sacrifice."

 

Request Denied

About four weeks before my mom passed away, I got a letter in the mail informing me that I had been placed in a pool of potential jurors for a federal court case that would be going to trial in three months. As I read the instructions indicating what my responsibilities were regarding the selection process, I was immediately annoyed. Now before I receive a thousand messages telling me that I should be ashamed for not being a good citizen and showing adequate respect for our country's judicial system, please allow me to explain. I've had to report several times over the last 20 years to be interviewed as a juror for various county court cases ... I got a letter in the mail, filled out the requested form and showed up at the courthouse on the appointed date. I wasn't chosen for any of the trials, but had I been, I was quite willing to perform my civic duty. The federal court jury summons, however, was a whole different beast ... I was assigned a number and a color, and I had to call each Friday to see if I would need to report on the following Monday for the selection process. It was a royal pain in the butt for several reasons ... I was stretched really thin at work at the time ... I still had two teenagers living at home ... and Mom had just moved to my town from Tennessee two weeks prior. Remembering to make a phone call before 4 p.m. each Friday and wondering how I would possibly keep all the balls in the air should I have to serve was beyond stressful.

Mom passed on a Wednesday evening, so it was Friday before my kids and I began the long journey back to Tennessee to lay Mom to rest next to my dad. Amazingly, I remembered to call the jury line as we traveled, and when the automated menu gave me the option to request removal from the list, I immediately pressed the corresponding number, followed all the prompts and pleaded my case for dismissal. Allow me to say here that I hate, hate, hate those stupid automated phone systems ... I truly miss the days of being able to dial a number and talk to a real live person. At any rate, after answering a series of questions and pressing some additional numbers, a computerized monotone male voice says, "Request denied." I remember thinking as I clicked off the call that if my mom dying only two short days before wasn't grounds to release me from being interviewed to serve on a jury panel, nothing would be. I also remember saying out loud to my three sleeping children, "Request denied? Seriously? Request denied? You've got to be kidding me ... request denied?" 

It was a couple of weeks after we returned from Mom's funeral that my Friday call to the court resulted in me having to appear along with what seemed like a thousand other people to be questioned by the judge and attorneys about the upcoming case to determine if I would be selected to serve. I'll spare you the details of the day, but when it was finally my turn to speak, I burst into tears. The judge asked me what was wrong, I told her about Mom and that I had requested to be dismissed. She immediately turned to the woman in charge of the potential juror group and asked why I was made to appear, looked at me with sympathy, and said, "I'm sorry for your loss. Request granted. You are dismissed and may exit the courtroom immediately." I cried all the way home that day, so very grateful for the overwhelming compassion and kindness demonstrated to me by the judge.

I've been thinking a lot about the words "request denied" for a while now ... words I never really heard much before, at least not in the context of them being spoken directly to me to tell me no in response to something I've asked for. I hear them quite often these days, though, and as is so very often the case, I think perhaps I'm at least beginning to understand the humongous lesson contained within those two words. I know this will be tough, if not impossible, for many of you to believe, but it's true nonetheless ... sometimes, I try to get out of doing things that are difficult for me to do. I'm not talking about things like tough projects at work or rigorous physical tasks ... those kinds of things I tackle head-on with gusto, determined to meet any deadline or goal set before me. Nope, it's the emotional stuff ... having to open up and make myself vulnerable to my life-saving head doctor, talk about things I've never talked to anyone about, say words that are so very hard to say, trust a friend with things I've kept hidden away most of my life ... that's the stuff that causes me to try every week to negotiate my way out of doing or saying things that are hard for me, or to beg and plead to be let off easy, or to ask over and over and over again, "Can I be done now?"

But here's the thing ... here's what I'm beginning to understand, and what is finally sinking into my brain. Sometimes ... maybe a lot of times ... OK, most of the time ... when it comes to knowing what is best for me in regard to overcoming the self-hate that has existed within me my whole life, learning how to accept who I am and believe that God loves me and isn't finished with me just yet, I'm not the best one to decide how to most effectively accomplish those very necessary, life-saving tasks. God in His infinite wisdom and mercy has placed certain people in my life who aren't willing to back down or give up on their commitment to helping me be OK ... people who won't let me weasel out of the commitment I've made to do the hard stuff ... people who refuse to let me take the easy way out. And my part ... my part is to trust that their motives, their judgment, their decisions and their guidance are all working together for my good.

