The Grand Finale

A little over a week ago, I was riding in the back seat of my son and daughter-in-law's Toyota Prius with my granddaughter in Canada as we traveled to the little mountain town of Banff. It was a 4-hour drive, and if you've ever had kids, you know that's a long time for an almost 2-year-old to be strapped into a child safety seat. C.J. did great on the lengthy rides to and from the mountains for the most part, only getting restless near the end of both trips. It was during those times that I began telling her stories ... not traditional stories, mind you, because I can't remember those classic kid nursery rhymes, but stories I made up as the miles clipped by. My stories would not have been considered brilliant works of art by any means to any polished literary critic, but to the only person in the world who mattered ... my precious granddaughter ... they ranked right up there with the best of the best. I know that to be true because each time I finished telling her a story, C.J. said, "More 'tories, Ghee ... more 'tories," and she listened intently to every word I said. Let me say that again ... my granddaughter listened intently to every word I said.

I've struggled for more than a month with what I wanted to say in tonight's post ... my final post for 2013 ... a truly life-changing year for me. I spent some time this morning reading back through several of this year's posts ... holy, holy, holy crap ... I've done a lot of confessing in my blog this year. Some of those confessions were small ones, like admitting I drink almond milk straight from the carton or that I sometimes vacuum in the summer wearing only my underwear, and some of those confessions were ... well ... a bit bigger and way more life-altering to say the least. I've had some incredible guest bloggers throughout the year, with my first-ever guest blogger penning her post on this day one year ago. Her kind and humbling words set the stage for my post that followed on New Year's Day ... the post that quite literally changed my life forever. The year 2013 has without question been one of the most difficult in my 54 years of life ... but ... but ... but ... it's also been the year when I have learned more, trusted more, loved more, believed more, accepted more, listened more and grown more than I ever have before. 

It's quite interesting to me that one of the questions I am asked most frequently remains the same a whole year after "the" post ... "If you could do it over, would you still tell the truth about who you are?" The short answer to that question is yes, but the longer answer ... the answer that truly matters ... is that I know beyond the shadow of even the smallest doubt I couldn't pretend or hide or lie any longer. At least I couldn't keep hiding the truth about myself and stay alive anyway. That question ... "If you could do it over, would you still tell the truth about who you are?" ... that question could and should be asked of every single one of us. In my mind, that question shouldn't be about a person's sexuality ... in my mind, that question should be about a person's character and integrity and honesty. That question should be about being honest about who I am as a person ... nothing more and nothing less. The truth is that the world would be a much better place if we could all be honest about who we are ... if we all could say, "No more pretending, no more hiding, no more lying." 

Yes, 2013 was the year I publicly came out, and it hasn't been the easiest year of my life for sure. You know that because you've walked along the path with me through the words of this blog ... you've walked with me through the pain, the hurt, the guilt, the questioning and the shame. Yep, 2013 was the year I flung open the door to my closet and let you see the real me. But it was also the year I traveled to Canada ... twice ... on an airplane. It was the year I helped create the Ears Wide Open? video and have been blessed to see it help thousands of people. It was the year my granddaughter first called me Ghee. It was the year I got pulled over by a policeman who could have written me three tickets but instead showed me grace. It was the year I wore a tie and suspenders to work every day for a whole week. It was the year I knew ... really, really, really knew ... how very much I love my children and how very much they love me. It was the year I changed my head doctor's moniker from "stupid" to "life-saving." It was the year I learned who my real friends are. It was the year I met Gary and Elizabeth and many others like them. It was the year I became acquainted with the term "flu-slap" and came to understand and appreciate the importance of accountability on a whole new level. It was the year I found my faith again. It was the year Ollie the wiener dog became a serial rabbit killer. It was the year I celebrated a most important anniversary ... a most important anniversary indeed.

I know 2013 has been a difficult year for many of you and you feel like there's no way out of the darkness that surrounds you ... but there is. If you don't remember anything else from tonight's post, remember this ... not that long ago, I didn't want to live anymore and a little over a week ago, I was in the back seat of my son and daughter-in-law's Toyota Prius in Canada listening to my granddaughter say, "More 'tories, Ghee ... more 'tories." I know there will be days in the new year that will be tough ... I know because I know how much I still struggle with being who I am. But I also know there will be days that will be remarkable ... I know because I know there are more stories to be told, more stories to be written, more stories to be lived. 

It seems only fitting to close tonight's post with words that were penned on New Year's Eve last year by my guest blogger ... words each one of us should take to heart ... words each one of us should remember ... words each one of us should strive to live out every single day. Here's to a happy new year, friends ... a happy, open, honest, real and transparent new year.

"Just be you. Awesome you."

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Each one of my three children is musically talented, and they certainly didn't inherit that talent from me or their father ... not at all. All three of them can sing and play an instrument ... Meg plays the piano, and Matt and Brad play guitar. Sometimes when I'm alone in my house, I think about the days when my home was filled with the music of my children. When Matt was in high school, he recruited some of his friends and established the first-ever youth praise team at our church. He was the lead singer and guitar player for the team, and I remember like it was yesterday the music floating down from his room upstairs as he practiced worship songs over and over until they flowed perfectly from his lips and his guitar. I often wish that the walls of my house still held that music and that I could push a magic button and have it fill my home once again.

It's been many, many years since I heard Matt play his guitar and sing, and several times when we were Skyping I thought about asking him if he still played but I never did. In fact, I didn't even ask him when I first arrived in Canada, even though I noticed his guitar on its stand. But then on Christmas, Matt got out his guitar and played and sang to his sweet daughter ... in her room, with the curtains drawn and the lights turned off, her "Unca Bad and Selby ladybug" Christmas gift projecting stars and the moon on the ceiling of her room. Tears filled my eyes as I watched C.J. listen to Matt play the guitar, her crystal blue eyes shining with adoration as her daddy sang to her. The scene that unfolded before me as I sat in C.J.'s little closet was so very precious ... my son serenading his little girl ... one of those memories I'd like to sear into my brain forever.

It only took a couple of days after I got here for me to learn that my granddaughter loves the song Twinkle Twinkle Little Star ... she asked me at least a thousand times as we drove to and from the mountains to find the song on her Violet the dog electronic music thingie. And she was so darned cute when she asked me that of course I complied with her request every time, feeling so special because my only granddaughter needed my help in selecting her favorite song ... until her mom and dad informed me that she knows how to find the song by herself and was totally playing me. See? I told you she is a genius, and her getting me to push a button on a furry music-playing dog for hours and hours is simply proof of her extreme intelligence. And I couldn't help but smile as she said the same words to her daddy that she had said to me ... "More little star, peas ... more little star." Suffice it to say that she has her daddy wrapped pretty tightly around her finger as well, because I lost count of how many times he played and sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to his precious baby girl.

Early tomorrow morning I will board a plane and head back to Kansas City, though everything in me would love to stay here and love on my little C.J. a while longer. This afternoon, I sat on the end of the couch while Matt was stretched out on the other end with C.J. snuggled on his chest ... and memories of my own blonde-haired, blue-eyed little one snuggling with me almost 30 years ago were coursing through my mind. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes as they formed and I realized how very much I needed this time with my son and his family ... how very much little C.J. is a soothing balm for my lonely heart. My brain knows that I have to go home ... that I have to go back to the real world ... but my heart wants to stay here ... my heart wants to stay here and just be Ghee. See that's the thing ... all I am to C.J. is Ghee, nothing more, nothing less. I'm Ghee who loves her and wrestles with her on the floor and lets her eat my food and tells her stories and giggles with her and hugs her and gets in trouble with her for being too loud or laughing too hard. I don't have to keep my guard up when I'm with her or worry about what I wear or how my hair is cut or what other people think about me. All I am to my precious granddaughter is her Ghee ... nothing more, nothing less, just her Ghee.

