Sink or Swim

Because I practically lived at the pool when I was young, it's always been puzzling to me why someone would be afraid of water and hence never learn to swim. Lest some of you feel the need to write and remind me of a few of my own irrational fears, let me assure you that I understand the irrational fear part of the whole not swimming concept quite, quite well ... it's the being afraid of water and not learning to swim that I have a hard time comprehending. My own mom was a non-swimmer; in fact, she was so afraid of water that she would put only the least amount necessary in the tub to take a bath. I've read that fear of water is often caused by some sort of traumatic event, but if that was true in Mom's case, I don't remember her ever telling me about it. I do, however, remember that when she moved to the apartment complex just down the street from me, I took her to see the pool and told her I was going to teach her how to swim. Mom's answer was true blue Mom ... "Lord, help, Terrie ... you know you ain't puttin' me in no dern swimmin' pool!" Mom knew exactly what the phrase "sink or swim" meant to her, and trust me, no one on earth could have convinced her that she might indeed be able to swim rather than sink if she only would have tried.

Ollie and I have met a lot of people while we're out on our evening walks on the trail, and we've met a lot of dogs as well, including another little wiener dog named Daisy. I've written previously about the bond between Ollie and Daisy ... Ollie flipping loves Daisy, and much to his delight, he seems to have finally won her heart. They are so stinking cute when they see one another approaching on the trail ... their little tails wag like crazy and they do this little high-pitched whine thing, and when they finally reach each other, Ollie licks Daisy's nose and she licks his neck. I'm telling you, it's seriously stinking cute to see the two of them greet one another ... seriously stinking cute. Daisy and her owner Jeanne live just a couple of streets over from me, and recently we've been meeting up most evenings and walking together. Ollie and Daisy love the time together, and it's nice to have someone to walk with for a change.

I was rather quiet a few nights ago when Ollie and I met up with Jeanne and Daisy to walk ... I had a lot on my mind and was feeling sort of blue ... and we were about midway through our walk when Jeanne asked me if I was okay. After I assured her that I was indeed okay, she told me that it worries her when I get quiet ... or when I shuffle my feet when we walk ... or when I pull my cap down low on my forehead to hide my eyes. To which I replied, "I hate that, you know ... I hate that when I have a bad day now, everyone worries that I'm going to off myself. I never should have told anyone about my plan, you know ... I hate it that people worry about me like that. Everybody has a bad day now and then ... it doesn't mean I'm going to do myself in." 

Jeanne's got a decade or so on me in physical age, but when it comes to wisdom, she's a lifetime farther along than I am ... she is one wise little lady for sure. Which is why what she said that evening has stuck with me ... it's why I can't get her words out of my head and more important, it's why I can't get them out of my heart. 

"You listen to me, Terrie ... don't you dare tell those of us who care about you not to worry when you are sad and don't you dare think for one second that it was bad that you told us how close you were to ending your life. You've worked long and hard to swim out of that pit and if we think you're sinking ... well, we're not about to let that happen. You don't have a choice anymore to sink or swim, friend ... you're going to swim and that's all there is to it. I'm happy as punch that there are people watching over you ... happy as punch! Tell me not to care will you now? I don't hardly think so!"

And with those words, Jeanne quite effectively put me in my place and left me speechless. That doesn't happen all that often you know ... someone leaving me completely speechless and unable to reply ... but that's exactly what my friend did that evening. Jeanne did something far more important that evening, however ... something far more important that rendering me speechless. She caused me to feel a sense of thankfulness ... an overwhelmingly deep sense of thankfulness and gratitude for the people in my life who care enough to look past the surface ... who recognize when the sadness is creeping in ... who call me out and force me to let them see where I am ... who jump into the pool and help me keep swimming ... who absolutely refuse to allow me to sink.

It's really hot outside today, friends ... what's say we all go for a swim together, eh? 