You know what I think? I think maybe time may prove the words "Request denied" to be two of the most important, most healing, most life-restoring ever.

All Thumbs

Sometimes I do something so dumb, so stupid, so utterly foolish that it makes me wonder how I manage to dress myself each morning. I'm talking really, really, really dumb stuff like when I caught my hair on fire with a curling iron ... yeah, that was a long, long, long time ago when I had hair. Or when I drove through my garage door twice in the same day. Or when I did a double jump off the diving board with my niece and scraped the whole side of my face on the rough cement bottom of the pool. Or when I unplugged the clothes dryer while I was standing barefoot in water on a concrete floor ... that may qualify as the absolute dumbest thing I've ever done now that I think about it. Or what I did on Wednesday morning as I was getting my things out of my car at the office.

It was breezy that morning when I climbed out of the car ... breezy enough that the wind slammed my car door shut without any help from me. I was a few minutes late for work, and I didn't put my backpack all the way on both shoulders, and I had my lunchbox teetering by its strap on the same shoulder as well. I had my Camelbak bottle in one hand and my phone in the other as I reached into the passenger side seat to grab the work I had brought home the night before. And that's when it happened ... the wind again caught the car door, and just as it was about to smash me in the head, I leaned back just enough that it missed my head. For a split second, I thought to myself, "Man, that was a close call." No sooner than the thought had formed in my mind, I felt it ... deep, piercing pain ... in my left thumb. Yep, I avoided a smashing to my head from the renegade car door, but I didn't, however, think to remove my hand from the door's path before it slammed squarely on my thumb and left me with a gash across my knuckle.

I really do have a pretty high pain tolerance, which my doctor would readily tell you ... hence the reason that often by the time I finally go to her office with an earache, my eardrum is close to bursting. If I only had a nickel for every time she has said to me over the last 10 plus years, "How in the world can you not be writhing in pain? That has to hurt like crazy!" So when I tell you that the pain in my thumb was so intense that it brought tears to my eyes and I was instantly nauseated, you can bet that my flipping thumb hurt like the devil. By the time I got to my desk, I was bleeding and thought I was going to pass out. After a couple of the gals who sit near me inspected the cut (including making me bend my thumb ... yep, that felt real good for sure), I went to the kitchen to rinse my wound and tried not to throw up my breakfast while one of my cubemates applied antibiotic gel on the cut and wrapped my thumb in a bandaid.

Though my pain tolerance is high, I'm a true baby when it comes to any type of skin laceration. Translated that means that when I have an ouchie or a boo-boo, I want a cool bandaid and not the old standard plain beige run-of-the-mill ones. My favorites are Ninja Turtles, but I had to settle for a couple of Muppets bandages that one of my co-workers had at her desk until I could go to Walmart over my lunch hour. And tonight, as I sit here typing, my still bleeding and aching thumb is lovingly covered by Charlie Brown, Lucy, Snoopy and Woodstock ... don't even say it ... everyone knows that ouchies and boo-boos heal better when they are lovingly wrapped in a superhero, fighting and talking turtle or famous comic strip character bandaid.

If you've read this blog even a couple of times, you know that I'm always looking for the lessons I'm supposed to learn from both the big and little events of life. I've had two days to try and figure out what possible lesson could come from my wounded thumb, and I think I've come up with a couple for you to ponder along with me. It's really, really important not to let my head get slammed in the car door ... that could do some significant damage to my brain. But at around 8:40 a.m. Wednesday morning, it suddenly became unbelievably important for me to protect my thumb as well. See, here's the thing ... it's not only the big things in life I need to protect and cherish and hold dear, it's the little things, too. Little things like thumbs can mean a whole, whole, whole lot, friends ... they surely can.

If You're Gonna Cry ...

I'm going to begin tonight's post with another confession ... maybe I should just dub 2013 "The Year of The Confession" for me since that seems to be a recurring occurrence in my life this year. Once again, I digress ... back to my confession ... I never used to be a weeper. Stop laughing ... I am totally serious, I never used to be a cry-baby like I am now. In fact, I cried so little that my family used to tease me and say I was hard-hearted because I rarely ever cried. There was that one day, though ... the day a wasp stung me on the boob ... I sure shed some big tears that day ... boy oh boy, did I ever. Now that I think about it, maybe part of the reason I'm so easily moved to tears these days is because I didn't cry much when I was younger. That's not really the reason I cry more these days, you know ... I cry more easily these days because for the first time in my entire life, I'm real. I'm real with myself, real with others and real with God, and being real means ... well ... being real means being real in everything I say, do and feel.