My time here in Canada with Matt, Becca and C.J. has been incredible, and we've made a stack of memories together ... memories that will remain in my heart forever. It was super hard to tell C.J. that I wouldn't be here when she wakes up tomorrow, and I'm sure that saying goodbye to Matt at the airport in the morning will be emotional for me as well. But ... I'm still here to cry those tears, friends ... I'm still here to cry them, and I'm so glad I am.

"More little star, peas ... more little star."

My New Boss

I've had a lot of jobs in my lifetime, and I've had a lot of bosses. For the most part, I've been lucky in the boss department ... I only remember one boss who wasn't ... well ... who wasn't a very nice person. If I haven't learned anything else over the course of my career, I know beyond the shadow of any doubt that a supervisor can make all the difference in the world as to how an employee feels about his or her job. A caring, compassionate, encouraging boss inspires loyalty and dedication while a demanding, critical, condescending supervisor tears down a person's spirit and saps their passion for their job. I've been blessed ... really, really, really blessed in the boss department for sure.

Tonight my son and daughter-in-law went out to dinner ... without their almost 2-year-old daughter ... and I had the distinct honor of babysitting while they were gone. Matt and Becca don't get the opportunity to go out alone very often because babysitters up here in Canada are expensive, so I gladly volunteered to stay with C.J. while I'm here visiting so they could have some much-needed adult time together. I decided something this evening during the trying to get my way too smart for her britches granddaughter to go to sleep portion of our evening together ... she's got me wrapped around her finger, and she knows how to play me in a big way. And ... I ... love ... it.

Little Miss C.J. managed to get me to provide her with an abundance of drinks of milk and water, turn on her Violet to play more music and put her blanket back in her bed more than a couple of times. I don't know whether it was during the milk and water requests or the blanket throwing time or when I turned my back to start her music, but at some point that little rascal was even jumping in her bed while she laughed and giggled at me as I tried to firmly tell her it was time to go to sleep. When she finally did go to sleep, I peeked in on her a couple of times to make sure she was okay ... of course I did. Looking down on her sweet little face with her rosy cheeks and blonde hair made me think of times when I did the same thing with her daddy when he was a baby ... it's true that some things never ever change. 

I've got a new boss alright ... a boss for whom I'll do everything I possibly can. Her name is Coraline, and she can boss me around all she wants, friends. 

A Night to Remember

Today is my 54th birthday ... a day that began with a rousing rendition of the happy birthday song from my daughter, son-in-law, niece and great niece via Skype followed by an amazing egg creation by my daughter-in-law for breakfast. My sweet little C.J. told me "Happy birday, Ghee!" several times throughout the day, and Brad and Shelby sent me their own special style of birthday glee. I received a ton of happy birthday messages on Facebook and in emails, and I got an extra-special birthday call from a dear friend who lives in Calgary.

Today is also Boxing Day in Canada, a day of super sales in many of the stores in Canada ... think Black Friday in the U.S. and multiply the frenzy by about a gazillion. Matt, Becca, C.J. and I ventured out this afternoon to do a little shopping, and it took us almost an hour just to get out of the parking lot at the mall. Matt and I had planned to go to a movie together tonight to celebrate my birthday, but we both heartily agreed that the last thing we wanted to do was fight the traffic again. So we did something else ... something absolutely wonderful ... something I will never ever forget. 

After dinner and bedtime stories for C.J., Matt and I donned our coats, hats and gloves and ventured out for a long walk down the main street near where they live. Our steps were careful and deliberate because the sidewalks are "slippy" as C.J. would say, and I'm more than a little cautious following my "Ghee fall down" ice crash the day after I got here. The street was quieter than usual, and many of the shops had already closed for the day. Matt took me in a vintage shop, and I told him stories about my childhood days as certain items in the store would spark memories for me. We stopped at a resale bookstore, and I listened as Matt talked about how many books he reads and the ones he loves most. I told him how proud I am of him ... of the father and husband he is ... of the son he is ... of the man he is. 

As we made our way back to his home, Matt offered his arm for me to hold so that I could steady myself as we walked. The Christmas lights in the trees along the street glistened against the snow-covered buildings ... it looked and felt almost like a magical scene from a movie. We walked along slowly, my hand tucked safely inside my son's arm, talking about so many different things ... and it was without question one of the sweetest times I've ever had with my son. A night to remember, friends ... a very special birthday night to forever remember ... a night to remember indeed. 

At Tree's End

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned that I've gotten to do a bunch of things during my time over the last week as a temporary Canadian that I've never done before, creating memories for me that will last a lifetime. All of the new adventures have been awesome, but not one of them can compare to two firsts from today ... nope, not a single one of those incredibly awesome experiences can even come close. Seeing my granddaughter's eyes when she awakened and discovered that Santa had visited her house while she was "seeping" was ... well, words can't begin to describe how precious and sweet this morning was ... watching her as she opened her presents while she kept saying over and over, "Santa come Boo's house." Nope, words can't begin to do justice to the way I felt as I watched her this morning, nor can they begin to describe the emotion that swirled deep within my heart as I watched my son play his guitar and sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star to his adoring daughter ... that was without question one of the sweetest moments of my entire life. 

One of the gifts Matt and Becca gave me this morning was a handmade ornament ... I've long said that the best gifts are the ones made from the hands of someone who loves me, and this morning's gift proved that premise once again to be true. It was a small, flat piece of wood with some very special words written on it ... words that touched my soul when I read them ... words that I instantly knew would stay with me for the rest of my life ... words that reminded me once again that it's the little things in life that mean so very, very, very much. That small piece of wood will be a forever reminder to me that the people who truly love me ... the people who love me without definition or parameter or condition ... will always love me just the way I am. 

I was weary when I arrived in Canada one week ago ... weary to the core of my being, physically, emotionally and mentally. Though I hate to fly, I felt compelled to make this trip for many reasons, and for once in my life, I'm so glad I followed my heart and overcame one of my irrational fears and got on a plane and traveled here to spend Christmas with Matt, Becca and Coraline. I desperately needed some time away ... I needed a break from my routine ... I needed to just be Ghee for a while ... to just be Mom for a while ... to just be me for a while.

Oh, and the ornament? It was a piece of wood that Matt cut from the bottom of their first real Christmas tree ... a symbol of life ... a symbol of family ... a symbol of love.

Bleep, Bleep, Bleep ... Where's the Tylenol?

When all my kiddos lived at home, we had one particular Christmas tradition we observed for many years. As much as I'd like to tell you that it was a tradition that was steeped with deep meaning or filled with huge life lessons, to do so would be so far from the truth that I'm pretty sure a bolt of lightning from the heavens would strike me dead as I type. Nope ... my little family's ever-present Christmas tradition wasn't lofty or intellectual or even spiritual ... not in the least. But it was a tradition that accomplished what I believe traditions should accomplish ... it created a memory for my three children they will always and forever remember. So what was it, you ask? Every year at Christmas, we watched the classic movie Christmas Vacation as we decorated our tree. And tonight, my heart swelled with emotion as my eldest child put his own spin on our old tradition ... we watched Christmas Vacation as he and my daughter-in-law made sure everything was prepared and ready for Santa's arrival sometime during the night.

If you would have told me that I would one day be sitting in my son's house in Canada sharing Christmas Eve dinner with a lovely family from Scotland, I wouldn't have believed you. And yet, that's exactly what I did this evening ... a wonderfully kind and loving husband and wife, along with their adorable 19-month-old little girl. I loved listening to them speak ... their heavy Scottish accents make their words sound almost musical. As we all sat at the table eating and laughing, I found myself thinking about the conversation Matt and I had last night when we went out to run a few errands. It was a conversation about the quality of life he and Becca and Coraline have here ... they have a good life ... a great life, actually. They left everything they had ever known and all of their family behind to set out on a tremendous adventure when they moved to Canada a year and a half ago, and they have built a truly wonderful life for themselves. And for as much as I didn't want them to move, now I understand why they did ... and even more ... now I know why they will stay here.