Hands Off My Cubs

When my son Matt was in 8th grade, he decided to run for student council president. Before I share the outcome of the election, there are a couple of things you should know about my eldest son. Matt was a good kid, a really good kid, in fact. From the time he was a little guy, he was just a good kid ... a pleaser ... the type of kid who rarely got into mischief, and on the rare occasion that he did misbehave, he was always instantly remorseful and quite often confessed before I even knew he had done something wrong. Matt was very smart ... and still is ... he's a professor at a university in Canada. Now that I've given you a little insight into my intelligent, well-behaved son, let's get back to his desire to become student council president.

One of the requirements for the students who were competing to be elected as president was to give a speech at a assembly for their fellow students, and Matt took that part of the process very seriously. He spent hours and hours writing and rewriting what he would say when it was his turn on the stage, and he submitted it to the teacher who was charged with reviewing the speeches. After receiving the thumbs-up, my sweet son hunkered down in his room each evening after school as he memorized the content word for word. When the day finally arrived for Matt to stand before his fellow classmates and tell them why he should be chosen as their next student council president, he was nervous and confident at the same time. When I dropped him off at school before I headed to work, I wished him good luck and told him how proud I was of him and he was all smiles as he got out of car and waved goodbye.

I had just glanced at my watch and thought to myself that Matt should be finished with his speech when my phone rang, and I was quite surprised when a man introduced himself as the principle of Matt's junior high school. My surprise quickly migrated to shock as Mr. Principle told me that he was suspending Matt for several days and that he would be excluded from the election. I thought surely I wasn't hearing him correctly when he said that he was taking those actions because of the content of Matt's speech, but when I asked him to repeat what he said, he told me again that the content of Matt's speech was inappropriate. I asked to speak to Matt and when Mr. Principle said that my son was "indisposed at the moment," I sucked in all the air in my office as I said, "Put Matt on the phone now." It only took me a moment to realize that Matt was more than "indisposed" ... Matt was devastated and embarrassed and crying his heart out. He had never gotten into trouble at school ... he made straight A's ... he was a stinking good kid.

I'll spare you the details of our evening, but suffice it to say that I was angry ... I wasn't the least bit angry with Matt, mind you, but I was livid because of the punishment Mr. Principle had levied upon my INNOCENT son. That's right ... INNOCENT ... Matt did not do one thing wrong and he did not say one inappropriate word in his speech ... AND his speech had been approved by a faculty member. The next morning, I did something I had never done before and I've never done since ... I walked into Mr. Principle's office and I let loose on him in a big way. Trust me when I say that every single ounce of my mother lion instincts were in full roar that morning ... you bet they were. While Mr. Principle wouldn't reinstate Matt's candidacy in the election, he did back down on the suspension and apologized for making Matt cry.

I've learned a lot since that day in Mr. Principle's office all those years ago, not the least of which is that the mother lion instinct doesn't go away just because my kids are all adults now. When someone is unkind to them ... when they are treated unfairly ... when they are mistreated in any way, my mama lion heart is ready to jump into action and rip the meanies to shreds. But there's something else I've learned over the years as my children have aged ... they are adults who are more than capable of managing their own lives and they do a really, really, really good job of doing just that. Even when something happens to one of them that causes that mother lion roar to try its best to escape my lips, my job now is to stand squarely behind my kids and cheer them on as they do their own roaring ... my job now is to let them know I am always here for them ... my job now is to make sure they know how much I love them ... my job now is to stand back and watch them make their own way in the world and be ever so proud of each one of them.

Oh, and Matt's speech? It was about being responsible for your own actions ... about being the kind of person who takes his or her responsibilities seriously ... about recognizing that your actions always have consequences. And his inappropriate content? He closed his speech by advising his friends to consider the outcome before they peed into the wind ... yep, that's right ... my son was punished by the school for encouraging his classmates to think twice before they frivolously peed into the wind, lest they get covered in pee. All that hubbub because Matt said the word pee in his speech ... what a rebel ... what a delinquent ... what a great, great kid.

By the way, I agree with my son ... don't pee in the wind, friends ... take responsibility for your actions ... don't pee in the wind. 