Today, we had a surprise celebration at work for my boss who's retiring at the end of next week. I knew when I got up this morning that today was going to be a busy, stressful and quite probably emotional day. I was correct on all counts ... lots of running around the building, learning new things, and tears ... lots and lots of tears. The party was awesome, though, and well-deserved for the woman who has taught me and so many others so much over the last 11 years. As one of the owners of the company spoke of how much Donna has meant to our company, I wasn't the only one who's eyes were brimming with emotion. And when she said a few words to the standing-room-only group that was packed into the conference room, I wasn't the only one with tears running down my cheeks then as well. Donna has worked at SHS for 32 years ... that's a big deal in a day and age when people often change jobs as quickly and easily as they change their underwear.

Every once in a while, I have a good idea, and every now and again, I even have a great idea, and a couple of weeks ago, I had one of the greatest I've had in a really long time. I passed out SHS note cards to all of our employees and asked them to write a note to Donna. It was awesome this morning to place all the cards in a basket to give to her at the party this afternoon, but what was even more awesome was all the people who brought their cards to me and said, "Read it, Terrie ... read what I wrote to Donna." They didn't want me to read their notes to check for grammar and punctuation either ... they wanted me to be a part of the love and appreciation they were sending to Donna via their words on the cards. And you know what else they did? A whole bunch of them hugged me after I read their notes ... a whole bunch of them hugged me for a long, long, long time. I've said it before, but the note card experience and the love I saw demonstrated for my dear friend Donna today just reinforced it again to me ... we have something extra special at SHS, something extra special indeed.

When Donna finished speaking, I stepped out to get the basket of cards from the table to give to her, and because of how closely I've worked with her, I knew that everyone was expecting me to say something. But I also knew there was no way I'd be able to say anything meaningful since I was already crying. So I did what all eloquent speakers do when they are too emotional to talk ... I said, "I'm not saying anything." I grabbed the basket and walked to where Donna was standing and handed her the basket as I tearfully said, "Here's a bunch of cards." What happened next was one of those moments ... one of those moments that didn't just touch my heart, it touched every heart in the conference room. When I handed the basket of cards to Donna, she grabbed my finger and wouldn't let go ... she wouldn't let go ... she wouldn't let go. And then she hugged me, and I bawled ... right there in front of everyone I work with ... I cried like a baby. I hugged my dear friend Donna, cried like a little girl and completely obliterated my tough gal image among my co-workers.

After the party ended, I went back to my desk to finish up a few things and check my email before I headed home. I was surprised to see more than a few unread emails, and even more surprised as I began to read the messages they contained. 

"I haven't been here very long, but I saw what you talked about in orientation about how it's a family at SHS. What Rand said and when you and Donna hugged, that was so cool. I'm glad I got to be a part of that today and I'm glad I came here to work."

"What a touching moment when Donna grabbed your hand and you and her hugged. I think everyone had tears in their eyes, Terrie. You've got such a great heart and give out so much love to all of us every day. We need you and we need your love. Don't ever forget that or how much we love you."

"I was trying to hold it together when Rand and Donna talked and thought I was going to make it out of there without crying. Then Donna got a hold of your hand and wouldn't let go until you hugged her. One of the sweetest things I've ever seen on a job. You're right about us being a family, and people like you and Donna are why we are."

There are so many lessons in the words of the emails I received today, not the least of which is how important it is to be real and present in the lives of others, and to fully appreciate and treasure every moment I have with the people I love. Here's the thing, friends ... you never know what will touch the hearts of other people, perhaps at the very moment they need it most. I'm going to close with another email I received after the party ... sleep well, friends, hug a couple of people tomorrow and tell a few folks you love and appreciate them.

"I know you don't like to let anyone see you cry, and that you are probably mad at yourself for crying in front of all of us at the party. Here's what I think, Terrie. If you're gonna cry, might as well cry big. Love you even when you cry. Be careful going home and I'll see you tomorrow."