It's Christmas ... tomorrow morning, I will watch my only granddaughter open her gifts as she experiences the magic of Christmas. Tomorrow morning, I will watch my all-grown-up little boy be the amazing father and husband he is as he revels in the love he has for his wife and daughter. Tomorrow morning, I will watch love.

Merry Christmas from Canada, friends ... may yours be a blessed day of celebration. May yours be a blessed day of celebration free from pain or loneliness or strife ... may yours be a blessed day filled to overflowing with love.

Hot Springs Spring Eternal

One of my biggest problems is turning off my brain. No, really ... it's very difficult for me to turn off my brain ... to relax ... to rest ... to unwind. I'm constantly thinking or worrying or pondering or creating or wishing or a plethora of other "ings" as well. It doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing or where I'm going, my brain never stops churning. Sometimes that's a good thing, I suppose, because it makes me write and write and write, but other times, it's a curse because it keeps me from sleeping and causes me to overthink everything. But ... since I arrived in Canada last Wednesday, something has happened to my nonstop brain ... I've been able to turn it off from time to time ... to not think about anything other than the moments I'm living in ... to soak in every precious second I have with Matt, Becca and Coraline. It's different this time ... I'm different this time ... they are different this time. I can't really put it into words, but it's almost as if there's some sort of unspoken understanding between us ... an all-new appreciation for the importance of our time together ... a deep-seated knowledge that this time is special.

I've been surrounded by the breathtaking beauty of the Canadian Rockies for the last couple of days ... trust me, words can't even begin to describe the magnificent grandeur of the mountains here in Canada. They are very different from the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, more rough and jagged, the type of mountains where it seems like people would go if they wanted to run away and never return. There's a peacefulness that comes with being in the mountains, a soothing, healing, quiet peacefulness that bids me to leave all my troubles behind and rest ... to turn off my brain, breathe in the cold mountain air and let my tired and weary heart find solace and peace in the rough and jagged mountains of Canada. I haven't had much of that for the last couple of years, peace, that is. Maybe that's part of why I felt so compelled to make this trip ... compelled to the point of getting on an airplane by myself and coming here. Perhaps I was meant to come here because this is where I will find some of the peace that has eluded me for so very, very long.

Over the last few days, I've done several things I've never done before, things I never would have imagined I would ever get the chance to do. I soaked in an outdoor hot springs pool on the side of a mountain in Canada with my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter, and yes, the steaming hot water and the minerals it contained did wonders for my crashing on the ice battle wounds. I saw the world-renowned Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel that has been host to countless dignitaries and celebrities for many years. I rode in a gondola with my very excited granddaughter to the top of one mountain and then climbed a wooden staircase to the top of another to take in a view like nothing I've ever seen. I saw sculptors creating ice statues, and I walked into a cave and across a frozen river. And in a few short days, I will see the wonder of Christmas morning through the beautiful blue eyes of my only granddaughter.

Matt is a brilliant young man, so I wasn't surprised when he filled me in on all the history of the places we have visited. In fact, I couldn't help but smile as he was especially excited to tell me about the natural hot springs ... his favorite activity by a landslide thus far. As we soaked in the water, I was struck by that history ... the history of the hot springs ... I was struck by the fact that the discovery of the springs was the reason the town of Banff was established. I think there's a lesson in the hot springs for me ... a lesson about not losing hope or giving up ... about stepping far outside my comfort zone ... about taking the time I need to heal and grow and learn and become the person God created me to be. 

Hot springs spring eternal, friends ... maybe we all need to soak in them a while. 

Bring on the Mountains!

It’s more than a bit interesting to me that I’ve traveled more miles in the last year and gone to more distant places than I ever have before … way more than a bit interesting to me for more reasons than I could ever possibly list. I’ve never really been much of a traveler, other than my jaunts to Colorado with my kiddos when they were young and an occasional trip to the beach in my college years. I used to dream a lot about traveling the world, but that’s all it ever was for me, nothing more than the carefree, unencumbered daydreaming of youth. But this year I’ve covered a whole lot of important miles … really important and life-changing miles … physical miles and emotional miles … hard miles and easy miles … happy miles and sad miles … miles that seemed to never end and miles that flew by faster than I could blink. Even as I type those words I’m reminded anew that life … every single moment of life … is a journey best appreciated one solitary step at a time.

I’m beginning the writing of today’s post while I’m riding in the back seat of Matt and Becca’s car as Matt drives us to the mountain town of Banff where we will be spending the next couple of days. There’s a sweet almost two-year-old little girl snoozing peacefully in her car seat by my side … soft blonde hair swirled under her cute little stocking cap, yellow blanket draped across her lap, pink bear nestled next to her rosy cheek. I’m finding it difficult to take my eyes off of her … she is such a precious little person. She’s learned to say, “I’m Ghee’s buddy,” since I arrived on Wednesday, and I must say those three words are like medicine to my soul. This visit is extra special to me, and I feel an overwhelming need to make the most of every second I have with my eldest child and his little family. Perhaps it’s because Christmas is just around the corner and I’m feeling especially sentimental and nostalgic this year, but something deep within me tells me that this time I have with Matt, Becca and C.J. carries with it a significant and important meaning and purpose.

I’m finishing the writing of today’s post while I’m stretched out on a bed in an upstairs loft bedroom at a quaint mountain condo on the outskirts of Banff. Matt, Becca and Coraline are sound asleep in a bedroom downstairs, and the quiet of the night surrounds me like a soft warm blanket. Earlier in the evening, I went with Matt to the grocery store to buy milk and bread, and then on to pick up dinner because we all agreed that C.J. had been in the car long enough and needed time to just run around the condo and play before bedtime. Sitting at the table watching Matt drink a beer as we talked, I felt what I’ve felt several times since I arrived … love … my son loves me … he always has and he always will. And at the end of the day, friends, that's what matters ... that's what truly, truly, truly matters more than anything ... love. 

Slip Sliding Away

Just a quick post tonight because I'm tired ... did I really keep up with my three kids when they were almost two years old? Holy cow, she is busy, busy, busy all the time! And unbelievably smart, but more about that in another post. Actually, I'm not as much tired tonight as I am aching ... really, really, really aching. I slipped on the ice today when Becca, C.J. and I were on our way back from a jaunt to the bank and my favorite store of all time, Bulk Barn ... no, I'm serious ... coolest store ever. It has all these ginormous bins of food items ... candy, flour, sugar, cereal, oats, yogurt-covered raisins ... and when I was here in April, I discovered these incredible granola nut square thingies that are amazingly tasty, low carb/low sugar snacks. It was after we had loaded up on the granola nut squares for me, yogurt-covered raisins for C.J. and a couple of bags of candy for Matt and Becca that I crashed on the ice ... hard ... really, really, really hard. And tonight, I've got a huge, extremely painful tennis ball-sized knot on the top side of my leg ... and for those of you who are thinking that I probably broke my hip because I'm old, I'm pretty sure I didn't. In fact, after I smacked the ground I got up (with some help from Becca and the handlebar on C.J.'s stroller) and walked the rest of the way back to the house without much pain at all. Tonight, however, is a different story ... as C.J. said all evening, "Ghee ouchie." You bet, baby girl, Ghee is really, really, really ouchie tonight.

Tomorrow we're heading to the mountains for a few days, so feel free to pray that the swelling goes away and the pain subsides as I sleep the sleep that only comes after I've tossed back a couple of heavy-duty painkillers. I've got some great posts on the way for you, perhaps starting tomorrow night ... except that now my arm and shoulder are throbbing, too ... stupid, stupid ice. 

Good night ... sleep well, friends, and I'll be back soon. Now where did I put that ice pack???