As Long As You Don't Tell

I've been wanting to write tonight's post for a long time ... almost two years, in fact. The truth is I've started and stopped writing this post again and again over the last couple of years, and I've completely deleted this post far more times than I can count. I wish I could in good conscience come up with something way more profound as to why, but there's really only one reason ... I was afraid. I was afraid ... I was afraid of what some of you may think of me, sure, but even more, I was afraid of what I may think of myself. But ... I'm tired of being afraid ... really, really, really tired of being afraid. I'm tired of being short ... and I think maybe, just maybe, writing this post may be a step toward becoming tall. So hate me if you must, judge me if you so desire, stop reading if you feel the need to do so ... but I have some things to say tonight.

One of the most difficult things for me to come to terms with after I told the truth about my sexuality a year and a half ago was how many people in my life said, "Gosh, Terrie, I thought you were gay from the minute I met you." People who had known me for only a short time said it ... people who had known me for several years said it ... people who had known me since I was young said it. I'm not sure why that was so tough for me to handle, but it was ... maybe because I thought I had done such an excellent job of hiding, of pretending, of trying with all my might not to be gay. But what was so very much more difficult for me to comprehend ... what I still struggle to understand even today ... what was so devastatingly painful and gut-wrenching was how many of those same people followed up their "Oh, I knew you were gay," comments with various iterations of the following statement: "I was okay with you until you admitted it publicly ... as long as you didn't tell, in my mind you were still a good Christian woman and someone I could look up to and respect." 

I couldn't even begin to scratch the surface if I tried to tell you how deeply those words wounded me ... especially because more often than not, they were spoken or written to me by people who claimed to be Christ followers. Even though a ton of them already thought or believed me to be gay, it was totally acceptable for me to speak to their women's groups as long as I didn't tell ... it was completely okay for me to teach their kids at Awana or VBS as long as I didn't tell ... it was perfectly allowable for me to deserve their respect as a fellow human being as long as I didn't tell. I could list verse after verse after verse from the Bible about telling the truth ... I simply cannot wrap my mind around people who say they love God and live according to His commands telling me I should have kept on hiding the truth. By the way, one of those verses about truth from the Bible? "Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." John 8:32.

Like I mentioned, I've been pondering this post for a very long time ... a very, very long time. But some events and some recent conversations have caused me to really consider the deep impact and far-reaching consequences of living by the "as long as you don't tell" standard. Not telling other people who I am almost cost me my life and had I not told, I would surely have died. Think about it ... not telling the truth about my sexuality didn't make me heterosexual ... not telling my family and friends I had diabetes didn't make me have normal blood sugar levels ... not telling my head doctor I wanted to die didn't make me want to live.

I've been sitting here for an hour writing and rewriting my closing tonight, and the truth is I don't really know what to say. Maybe I'll just say this ... closets are for clothes, not people. Put a person in a closet with a bunch of clothes for a while ... maybe even for lots and lots of years ... and he or she will still be a person. And when the person finally gets the courage to walk out of that closet ... let them be. That's all ... just let them be ... let them tell ... let them love ... let them grow ... let them learn ... just let them be.

"As long as you don't tell" ... oh, wait ... I already did ... and I'm glad. 

  

If Only I Were Tall

My favorite Sunday afternoon activity when I was a little girl was watching Tarzan movies with my dad ... curling up next to him in his black leather recliner, chowing down on potato chips and onion dip, drinking Dr. Pepper from the old-fashioned glass bottles. I'm not sure why I was so enamored with the story of Tarzan, but at least part of it had to do with trees ... yep, trees. Not only did the boy who was raised by the apes live in the most awesome tree house in the universe, he also traveled through the jungle by swinging from one giant tree to the next on vines. Seriously ... how totally cool is that? Living in a tree house and swinging on vines from tree to tree ... seriously, totally, unbelievably cool.