 

January Calling

My favorite time of the year is autumn, and it has been for as long as I can remember. I love everything about it ... the brilliant burst of color that adorns the leaves on the trees, the crunch of those same leaves under my feet when they fall to the ground, the smell of wood burning in the fireplaces of homes throughout my neighborhood, the donning of jackets and sweaters and fleecy gloves ... I absolutely love the fall season. There's really no other season that carries with it so many wonderful memories for me, especially memories of my dad roasting hot dogs and marshmallows over the glowing embers of a fire he built in a pit in the back yard or attending football games at Red Bank High School or jumping and rolling around in the huge piles of leaves I had raked up with my friends. Perhaps that's part of why I love autumn so very much ... because it reminds me of days gone by with loved ones who have since passed on.

We've had a relatively mild summer in Kansas City this year with fewer than average stormy days (thank goodness!!) and temperatures that haven't climbed above 100 degrees even one day. The last several days have been what I refer to as fall teaser days ... cool, cloudless days and almost chilly nights. Until today ... today, it's hot and muggy again, but I know those types of days are numbered for this year because fall is knocking on summer's door. I'm not the only one in my house who prefers the cooler weather over days when the heat and humidity makes it difficult to breathe the minute I walk outside. Yep, my two furry companions Julie and Ollie have an extra spring in their steps on those 70-degree days as well ... yes, even my old girl Julie romps and rolls like a young pup during the season that arrives between the oppressive heat of summer and the bitter cold of winter. My nightly walks with Ollie become a time when I have to hustle to keep up with him when the air is cool and crisp as opposed to dragging him behind me or lifting him into my arms to carry him when the heat of the day lingers into the night.

Last night, I could feel the difference in the air when Ollie and I set out to walk after the sun had floated gently beneath the horizon in the western sky. It wasn't terrible ... the heat and the humidity ... but there was a noticeable difference from our nightly stroll the previous evening. We hadn't walked very long before Ollie began to pant, and soon his little tongue was almost touching the pavement as he tried his best to keep up with my stride.

"It's hot again, isn't it, buddy?" I asked my little wiener dog as he slowly plodded along behind me. "It's not nearly as nice out tonight as it was last night, huh?"

Even though there are times when I feel that Ollie not only understands what I'm saying to him but that he also replies through the expression in his eyes, last night wasn't one of those times. When I looked at my sweet hound dog, all I saw was tiredness and the readiness to go home and rest in our cool, air-conditioned home. After about a half-hour of walking, my poor little guy was done ... done enough that he stopped and stretched out on the sidewalk and refused to walk even one more step.

"Are you done, little guy?" I asked softly as I bent over and gently picked him up and placed him over my shoulder. He licked the side of my face in gratitude for me rescuing him from having to walk on his own, and I smiled as he wriggled and squirmed until he was able to rest his head in the crook of my neck.

"It's OK, Ollie ... I've got you, buddy, and I'll carry you the rest of the way home." I said out loud to my canine pal. "I'm with you on the heat ... I'm ready for fall to get here. Heck ... I think I may even be ready for January to arrive this year ... a little cold and snow sounds awfully good right about now."

The word "January" had no more than escaped my lips until my mind filled with thoughts about a fellow I work with whose name is January. And as so often happens when I begin to think about the people I'm blessed to have in my life, my mind galloped through talks I've had and times I've spent with my friend, Mr. January. I thought of the first time I met him in my posse interview at SHS and how impressed I was by the questions he asked me and the observations he made. I thought of the fun we had when we were on the same team in our office Olympics. I thought of the day I went back to work after my mom passed away and the hug he gave me and the tears that filled his eyes as he expressed his heartfelt sympathy to me. I thought of the emails of appreciation he has sent me for the things I do around the office. I thought of his patience, kindness and compassion during the times I was drowning in the darkness of depression. I thought of his immediate and overwhelming acceptance of me after I told the truth about who I am. I thought of the confidence he places in me every single day ... of the way he makes me smile every single day ... of the love he shares with me every single day.

So, this one's for you JJ ... complete with plenty of ellipses because I know how much you love them. Thank you for being an inspiration to me ... thank you for watching out for me ... thank you, JJ ... thank you for being my friend.