One More Chance

First things first, I’m typing this post in an airplane. And get this … I’m high up in the sky on my sixth airplane ride this year, but I’m not high. Go ahead, take a minute or two, read those words again … now you get it, eh? For those of you who are newer to The Tree House, I flew on a plane for the first time in 24 years back in April to go to Canada to visit Matt, Becca and Coraline. And I took a very strong dose of … ummmmmm … some extra special medicine to make me not so nervous. And then I did perhaps one of the smartest things I’ve ever done in my entire life … I wrote a blog post while I was higher than a kite … literally. If you need a chuckle or two today, you should go back and read it … seriously … I was higher than a kite when I wrote it. Sorry to disappoint those of you who were looking forward to “High Terrie, Part Two” today … no mind-altering drugs today … well … except for the ones I take every day, I suppose. Yes, I’ve been nervous and scared and queasy and all of those things, but not having someone else along to lead me from plane to plane like Brad did on my previous trip meant that I needed not to be loopy this time around. Well … loopier than I am every day, I suppose. And you know what? I did it ... all by myself. So there. (If I weren’t in a plane, I’d stomp my foot for emphasis but I wouldn’t want to dislodge the landing gear or for my cowboy boot to punch a hole in the floor and cause the cabin to depressurize or … wait … let’s go back to the I did it all by myself part and call it good.

My friend Debbie took me to the airport really early this morning … that’s a true friend, you know, one who will get up before dawn to drive a very anxious crazy old woman who is terrified to fly to the airport. I was freaked out about checking my luggage … oh, good grief, who am I kidding? I was freaked out about every possible thing I could freak out about … checking my luggage, having my passport and boarding pass ready, finding the right gate, peeing and/or, heaven forbid, pooping, getting my carry-on bag into the overhead compartment, making sure I was in the right seat, not throwing up … well … you get the picture. But for all the things I freaked out about this morning, the one thing I never gave one minute’s worth of freak-out time to was which of my fellow passengers was going to have the extreme pleasure of sitting next to me on the hour and a half-long flight from Kansas City to Minneapolis … nope, I never thought for one second about my future seatmate.

His name is Chance … and yes, I swear that’s his name … no, really, I double pinky-swear the kid’s name is Chance … and he’s 18 years old. He is travelling to Wisconsin to see his girlfriend, and he’ll be there until the middle of January. He’s lived in a lot of different places, including Germany, because his father is in the military. He’s polite, kind, courteous and respectful, and he has a great smile. We chatted for pretty much the whole flight, small talk for the first few minutes, but then the conversation shifted to a more serious subject and when it did, I knew there wasn’t another person on that completely full-to-capacity airplane that I was supposed to sit next to this morning. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that I was meant to sit next to a young man with long hair that hung down across his soulful eyes and touched his shoulders. I was meant to sit next to a young man wearing baggy cargo pants and a well-worn hooded sweatshirt. I was meant to sit next to a young man with piercings in his lips that were adorned with rather large rings. I was meant to sit next to Chance … no one else … I was meant to sit next to a young man named Chance on a plane from Kansas City to Minneapolis today, December 18, 2013.

We talked about the pain of being judged by your appearance. We talked about being true to who you are. We talked about how much it hurts when people who once loved you love you no more. We talked about the importance of laughter and living every moment as though it could be your last. We talked about being real and honest and genuine in every part of your life. We talked about looking past the outside of a person and seeing the heart that beats within. I believe I may have learned one of the greatest lessons of my entire life during those 90 minutes I spent with Chance this morning … it wasn’t by chance that I sat by Chance this morning … it wasn’t by chance at all.

When the flight landed, Chance stood and took my coat and my carry-on bag out of the overhead compartment and handed them to me while a well-dressed businessman brushed past an elderly woman on the opposite side of the plane who was struggling with her bags. That’s right … the guy who looked like he just stepped off the cover of Forbes magazine almost knocked that little old lady down as he huffed and rudely pushed by her. But the young man with the long shaggy hair, baggy pants, worn-out hoodie and lip piercings politely and quietly got my bag and coat for me, told me to have a wonderful vacation and to enjoy my time with my granddaughter, and gave me a fist-bump when we parted. I think perhaps I’m the one who needs to read the signs … perhaps I’m the one who needs to learn the lessons … perhaps I’m the one who needs to absorb the truths … perhaps I’m the one who needs to listen with my ears wide open, friends … perhaps I’m the one who needs to listen indeed.

So to you, young Chance … thank you for blessing me this morning … your kindness and compassion touched my soul … your courage and bravery inspired my heart … your honesty and realness ignited my spirit. In roughly an hour, I’ll be landing in Canada and kissing my sweet granddaughter’s soft little cheeks. And when she’s old enough to understand, I’ll tell her the story of a boy I met on a plane on a special Christmas journey to see her … a boy who makes me want to try harder, to do more, to be a better person. I’ll tell her the story of you, Chance … I’ll tell her the story of you.

My Incredibly Awesome Filled With Wisdom and Great Insight Before I Get on the Plane Tomorrow Post ... or ... I'm Shaking in My Socks Tonight and Terrified I'm Going to Puke on the Plane or Get Lost in the Airport Tomorrow Post

I've got a confession to make tonight ... hey, remember I officially declared 2013 my year of confessions, and there's not much of 2013 left so I need to get a few more in before I run out of year. So, here it is ... I had a beer with my dinner tonight. Yep, that's right, I drank a whole Mic Ultra with my hamburger patty, and I'm not one bit sorry about it either. If ever there's a night I deserve a beer, it's the night before I get on a plane by myself and go way high up in the sky for five plus hours. And here's a bonus confession for you ... I may very well have a light Canadian beer with my dinner tomorrow night, too, providing Matt and Becca have one at their house. And I won't be one bit sorry about that one either. Not one little bitty bit sorry. Nope, nope, nope, I won't. I'm getting on a plane by myself and going way high up in the sky tomorrow for gosh sake's. By myself ... on a plane ... way high up in the sky ... breathe, Terrie, breathe. Obviously, the second choice for the title for tonight's post is the more accurate between the two ... obviously. Oh, and by the way, lest anyone should think about breaking into my house while I'm gone, there are a couple of things you need to know. Julie is a big dog, and this is her house. Ollie can jump really high and bite things, and this is his house. Someone will be staying at Julie and Ollie's house while I'm away. A big guy who is very strong and has a mean left hook. I've got nothing worth stealing, unless of course you want my old leather couches with the shredded cushions or my 10-year-old television that skips channels and has a blurry screen.

For the last week or so, I've been mulling over what I should write for tonight's post ... not pondering or thinking about or considering ... I've been mulling ... and mulling ... and mulling some more. I didn't used to be such a deep thinker, or muller as the case may be, and sometimes, quite honestly, it's a bit annoying. There are times when I don't want to be a deep thinker ... times when I don't want to see the signs or the lessons or the truths that now seem to exist within everything I see, everything I read, everything I hear. But ... there are also times when I want to think more deeply, ponder more carefully, mull over more extensively ... times when I find myself waiting with breathless anticipation for the next sign and the next lesson and the next truth to reveal themselves. And for all my last week's mulling over about what I should write for tonight's post, you know what I discovered in the midst of all that mulling? I discovered that the signs and the lessons and the truths are there whether I'm looking for them or not ... they are there, and it's just a matter of time before I am forced to choose to see them for what they are and embrace them, or to bury my head in the sand and pretend they don't exist.

So here's my incredibly awesome filled with wisdom and great insight before I get on the plane tomorrow part of tonight's post ... read the signs ... learn the lessons ... soak in the truths. Remember they are always there ... the signs ... the lessons ... the truths ... you simply have to pay attention along your journey. Think enough, but not too much ... say the words you need to say, and say them with all your strength. Love from the depths of your heart, and believe that you can make a difference. Because you can. Each one of us can. Mull that over for a while. 

P.S. If I puke on the plane, do I get those little plastic wings they give kids for being brave? And if I get lost in the airport and have to live there for a while, will someone give me free food and a place to sleep?