I've written a ton about the company I work for ... about what a super special place it is and how thankful I am to be part of such a great group of people. One of the things that makes SHS such a great place to work is that our leadership team is always looking for ways to help us grow as people, both within the workplace and without as well. Which is why a couple of years ago, they enlisted the help of a gal named Jenne ... she's sort of a combination motivational speaker, teacher and life coach all rolled into one. For those of you who've been reading with me for a while, you may remember the post I wrote last year titled "Training Camp" ... and if you haven't read it, you should. That day's training session was incredibly difficult for me for so very many reasons ... far too many reasons to list them in this post. But I will tell you this ... I've thought about that day of training every single day since it took place ... every single day. Jenne gave each of us a small notebook that day ... a small notebook that has challenged me every single day to consider one haunting question ... why am I here?

A couple of weeks ago, I emailed Jenne to let her know about our Kickstarter campaign to help fund our documentary about Nate. But I also told her something else in that email ... I told her I recently began writing in the notebook. That may not sound like a big thing to many of you, but the people in my life who know me well know just how important that is ... it's a really big freaking deal that I've been writing in that notebook, friends ... a really big freaking deal. While I still don't know the answer to the question as to why I am here, at least now I believe there is an answer out there somewhere. I'm pretty sure that's what my dear life-saving head doctor would call progress.

Jenne was in the office a few days ago leading training sessions for some of our newer employees, and we chatted for a few minutes when the class took a break for lunch. I asked about a container of Legos that was sitting on the floor, and she shared an amazing story with me about a woman in one of her classes who crafted a special design from those Legos and then did something incredibly brave and courageous. Perhaps Jenne could sense my fear that day ... perhaps she intuitively knew I needed to be reminded that courage comes in many forms. I told her how terrified I am of the publicity surrounding the documentary ... of how I didn't realize my own story would become so public in connection with Nate's ... of how I wasn't ready ... of how much bigger this feels for some reason.

"What are you so afraid of?" Jenne asked, her eyes insisting that I look at her.

"I'm not sure," I answered quietly. "I just know I'm scared to death."

"What are you so afraid of?" she asked again patiently.

"Maybe I'm afraid of all the hate, Jenne ... I don't understand why people have to be so mean. People who don't even know me write to tell me I'm going to burn in hell," I replied as I blinked back tears. 

Without missing a beat, Jenne quietly spoke ... "You keep doing what you're doing, friend, because what you're doing is good. Remember ... the tallest trees draw the most lightning."

I've thought a lot about those words ... "the tallest trees draw the most lightning" ... I've thought a lot about those words and the truth contained within them. The truth is I've spent my life feeling pretty darned short ... heck, I am pretty darned short by the world's standard of measurement ... just about everyone I know is taller than me. I can't even begin to tell you how many times over the years I've wished I were tall ... how many times I've thought "if only I were tall." I could eat more if I were tall ... I could see more if I were tall ... I could reach more if I were tall ... I could do more if I were tall.

Maybe, just maybe ... maybe I've been wishing for the wrong kind of tall, friends ... maybe I have indeed. Maybe I should have been wishing for a tallness of spirit ... a tallness of love ... a tallness of compassion ... a tallness of heart ... a tallness of understanding ... a tallness of kindness ... a tallness of loyalty ... a tallness of honesty ... a tallness of forgiveness. 

"The tallest trees draw the most lightning" ... if only I were tall ... if only we all were tall, friends ... if only we all were tall.

Shame On Me

It was around lunchtime today, and a friend and I decided to go outside for a bit to see how hot it was ... trust me when I say that it's nasty sticky humid hot in KC today, the kind of heat and humidity that makes you feel like you're in a sauna the minute you go outside. We went out the employee entrance which is on the back side of our building and were surprised to see a car parked in the small drive close to the door. It was an old, beat-up car ... the kind of car that makes you wonder how it still manages to run. My friend and I immediately noticed two people in the car ... a shirtless man in the driver's seat and a woman in a tank top in the front passenger seat. We didn't recognize the car or the people, so as we walked to the end of the parking lot, we wondered aloud why both the car and the two people were parked in front of our employee door. And I have to be honest ... both of us were more than a little apprehensive as we stole glances over our shoulders to see if they were still there. We ran into another co-worker returning from her walk, and we quickly included her in our conversation.