 

Fat Terrie

This is one of those posts that I feel needs a disclaimer at the beginning: Tonight's post is ONLY about me, my own personal struggle with being overweight and diabetes, and in no way is meant to criticize or judge anyone else who may be overweight. I know all too well the emotions that can accompany being labeled a "big" woman in a society and a culture that promotes, praises and pushes being thin. Please, please, please take my words this evening in the spirit in which I write them and know that I'm writing ONLY about myself and nothing I say is intended or directed toward anyone else. If I haven't learned anything over the last eight months since my January 1 post, I've learned that it's impossible to know what another person is feeling if you haven't walked in their shoes or lived in their skin.

I was skinny as a little kid, very skinny in fact ... so much so that people often said I needed to "put some meat on my bones." As a teenager and young adult, I was a jock, and a pretty good one at that. The only sport I didn't excel in was basketball, and that was only because I was, and still am, a short little gal. Staying thin was never a problem for me ... I could eat pretty much whatever I wanted (and a lot of it) because I was so active physically. I didn't even gain a lot of weight when I was pregnant with my sons ... it was when I got pregnant with Meghann only nine months after Brad was born that I started packing on the pounds. I gained almost 85 pounds when I was pregnant with my only daughter, and I lost very few of those pounds after she was born. Oh, I would lose a little from time to time, and after I got divorced, I actually lost about 60 pounds. But then I gained it back ... along with another 70ish pounds. By the time I was diagnosed with diabetes almost four years ago, I was ... well ... there's really no nice way to say it ... I was just plain old fat. Not just a little chubby or carrying a few extra pounds or pleasantly plump ... I was fat. And down deep inside, even though I tried desperately to deny it or ignore it or wish it away, I knew that I was fat. But then came diabetes and walking and eating little to no carbs or sugar, and my weight began to drop ... and drop ... and drop ... and today, I weigh less than half of what I did four years ago.

In the course of my conversation with my new friend Jim at my son-in-law Barrett's birthday party Sunday evening, he asked me why I wasn't eating any cake and ice cream. I explained to him that I have diabetes and that I don't eat a lot of sugar or carbs. Barrett joined our conversation just as I was telling Jim how much weight I've lost. Jim said, "I can't imagine you with that much weight on you!!" and I assured him that I really was very heavy a few years ago. As Jim looked at Barrett for confirmation, my darling son-in-law laughed and said, "Yes, she really has lost that much weight. But we loved Fat Terrie." I laughed along with him as I said, "Yep, Fat Terrie was pretty fun for sure, Barrett." I laughed out loud as Barrett talked about how I used to supply all of my children and myself with Taco Bell and Sheridan's Frozen Custard and lots and lots and lots of other not so nutritious food items. 

I've mentioned before how God often has to put a lesson before me several times before I actually get what He's trying to teach me, so I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me that the truth He meant for me to absorb on Sunday evening was presented to me again as I was leaving work yesterday. As I pulled out of my parking space and turned to drive down the alley toward the street, a young gal I work with called out to me and walked up to my car as I slowed to a stop. She then proceeded to tell me that one of the younger guys at work had asked her earlier in the day if it was true that I used to be "big." I chuckled as she told me about their conversation, wondering what in the world had prompted the young man to ask such an unusual question. I truly love both of them, the young woman and the young man, by the way, and so this morning when I got to the office, I emailed the guy some pictures of Fat Terrie along with a note that said, "I heard you were wondering what the old Terrie looked like." I'm still smiling this evening because of the words in his reply, "Wow. That's infomercial worthy. Good for you, buddy."

So I know you're wondering what the big lesson is, eh? I'm still the same person on the inside now that I wear a size 6 as I was when I wore a size 22. My outward appearance changed drastically, but where it matters most ... inside my heart ... I'm the same Terrie as I was when I was fat, maybe with a little more self-confidence when it comes to wearing shorts, but my heart is still the same. That's what God wants me to understand, to learn, to believe ... I'm still the same person on the inside as I was before I wrote the January 1st post. I have the same heart I had one day before ... one month before ... one year before ... one decade before ... one lifetime before I clicked the "Publish" button that day. I'm the same Terrie, friends ... in God's eyes, I'm not Fat Terrie or Skinny Terrie or Straight Terrie or Gay Terrie or any other Terrie ... I'm just Terrie. I'm the Terrie He loved even before He knit me together in my mother's womb ... I'm the Terrie He has loved for the last 53 plus years ... and ... and ... and ... I'm the Terrie He will always love.