Sweets for the Sweets

Well ... it's almost here ... it's almost time for me to board a plane ... breathe, Terrie, breathe ... and head to Canada to spend Christmas with Matt, Becca and C.J. More important, it's almost time for me to get to be an in-person Ghee rather than a Skype Ghee to my granddaughter. When we Skyped yesterday, I asked her if we were going to play with her babies when I get there, and she said in her adorable little voice, "Yeah!" And when I asked her if we were going to read books, she said, "Yeah!" And when I asked her if we were going to play with her Thomas the train, she said, "Yeah!" And when I asked her if we were going to the mountains, she said a whole bunch of words that I couldn't understand but I'm pretty sure she was saying "Yeah, Ghee, we are going to the mountains and to the hot springs and eat at restaurants and sleep in a condo and look at the trains and watch for moose." What? You don't believe me? I keep telling you she's a genius ... sheesh.

Perhaps it's because of my upcoming in-person Ghee adventure that I've had my mom on my mind for the last couple of weeks, and in particular I've had Christmas memories of times my Mom spent with my kids racing through my mind and parking in my heart. And with each of those memories, a lump has risen in my throat and tears have filled my eyes ... Mom wasn't perfect by any means, but she was a darned good granny to my kids. Even though Mom only got to see Matt, Brad and Meghann a couple of times each year, she made the most of every minute she had with them and created memories my children still talk about to this day. Sweet and precious memories like each of them taking turns of getting to sleep in bed with Mom and the stories she would tell them as they fell asleep ... stories of Santa and reindeer and elves and how much my dad loved Christmas ... stories of me trying to snoop in all the packages when I was a kid ... stories of the manger and the wise men and baby Jesus. Tender and priceless memories like Mom helping my kiddos wrap their gifts for me or her reading 'Twas the Night Before Christmas to the three of them over and over and over again. If I tried to share all the wonderful Christmas memories I have of Mom's time with my children, I'm afraid it would take me all the way until Christmas. Without a doubt, Mom got it right when it came to being a granny ... she got it really, really, really right.

One of my favorite memories of Mom and my kids involves cookies ... sugar cookies, to be exact. She had come to Kansas City (on an airplane!!) to spend a couple of weeks with us over the holidays, and she was adamant that year that she and my children were making Christmas cookies. I remember that evening like it was yesterday ... you bet I remember it. I remember Meghann and Brad standing in chairs at the kitchen counter so they could reach the cookie dough that Mom carefully flattened out with a wooden rolling pin. I remember Mom showing Matt how to pick the cookies up and place them on the cookie sheet without tearing them. I remember how cute she looked with a swipe of flour on her cheek and some frosting on her nose. I remember how excited Matt, Brad and Meg were as they anxiously waited for the cookies to bake and then cool so they could decorate them. I remember the giggling laughter that erupted as they frosted, sprinkled and created each cookie masterpiece. I remember that evening like it was yesterday ... you bet I remember it.

I mentioned in my previous post that I was rather melancholy last week, and part of the reason I was feeling that way was because the memory machine inside my head was in full-blown overdrive mode. Remember when I wrote about the bus trip we went on for work? Well ... riding for four hours on a bus staring out the window not talking to anyone was an especially bad day in the memory realm for me, and the sugar cookie memory of Mom and my children wouldn't go away no matter how hard I tried to rid myself of it. It was as I drove home from the office that evening, however, that I had an awesome idea ... and I'm not talking about one of my irrational ideas either ... I had a legitimately awesome idea. I stopped at the store and bought the ingredients to make sugar cookies, and I bought tubes of frosting, jars of sprinkles and Christmas cookie cutters, too. I went home and spent almost three hours that evening rolling out the dough, cutting out trees and stars and snowflakes and gingerbread men and candy canes, and baking the cookies. After they cooled, I divided them among several plates, wrapped them in foil and placed them on my kitchen counter. The next morning, I took the plates of cookies, tubes of frosting and jars of sprinkles and gave them to some of my co-workers who have young children and asked them to take them home and let their kiddos decorate them. One of the moms texted me pictures that evening of her son and daughter decorating and eating the cookies, and the next morning when I got to work, I had cards and pictures from the other kiddos as well. Go ahead and say it because I know you're thinking it ... that really was an awesome idea.

Now, here's the thing ... the one thing I'd like you to take away from my post tonight. I'm not telling you this story because I want you to think I'm some fantastic person because I made the cookies and gave them to my co-workers' kids ... not even a little bit. I'm telling you this story because I want you to know that baking those cookies and giving them to the kids to decorate was good for me ... that's right ... it was good for me, me, me, me, me. That simple act ... the simple act of cutting out and baking cookies for other people's children ... made me feel a little less melancholy. The looks of surprise and delight on my co-workers' faces when I gave them the cookies, frosting and sprinkles made me smile ... the pictures of the kids and their sweet crayon-written cards made me remember anew that it really is the little things in life that mean the very most. I'm not saying that giving the kids cookies to decorate completely fixed my case of the blues ... it certainly did not. But ... but ... but ... it helped ... it felt right and it felt good and it helped. Maybe that's the secret, friends ... maybe I need to bake more cookies ... maybe I do indeed.

"Cookies are made of butter and love." --- Norwegian proverb 

Where You Been?

Before I get into my subject for tonight's post, thank you to those of you who have written to ask why I haven't posted since Tuesday. I'm truly humbled and grateful that so many of you read my posts each day, though for the life of me, I honestly don't know why you do. And as to your questions about why I haven't been writing for the last few days and asking if I'm OK ... I've thought a great deal today about how best to answer those questions. If you've been reading with me for any length of time, you know that I'm pretty transparent in this blog, or at least I try to be. Some people appreciate my transparency, and others don't, which always begs the question for me as to why folks who don't like what I write about keep on reading my posts ... I don't think I'll ever understand that one, and perhaps I'm not meant to. I could tell you that it was a busy week, and that would be true. I could tell you that I've been freaking out about getting on an airplane in a couple of days, and that would be true. I could tell you that I spent Friday evening celebrating an early Christmas with Brad and Shelby and Meghann and Barrett, and that would be true. I could tell you that I've packed and repacked at least 25 times, and that would be true. I could tell you that I've spent a significant amount of time worrying about leaving my canine buddies Julie and Ollie while I travel, and that would be true. I could tell you that my index finger on my right hand is split on the end because my skin is so dry and it hurts to type, and that would be true. All of those statements are true but they aren't the real reasons as to why I haven't been writing. I haven't been writing because ... well ... keep reading, and I'll explain.

People often ask me if there are other blogs that I follow regularly, and if so, which ones I would recommend. That's always a tough question for me to answer, not the whether or not I read other authors' blogs part of the question ... I do ... but the part about which ones I would recommend. There are a few that I can wholeheartedly recommend across the board to anyone at any time at any place they may be in life. There are other blogs that I would recommend to people who are struggling with certain issues and many times I do just that via private message ... I recommend a specific blog that I feel is appropriate for the person's situation. And then there are the blogs that I read for me because they make me feel a little less alone in my journey ... blogs that often put into words what I'm thinking or feeling but don't have the courage to write myself. 

A recent post in one of those blogs I read for me recounted a conversation the writer had with his head doctor ... yep, he writes about his head doctor, too ... a conversation about the personal stuff he shares in his blog. It's a humorous post, but it's also a post that tackles head-on both the good and bad sides of being a well-read blogger who writes about personal life stuff ... not just the fluffy, soft, sweet stuff, but the sticky, hard, painful stuff as well. I could relate to so much of what the writer said in his post ... about the responsibility that accompanies writing from the heart ... about the gnawing deep within me to write the real, the nitty-gritty, the big, the little, the easy and the difficult ... about the overwhelming knowledge that my words often elicit strong feelings and emotions in others, both positive and negative alike. Sometimes I, like the blogger who wrote about the conversation with his head doctor, struggle with the personal part of penning this blog ... not because I don't want to be real or transparent in my writing, but because I'm not anywhere near as courageous as some of you may think me to be, especially when it comes to writing about certain controversial topics.