As the three of us headed back toward our building, my gut was churning and my mind was racing. Should I ask them what they're doing? Should I call the police? What if they have a gun? What if they are murderers? What if they are thieves? What if they are drug dealers or worse yet, what if they are junkies? The closer we got to the car and the better look I got at the man and woman, the harder my brain pulsed ... they were really rough-looking characters. I swiped my fob to open the door for my friends, intending to follow them in the building and let someone else worry about the would-be criminals in the parking lot. And that's when I thought about my dad ... that's when I thought about what he would do ... that's when I thought ... that's when I stopped in my tracks and thought ... what if they need help? That's when I turned around and made my way back to the car and talked to them.

It turned out that their car had overheated and they had pulled behind our building thinking the engine would cool off in the shade. I asked if they needed some water for the engine and they quickly said that would be awesome. I'll spare you the details of our conversation, but I went inside and found an empty Shatto Milk glass bottle, filled it with water, grabbed a couple of cans of cold pop and a couple of bottles of cold water and headed back outside. As the man poured the water into the steaming radiator of the car and the woman thanked me profusely, I noticed the man's back was literally covered in scars ... I noticed the woman was missing several teeth and that her hair was matted and tangled ... I noticed how dirty their hands were and the grime that covered their faces. I stood there in the humid heat with sweat forming on my forehead and I noticed two very different people than I did when I first saw them sitting in their old beat-up car.

Shame on me, friends ... shame on me for judging that young couple the way I did. Shame, shame, shame on me. If anyone knows what it feels like to be judged unfairly, I surely do. And yet, I judged the man and woman based on how they looked and the piece of junk car they were driving. Shame, shame, shame on me ... shame on me. I wish I would have gone back inside and gotten my lunch box and given them what food I had ... I wish I would have grabbed my wallet and given them the few dollars it contained. But I didn't. I gave them pop and water ... I stood there in my coordinated clothes and Converse shoes and watched them pour water into the radiator ... I watched them drive away in the scorching heat. 

Shame on me, my friends ... shame, shame, shame on me.

Thou Shalt Not Steal

I'd be willing to bet that I'm not the only parent whose kiddos at some point in their childhood took something that didn't belong to them. I'd also be willing to bet that I'm not the only parent who made their children return the stolen items and apologize. And I'd further be willing to bet that I'm not the only parent who is now the parent of three happy and successful young adults ... that's right, not one of my three ended up in prison for stealing. They did, however, completely believe they would never be able to live down the shame that befell them when they had to march back with tears streaming down their little faces and say, "I'm sorry I took the (teddy bear, fire truck, hair curlers)," ... I'll leave it up to you to figure out which kid took which item. Though Matt, Brad and Meghann might beg to differ, I'm relatively certain that the embarrassment they suffered when I made them return the items taught each of them a very valuable lesson about making things right when you've done something wrong.

Yesterday was one of those days when the last thing in the world I wanted to do was to get dressed and leave my house. I hate it when those kinds of days hit on the same days when I have no choice but to get my butt out of bed or off the couch because I have places to go and things to do. And yesterday, as luck would have it, my final stop of the day was Walmart ... nothing like shopping to make an already grouchy Terrie even grouchier. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I walked through the door and headed toward my car thinking that I'd be home in 15 minutes and wouldn't have to leave again until this morning. And then I saw the police cars ... three of them ... parked right behind my car. My first thought was, "Uh-oh, what did I do wrong?" ... of course that was my first thought ... even when I know I haven't done anything wrong, I still assume that I have but that's another post for another time.

It turned out that it was the car parked next to mine that the police were interested in ... apparently another shopper had watched a guy load up his backpack with a bunch of merchandise, take it to his car and head back inside the store for more. He called the police and by the time I got to my car, the police were asking him to describe the man he saw. One of the policemen asked me if I recalled if the car was there when I arrived, and he chuckled when I told him I had looked for my keys for a half-hour that morning before I realized they were in my pocket. I had absolutely no idea if the car was there when I parked or not, and since I hadn't seen the thief, they moved their police cars and allowed me to leave.

Now here's the thing ... the incident at Walmart yesterday has made me think a great deal about the way people steal from one another every day. A person teases someone about their appearance and robs them of their self-esteem. A person tells a child they aren't smart and steals their will to learn. A person betrays someone's confidence and takes away their ability to trust. A person judges someone unfairly and rips away their dignity. We steal each other's joy ... we steal each other's peace of mind ... we steal each other's self-confidence ... we steal each other's hope. 

You know what I think, friends? I think maybe we're the ones who should be arrested ... maybe we should be the ones given life in prison ... maybe we're the ones who commit the greatest crime of all.

"Yeah ... Chicks Dig Me Now"

Being asked to be a speaker for a TED Talk used to be one of my biggest dreams ... it ranked right up there with being on The Ellen Show (just in case you're reading, Ellen, being a TED Talk speaker is definitely second to being on your show ... just sayin'). I say giving a TED Talk used to be one of my biggest dreams because I used to believe that being a public speaker was my calling, my destiny, what I was born to do ... and maybe the real truth behind those words is that I used to believe in myself way more than I do now. People who are asked to be TED Talk speakers have their acts together ... they aren't afraid to stand and speak what's on their hearts in front of the world ... they possess within themselves an ability to inspire, encourage and motivate others to become better people than they were before. That's why my dear friend Nate Phelps was asked to be a TED Talk speaker ... because he is that kind of person.

If you know Nate personally, you know that he was a nervous wreck all week before he took to the stage yesterday in front of the cameras and an audience of 1,500 people. But his big old case of nerves melted right away when he started speaking and he wowed everyone ... I'm pretty sure he stayed calm because I told him to picture everyone in the audience wearing tutus. Seriously ... tutus calm anyone's nerves, and you know it as well as I do. There's another thing those of us who know Nate personally know about him ... he's one of the most humble, down-to-earth guys you'll ever meet. And that's why I laughed until I cried last night when Nate replied to my message telling him what a great job he did at his TED Talk yesterday with, "Yeah ... chicks dig me now."

I've mentioned previously about all the construction that's taking place along the trail where Ollie and I walk ... so much construction, in fact, that a good stretch of the trail has been closed. Normally by the time my little hound and I head out for our evening walk, the construction guys have finished for the day and all we see are the empty excavators, trucks and bulldozers. But last night when we neared the end of the trail, both the workers and the machines were still going strong ... and loud ... boy, oh, boy, were they loud. I'm not sure how long Ollie and I stood there watching the smaller excavator dig and stack the dirt to the side of the hole while the larger excavator perched up top on the edge scooped the dirt into its massive claw-like bucket and carefully placed it into the waiting dump truck. I do know that I was completely fascinated by the process ... actually, what really grabbed my attention most was the teamwork I witnessed among the workers. They worked together flawlessly and carefully to accomplish what seemed to me to be a truly monumental task. Even when the ledge on the opposite side of the area began to tumble down into the pit, the men worked as a team to overcome the unexpected obstacle that came their way.

See, here's the thing ... I've been thinking all day about those workers and those machines and the huge lesson I learned last night. The truth is that sometimes I'm at the bottom of a big old pit with dirt caving in all around me. By myself, I'd never be able to dig my way out ... but with my team of family and friends working together in harmony with the gigantic machines of love and compassion and accountability and understanding and encouragement and support ... go ahead and tell me there's not a gigantic, enormous, overwhelming life lesson there. I think we all need to ponder that one for a while ... we surely, surely do indeed. We should all dig each other, you know ... we should dig deeply when it comes to loving each other ... we should dig deeply when it comes to holding each other accountable ... we should dig deeply when it comes to helping each other.

Think about that one for a while, friends ... think about it for a good long while.

P.S. If you haven't already, click here to visit our Kickstarter page ... watch the trailer, and then make a pledge to help us tell Nate's story. It would be a great way to let him know it's not just the chicks who dig him. :)

Stick This on Your Bumper

When I say I live in Kansas City, people often ask me if I live on the Kansas side or the Missouri side. And when I tell them I live in Kansas but work in Missouri, their next question is usually, "So how long is your commute?" I guess a lot of folks must think it's a long way from Kansas to Missouri, but it's actually only 21 miles from my garage at home to the parking lot at my office. Unless, of course, it's snowing ... somehow the distance triples when it's snowing ... no, really, it triples because I take like a gazillion back roads because everyone in Kansas City (on both sides of the state line) forgets how to drive when it snows.