So what's the real reason I haven't been writing ... what's the deep-down, from-the-gut, see-through transparent reason I haven't been writing? I don't feel sick ... well ... not physically anyway (unless, of course, you count the runny nose and cough I've had for two months). I have, however, been feeling rather melancholy for the last week or so ... maybe because it's the holidays and I miss the times when all my kiddos were able to come home for Christmas or maybe it's because I'm frustrated that I'm still trying to find where I fit or maybe it's because I'm really, really tired or maybe it's just the winter blues or maybe it's because of nothing other than depression taking a stroll through my brain to let me know it's not gone just yet. For all those maybes, there's one thing I know ... tonight, I'm writing from my heart, and I hope you take it in the spirit in which it's intended. And on Wednesday, providing I don't die from anxiety about the plane before then, I'll be in Canada snuggling with my sweet granddaughter. I guess that's two things I know, eh? (That's me practicing my Canadian speak, by the way.)

There are a lot of passages in the Bible that carry with them a ton of personal meaning for me, but perhaps none more than one of my favorites ... Psalm 40:2. "He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand."

I could use a little lifting, God ... I'm ready to be out of the mud and mire. I'd be forever thankful if you would put me on a rock and give me a firm place to stand again. 

The Bus People

Today I did something I'm pretty sure I've never done before and one thing I'm absolutely certain I've never done before. If I've ever taken a trip on a charter bus before, I have completely no recollection of doing so. And though my memory may not be as good as it used to be, a trip on a charter bus is one of those gigantic life events I think I would remember. And why did I take a trip on a charter bus today, you ask? Because the company I work for chartered to buses to bring our Wichita and Kansas City offices together at a midway point for a joint meeting. I must say that it was impressive to see all of our employees under one roof ... it's one thing to see all the names on a phone list, but it's another thing altogether to see everyone in person. The meeting was great, and in case I haven't said it before, I'm so thankful to work for such a wonderful company filled with so many awesomely gifted and talented individuals. But even more, I'm beyond grateful to work with people who care so deeply about one another on a personal level ... people who care enough to invest in one another's lives and who aren't afraid to demonstrate that care on a daily basis.

Now back to the bus ride ... I was among the last to board the bus which meant that all the seats were taken except for the ones near the back. I've always had an issue with motion sickness and have always gotten queasy when I have to sit in the back seat of a car, so I was more than a little apprehensive about a two-hour ride at the rear of the bus. I quickly discovered, however, that as long as I stared out the window, my stomach stayed calm ... it was only when I decided to check my email on my phone that I got queasy. So ... that's what I did both on the ride to the meeting and on the ride back to the office ... I stared out the window at the prairie that rolled gently along as the bus made its way down the highway. Though I engaged in very little conversation while riding on the bus, I could hear my co-workers chatting and laughing about first one thing and then another ... hair color and hair cuts, sporting events and shopping excursions, plans for the holidays and purchases that needed to be made. Many things struck me as I listened to the chattering of my friends around me, not the least of which was that I was listening in on rather than entering into the conversations ... I'll let you think about the significance of that observation on your own.

I've mentioned on occasion that when Ollie and I walk after dark, our path often takes us through the parking lots of both the junior and senior high schools that are near my house. And each time we walk through the parking lot and around to the front of the junior high, I always notice the instructions for the bus drivers that are stenciled onto the pavement so that they know which direction to go in and which areas are designated for loading or unloading the students. I always notice each of the markings for the bus drivers, but there's one statement in particular that has been gnawing at me ever since the first time I saw it. And today as I rode on the charter bus, I suddenly realized why that phrase has been stuck in my mind ... it's been stuck there until I could understand the lesson contained within it, the lesson that became crystal clear to me today as I rode for the first time on a charter bus. 

"No unloading past this point."

As the miles clipped by today, the phrase that is painted on the asphalt at the school pounded in my brain ... "No unloading past this point ... no unloading past this point ... no unloading past this point." And the more the statement pounded in my brain, the more I thought about how much those words should be burned into the minds and seared into the souls of every single one of us. There should be a point when we stop unloading judgment and hate ... a point when we realize that unloading those emotions onto other people is dangerous and can cause significant harm and injury ... a point when we come to understand that it's time to love and accept rather than wound and destroy. "No unloading past this point." Go ahead and ponder that for a while ... ponder it for a good long while indeed.

Oh, and the thing I'm absolutely certain I've never done before today ... on the ride back to the office, I was forced to pee in the bus bathroom (and I use that term more than quite loosely) lest my kidneys would burst. Yep, yep, yep ... today, I peed on a moving bus, and it was quite the adventure to say the least. Sleep well tonight, friends ... and when you wake tomorrow, may you find the phrase "No unloading past this point" has been tattooed upon your hearts. "No unloading past this point."



  

All Tied Up

Last week, I spent an hour and a half watching a short video over and over and over again, and no, it wasn't mine. It was an instructional video about how to tie a double Windsor knot on a necktie. I knew how to tie a simple knot on a tie, but when one of the young men I work with asked me if I knew how to tie a double Windsor, I decided it was high time that I learn. And I'm proud to tell you that after watching the instructional video at least 35 times, I now have mastered the art of double Windsor knot tying. While I was standing in front of the mirror that evening, laptop perched atop my dresser as I tried again and again and again to follow the instructions on the video, my mind flew back to my childhood. I've mentioned before that one of the more interesting parts of my journey of the last year has to do with long-forgotten memories charging back into my brain, triggered often by something simple and seemingly meaningless. 

Such was the case last week as I practiced tying the double Windsor knot ... I was instantly transported back to my Dad's big walk-in closet and the rack that held his ties. I remember how I would beg Daddy to let me dress up in his ties ... there was this one red tie that I adored ... it was red with little specks of black and grey in it. I remember Daddy patiently teaching me how to tie a simple knot in the tie ... I remember him standing behind me as he said, "Over and under, up and through and around and back through ... now pull it tight around your neck, Sam." I remember Daddy's ties alright ... I remember them so very well.

Those of you who know me know that I still love ties ... love, love, love them. I'm not sure I can explain it really ... there's just something special about ties ... there's something almost magical about them to me. I hadn't worn a tie since my college years until the office holiday party last year ... if you'll recall, I wrote about my snazzy outfit I wore that night. After the party, I got braver, and I wore ties fairly often to work for several months ... until I suddenly stopped wearing them. I stopped wearing ties because ... well ... I stopped because I'm a woman and women shouldn't wear ties, right? Women should wear dresses and high heels and paint their nails and like sparkly stuff, right? But I don't like any of those things ... I've tried and tried and tried to make myself like those things, and I just don't. I like suspenders and shiny shoes and ties. I stopped wearing ties because I shouldn't want to wear ties ... should I?

Today I wore a tie to work ... a paisley bow tie, to be exact. I've been issued a challenge to wear a tie to work every day this week. I know that the challenge is about way, way, way more than just wearing a tie every day ... it's about being myself ... it's about being okay with being myself ... it's about not being afraid or ashamed to be myself. You know what else I know? I know that putting on the tie is the easy part ... it's wearing who I am and accepting myself that's the tough part, friends ... that's the tough part for sure.

A Tale of Two Stores

Once upon a time in the faraway land of Kansas, there lived a kindhearted, short-statured, gray-haired woman named Terrie. Her place of abode was a small house perched a short distance from a large and bustling city ... a small but quite adequate house which she shared with her canine companions Julie and Oliver. It was often said of Terrie that the thing she loved most was giving, to those whom she loved and to many a stranger as well. Though her desire to give was plentiful and abundant, her desire to complete the task of visiting one merchant and then another in search of the gifts she would give was indeed greatly lacking save for one very special time in December each year. Ah, yes ... Christmas was the only time each year that the kindhearted, short-statured, gray-haired woman named Terrie did not mind the shops or the shoppers; in fact, she rather enjoyed the electricity that emanated from both the places selling their wares and the people within said places who clamored to purchase them. And because the season of Christmas is upon us, she ventured out from her small but quite adequate house perched a short distance from the large and bustling city to ... dare I say it? Today, the kindhearted, short-statured, gray-haired woman named Terrie left her abode to ... she ventured out from her small but quite adequate house to ... she left her house to ... to ... to shop.

With list in hand, sufficient clothing to protect her from the icy wind and cap atop her head, she climbed into her car and began her quest. Her stride was quick as she strode from the far side of the parking lot to the door of the first store, the cold air stinging her face and hands as she walked. The kindhearted, short-statured, gray-haired woman named Terrie had never entered the shop before, and the magnitude of the wares contained within its walls caused her heart to pound and her head to spin. Glancing back at the door she had just entered with thoughts of escape engulfing her mind, Terrie was startled by a voice ... a kind and gentle voice uttering the words, "Can I help you find anything, maam?" Shaking her head as she politely declined the young man's offer, she began to make her way through the store in search of the item that topped her list. Perhaps it was the furrow in her brow or the oversized shirt that hung loosely from her shoulders or the black and white shoes on her feet, but she was approached by many other kind and gentle voices offering to help her find the object she sought. Terrie smiled as she paid for the item ... she smiled as she left the large shop ... she smiled as she made her way to her next destination.

The walk from her car to the door of the small shop was short, so short that the icy wind had no time to pierce her face or surround her gloveless hands. The kindhearted, short-statured, gray-haired woman named Terrie had never entered the small shop before, and she was surprised by the amount of wares the small space held inside. Once again, her fear of the quest known as shopping swept through Terrie's heart as she fought to remember why she had entered the shop. It was as she fumbled through her pockets in search of her list that she first noticed the chill in the air, and she shivered as the icy stares of the workers in the shop followed her as she moved. She looked at the other shoppers who strolled casually through the shop and saw that they were well-dressed, adorned with sparkling gems and obviously well-versed in the art of shopping. The kindhearted, short-statured, gray-haired woman named Terrie felt her heart begin to pound as her head started spinning. She looked back and forth from the door she had entered to the item she had come to purchase, trying to decide whether to flee or to stay and attempt to accomplish her mission. She noticed the workers in the shop moving from person to person asking in kind and gentle voices if they needed assistance. Perhaps it was the furrow in her brow or the oversized shirt that hung loosely from her shoulders or the black and white shoes on her feet, but no one approached Terrie to ask if she needed help ... not one person. Terrie fought back the tears as she paid for the item ... she fought back the tears as she left the small shop ... she stopped fighting and let the tears flow as she made her way back to her small but quite adequate house perched a short distance from the large and bustling city . 

All great once upon a time stories have a moral ... a lesson ... a truth within them. Here's the moral, the lesson and the truth of this story ... treat everyone with kindness and gentleness and respect ... everyone. Everyone. Everyone. Everyone. From well-dressed, diamond-laden, sophisticated shoppers to kindhearted, short-statured, gray-haired women with furrowed brows wearing oversized hoodies and black and white Converse shoes. Treat everyone with kindness and gentleness and respect. Everyone. Everyone. Everyone.

The End.  

Through It to Do It

Well, well, well ... it's finally here. Winter in Kansas has definitely arrived ... I guess it's time since it is December after all. And with the arrival of some bitterly cold temperatures came our first dusting of snow yesterday, which means that it took me flipping forever to get to work. What is it about a little rain or snow that causes every person who is driving on the interstate toward downtown to drive so stinking slowly? And now the weather guys are forecasting two to four inches of snow on Sunday, which means that Monday morning's commute will be a nightmare. Since I have a Subaru with all-wheel drive, I'm not afraid to drive in the snow; in fact, it's really kind of fun to maneuver my way around in my Subie when the white stuff covers the roads ... well, it would be fun anyway if everyone else would just get out of my way and let my awesome car do what it was built to do. I must admit, however, that I wasn't always so brave when it comes to driving in the snow. When I drove a car with front-wheel drive, I was terrified to venture out on a snowy day because that crazy car slid all over the road when it snowed. But now ... now I'm not afraid ... now I'm not afraid to drive in the snow because I have a car that was built to plow through the white stuff and get me where I need to go so that I can do what I need to do.

In a little over a week, I'm getting on an airplane ... and yes, for those of you keeping score, I'm getting more and more freaked out about getting on said airplane with each passing day. The poor folks in my office are now hearing me say the following words several times each day ... "In a week and a half, I'm getting on a plane ... a plane that goes way high in the sky ... by myself ... on a plane ... in the sky ... really high ... by myself ... on a plane really high in the sky. There's a baby at the end of the plane ... there's a baby at the end ... I'm getting on a plane that goes way high in the sky." Bless their sweet hearts for putting up with me ... though I do think I'm providing them with some serious comic relief during a very busy time around the office. And today when I asked some of them if they felt sorry for the people who are going to have to sit next to me on the various flights, they totally cracked up. But ... but ... but ... I know that I'll go through getting on an airplane because I want to ... no, that's not right ... I'll go through flying on a plane way high in the sky because I need to do something super, super, super important when that plane lands ... I need to spend some quality time with my precious granddaughter.

It's no secret that the last couple of years have been rather tumultuous for me ... now there's an understatement if ever there was one, eh? But the last couple of years have been something else, too ... they've been the most real years of my life thus far. In a weird way, I think maybe the last couple of years have been a culmination of sorts of all the other years of my life. That may sound a bit crazy, but we all know that I'm more than a bit crazy, so it makes perfect sense that I would think something like that. I think a lot of us tend to look back on the difficult times in our lives and see them as unfair or meaningless or cruel when in reality, those times could well be preparing us for a task we are meant to accomplish farther along on our journey of life. A good friend said something to me yesterday that gave me a whole new perspective about some of the tough life stuff I've experienced over the years ... a whole new understanding about the journey that has brought me to this day, to this time, to this place. She said, "Did you ever think that you wouldn't be able to do what you're doing if you hadn't gone through what you have? That you wouldn't be able to help the people you're helping if you had grown up differently or believed differently? Maybe you had to go through it to do it ... what you have gone through is why you can do what you're doing now. You had to go through it to do it." Those words are profound ... truly, truly profound. 

Sometimes you have to drive through the snow to get where you need to go to do what you need to do. Sometimes you have to go through flying on an airplane to spend time with people you love. And sometimes ... sometimes you have to go through some hard stuff in life so that you can help others who need to know that it really does get better. Sometimes you have to go through it to do it, friends ... sometimes you have to go through it to do it.

You Tell Me

It's hard to believe that this year is almost over ... seriously, it really is hard to believe that another year is drawing to a close.The weird thing is that as fast as it seems the year flew by in some ways, in other ways it feels like it crawled by at a snail's pace. I've been thinking a lot about the coming end of this year ... this year ... man, this year has been a life-changing one for me for sure. I'm pretty certain I've learned more in this last year than I ever have before about so very many things ... big things and little things and lots of things in between. I've come to understand in a whole new way the responsibility that comes with writing this blog ... boy, have I ever come to understand that responsibility ... have I ever. Which leads me to what I'd like to say tonight ... or more accurately, I suppose, what I'd like to ask of you.

I've been thinking about how I should close out the year here on The Tree House ... and the more I think ... and think ... and think ... and think ... and think ... the more I think I should ask you what you think. Last year, I ended the year with a guest post ... a monumental post for many reasons, not the least of which was that the author of that post was my first guest author ever. If you read the post, you know she's a great writer ... and she's an even greater friend. Though I didn't know what she intended to write, I did know that she wanted her post to pave the way (or soften the blow, I suppose) for the one I knew I must ... yes, I definitely mean I knew I must ... publish on New Year's Day. Did I mention that this year has been a life-changing one for me? A life-changing year due in no small part to those two posts ... again, I've come to understand in a whole new way the responsibility that comes with writing this blog.