Even though there are two gas stations within walking distance of my house, I almost always buy gas for my car at the Quik Trip down the street from my office. I buy gas there because it's on the Missouri side, and that means the gas is usually about eight or nine cents cheaper per gallon. Hey ... eight or nine cents times 15 gallons times 52 weeks in the year adds up to at least a couple of bucks, right? While the store isn't what I would term inner city, it's close enough to the downtown area that sometimes the folks who shop there are ... ummm ... they are at times a rather interesting lot. Even though I've seen the police arrest people there and once I even saw them take a gun away from a guy, I've only gotten really scared a couple of times. You know ... the kind of scared when you feel like something really, really, really bad could happen and there's nothing you can do to stop it ... the kind of scared when you feel utterly and completely vulnerable and alone. One of those times happened yesterday, and try as I may, I cannot get it out of my mind.

I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing to have a gauge on my car that tells me how many miles I have left before I run out of gas. Normally, when I get down to 50 miles or so I fill up my tank, but by the time I went to Quik Trip over lunch yesterday, the gauge said 15 miles ... don't even say it ... I know, I know. I pulled into the only open pump and quickly jumped out of my car to fill my tank ... I had a ton of editing work yesterday, so I wanted to get back to the office as quickly as possible. I'm not sure what made me glance at the car at the pump in front of me, but when I did I was immediately scared ... and yep, I was that kind of scared. Tears filled my eyes as I saw the words of the sticker affixed to the rear bumper of the car ... "God hates fags and so do I."

I was beyond thankful that no one was in the car but absolutely terrified at the same time by the knowledge that the owner could return at any moment. My mind was instantly filled with possible scenarios of what the person might say or do to me should he or she return ... I mean ... I had on a bow tie, suspenders and saddle oxfords yesterday for gosh sake's and the sticker on the car wasn't exactly rainbow friendly. I contemplated whether I should get only $10 worth of gas and race out of there as fast as I could or jump in my car, lock the doors, duck my head and hope and pray the person didn't come back before the gas nozzle clicked off when my tank was full. I chose the latter of those two options ... I cowered in the seat of my car, my eyes glued to the rear-view mirror, my heart pounding with anxiety and my stomach churning with fear.

There's a ton of things I could say about the sticker on the car, not the least of which is how ironic it is that the trademark slogan of Westboro Baptist Church just happened to be plastered on a car right in front of me at the gas station at the same time I'm immersed in raising funds to complete the documentary about Nate Phelps. There's a ton of things I could say about that sticker and all the other stickers like it in the world. There's a ton of things I could say about people who preach and teach hate, and the far-reaching consequences of their words and actions. I could say a ton of things about how I felt as I hid in my car ... you bet I could. I choose, however, not to say any of those things and to leave you with a thought ... a thought that we all should stick on the bumpers of our hearts and minds.

God doesn't hate anyone. And neither should we. Period. 

We All Are

If you would have told me a few months ago that I would be speaking to a large group of law enforcement officials and telling my story, I would have quickly told you that you were the one who needed to see a head doctor. But last Thursday, I did just that ... I stood at the front of a great big conference room filled to the brim with folks who are choosing to spend their lives protecting all the rest of us. If you would have told me a week ago that I would be speaking to the Greater Kansas City Interfaith Council and telling my story, I would have laughed out loud and said, "Yeah, right." But tonight, I did just that ... I sat at one of several long tables surrounded by ministers from various faiths who are choosing to search for their commonalities rather than their differences. And if you would have told me a year and a half ago that I would be part of making a documentary about a former member of the infamous Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, I would have surely passed out cold right on the spot. But I'm doing just that ... I'm working with my son Brad and our co-director Jason to bring Nate's story to the big screen. 