So here's where you come in ... I'd love for you to tell me how you think I should close out the blog this year. You tell me what you want to read about on the final day of 2013. You tell me if you'd like it to be a guest post or if you want it to come from me. You tell me what you want my last post of the year to be about and whom you want to write it. Shoot me an email, and let me know what you think. This is your chance to tell me ... all I ask is that you keep your suggestions clean, honest and from your heart. 

You tell me, friends ... you tell me.

  

Happy Birthday, Elizabeth

When my kiddos and I used to travel to Colorado on vacation, we had to drive through a tunnel before we could reach our destination ... a dark tunnel that I always feared would trap us inside and cause us to never see the light of day again. Come on now ... you know the fear of getting stuck in some freaky Twilight Zone kind of tunnel is a perfectly rational and logical fear ... just like being afraid of airplanes, thunderstorms and grass are perfectly rational and logical fears as well. I always pretended to be brave in front of my children when I drove through the Colorado mountain tunnel, but if the truth be told I was really scared to death ... yep, I acted brave on the outside, but on the inside I was terrified that the darkness of the tunnel would surely consume us. Despite my fear that we would never make it to the end of the tunnel ... despite my fear that we would never travel through the darkness to the light ... despite my fear that the mountain would cave in on top of us ... despite all of my fears, we always made it through the tunnel every single time. Though the tunnel was dark ... though the tunnel was long ... though the tunnel was overwhelming ... we always made it through to the other side every single time.

This has been one of those weeks when I feel as if I'm trapped in a never-ending tunnel ... and before you ask, I don't know why. Some weeks are just harder than others, and that's true for everyone ... it doesn't matter whether you're healthy or sick, short or tall, rich or poor, married or single, straight or gay, skinny or chunky ... some weeks, you just feel like you're in a long, dark tunnel that seems to go on forever. I've learned a few things over the last couple of years about tunnels, though, not the least of which is that every one I've ever been in eventually leads me to something pretty awesome on the other side ... as long as I keep going ... as long as I don't stop ... as long as I believe that the light is just ahead.

I received an email this evening from Elizabeth. Remember her? She was the 13-year-old girl who wrote in after we posted the Ears Wide Open? video. I will forever remember the words of her first note ... "I'm 13 years old and all I want to do is die because I'm not normal like my friends. I have a gun and I have bullets and all I want to do is die." I will forever remember the sadness that swept through me and the tears that poured from my eyes when I read her words. But I will also forever remember the joy that flooded my soul and the smile that spread across my face when Elizabeth's mother wrote a few weeks later to let me know that Elizabeth was improving with every passing day. Elizabeth ... I've thought so very often about Elizabeth ... so very, very often. I don't think it was random coincidence that she was one of the first to write to me after our video was posted ... I don't think it was random coincidence at all.

When I was thinking about tonight's post, I considered posting the entire text from Elizabeth's message to me this evening but then I decided not to do so for several reasons. But I do want to close with a few lines from her note (with her and her mother's permission, by the way). And I want to send a special happy birthday wish to you, sweet Elizabeth. Thank you for sharing your journey with me and for reminding me to keep believing ... to always keep believing that the light is just ahead. Happy 14th birthday to you, Elizabeth ... I'm so very glad you're here.

"Me and Mom thought it would be good for me to write you today because its my 14^th birthday today. Now you know why today is a special day to me because when I was 13 I just wanted to die before my uncle sent me your ears opened up  video and I watched it. When I watched it and read the cards you were turning all of a sudden I thought if it could get better for you then maybe it could for me to and it did. Today I am 14 and I didn’t think I would be alive but I am. I have been bullyied for a long time because I’m kind of fat and not very pretty and that’s why I wanted to die because it hurt so much when the other kids would bully me and call me names.

Terrie thank you for helping me to know that it gets better and I’m glad to be having my birthday today."

Am I Broken?

Being the youngest of four children by 15 years meant that my sister and brothers had a whole different set of childhood experiences than I did. In fact, in many ways, I grew up sort of like an only child because of the vast difference in our ages. For as far back as I can remember, I've heard stories about the adventures they shared when they were kids. And truthfully? Truthfully, I was more than a little jealous of the fact that the three of them got to pal around and grow up together. It's funny, though ... even though I wasn't a part of their childhood shenanigans, I can recite most of their favorite stories as if I were right in the middle of the action. There's one story in particular, however, that popped into my mind earlier this evening when I was walking with Ollie ... a story from so many years ago that now resonates with meaning and truth I never understood before.

Once they were old enough, Jerry, Tommy and Sis would ride the train to Granny and Grandad's home in Kentucky and stay a couple of weeks with them in the summer. I've written previously about my grandparents' house ... think of the old Civil War homes in the South with the sweeping views, majestic fruit trees in the yard, fields of tobacco and corn, and large front porches with enormous white columns. Granny was particular about her house ... she liked everything to be neat, clean and orderly, and she was especially fussy about certain knickknacks. So when Jerry accidentally broke Granny's small blue vase when he and Tommy were roughhousing, he did what any young boy would do ... he raced upstairs, found some glue, crawled under one of the old iron beds and tried to put the vase back together so that he could place it back on the table where it belonged. Jerry didn't tell Granny he broke her vase, and she didn't say anything to him, though it was very obvious the vase had been repaired by the hands of a little boy. Guilt eventually got the best of Jerry, though, and he fessed up to breaking the vase ... not only did he tell Granny the truth, he took his own money and bought her a new vase. I never quite understood why he bought her a vase in the shape of a violin, though ... it looked nothing like the one he broke, and it was just plain old ugly. I know what both vases looked like because Granny kept them, both the broken one and the new one ... Granny kept them, and after she passed away, my mom kept them, too.

I left work a little early today to go to the doctor, and I finished in time to have a couple of hours between my appointment and a meeting I had to attend later so I quickly put Ollie's harness on him, grabbed my coat and headed out for a walk. Ollie and I have a route we walk when it's dark out, but sometimes when I'm deep in thought I don't always pay attention to where I'm walking. Such was the case this evening when I mindlessly turned down a winding path behind a series of large buildings, and by the time I realized where we were, it was really, really, really dark. I always get a little creeped out when I walk on that particular path, even in the light of day ... I can assure you that it's much, much, much creepier in the dark. By the time Ollie and I finally reached the well-lit sidewalk ... well, suffice it to say that I was covered in goosebumps and trembling from the fear that had wrapped itself around me. I'm not sure if it was because I was scared or if it was because I'm just clumsy sometimes, but as Ollie and I came to the end of one sidewalk and I turned to step on the next one, I lost my footing and crashed. And of course I did what you're never supposed to do when you take a tumble, I instinctively stretched my arms out in front of me to try and catch myself.

Here's some advice for future reference should you find yourself falling down on a sidewalk in the dark ... concrete doesn't give, and it hurts like crazy when you crash into it. I'm not sure just how many minutes passed before I finally sat up, but when I did, I said out loud to Ollie, "Am I broken, wiener dog? I must be broken somewhere after a hard fall like that. Am I? Am I broken, buddy?" And as soon as the words left my lips, I thought about my brother Jerry and the story of him breaking Granny's vase ... I thought about how he tried desperately to fix what he had broken ... I thought about how he tried to replace the broken vessel with a new one. Once I was assured that neither my arms nor my legs were broken and I was able to get Ollie to stop licking my face, I stood up, slowly made my way home and went to the meeting I was scheduled to attend. I had a hard time focusing on what was said ... all I could think about was Granny's broken vase. See, here's the thing ... Granny and Mom kept that broken vase for decades, not because it was beautiful to someone who didn't know its story but because it was beautiful to those who did.

I can't help but wonder what Granny's broken vase would say if it could speak ... would it say it's broken? Ugly? Worthless? Or would it say, "Look closer ... past the cracks and the glue ... I'm not so bad if you really, really, really look at me. Look past the cracks and the glue, and look at me. When you do, you will see that I'm not broken ... not really ... not where it counts. If you really look at me, you'll see love."

Am I broken? Are you?