As I drove home in the pouring rain after I finished speaking tonight, I couldn't help but think about how much my life has changed since the day I walked into the conference room at work and spilled my guts (and gallons of tears) to my friend. I couldn't help but recognize the undeniable connections ... the tapestry of events and circumstances that seem to be somehow molding and shaping not only the journey of my own life but the journeys of others in their lives as well. Sometimes it completely overwhelms me ... the knowledge that we all are part of something far bigger than we can even begin to comprehend ... sometimes it overwhelms me in a huge gigantic sort of way.

We all are ... I think that may well be one of the deepest truths I've learned ... we all are. We all are searching for the same things ... love, acceptance, understanding, compassion, worth, honesty. We spend so much time focusing on our differences that we miss all that we have in common. I have no idea how many people I've met in my life, but I do know this ... we all are so much more the same than we are different. Especially in the eyes of God ... we all most definitely are the same in His eyes ... we all most definitely are.

Then Someone Comes Along ...

While I could say I haven't posted for the last few days because it was a crazy week, that would only be partially true. It was a busy, busy, busy week at work and things were happening at breakneck speed with the launch of the Kickstarter campaign for the documentary ... but that's not the real reason you haven't heard from me. If you read my previous post ... well ... suffice it to say that sometimes I just have to crawl into my cave for a few days after I get a bunch of not so nice messages. That's why I haven't written for a while ... I needed to take a break, nurse my wounded spirit and sort through the thoughts pulsing inside my brain and the emotions tumbling within my heart. To be honest, I'm not sure I'm quite ready to venture out from the safety of my cave just yet ... but ... if I haven't learned anything over the last couple of years, I've learned there are times when I have to just suck it up, put on my big-girl shorts and be brave. Even if I get hurt. Even if I'm terrified. Even if people hate me. Even if I fail.

I'm always a bit skiddish about writing after I've been hammered with hate, afraid that I'll say something that will bring about another torrential downpour of criticism and negativity. And today, I have to admit that on a scale of 1 to 10 in the skiddish department, I'm at ... oh ... a 27 or so. I've got a bunch of things swirling around in my heart and my head that I'll probably write during the next few days, but for today, I'd just like to say thank you to those of you who stand by me, with me, behind me, beside me and around me. Each one of you holds such a dear and special place in my heart ... you make me a better person every single day, and I'm so incredibly humbled and honored to share the journey of life with you. 

I've been thinking all day about how best to close this post, and I finally decided to share a quote sent to me last week by a dear friend. The words overflow with depth and meaning, and I weep each time I read them. Think ... just think, friends ... of what the world could be if we all watched over one another ... if we all watched over one another and nudged one another and awakened one another and wanted the very best for one another. Think, friends ... just think of the people we could be ... thinks, friends ... just think of the change that could come.

"Like the fellow life adventurer I am, as if watching over a sleeping compatriot who's about to miss breakfast, I'm going to nudge you a bit and gently shake your shoulder to help you awaken and see that something incredible is going on. Something absolutely wondrous. And that you are at the center of it all."

I Don't Need You

Wow ... what a crazy, nerve-wracking, exciting, anxious, overwhelming couple of days since we launched our big project on Kickstarter. From Rosie O'Donnell tweeting the link to our page (three times!) to Ricki Lake making a donation to a request for a radio interview on a popular morning show to more than $5,000 in pledges thus far ... yep, it's been a crazy, nerve-wracking, exciting, anxious, overwhelming couple of days for sure. Thank you to those of you who are sharing our project and donating so generously to the campaign. Our hope for the film is that it will bring hope and healing to those who have or continue to suffer the devastating effects of abuse.

Though I kept telling myself all day yesterday I was going to bed early last night, I made the mistake of flipping on the news just before 10 p.m. and saw that our area was under a tornado watch until 1 a.m. You all know how I am about tornado watches ... I finally crawled into bed around 1:30 this morning. Want to know what I did for those three and a half hours other than watch the radar? I read emails and Facebook messages ... well ... I read as many as I could anyway ... you wouldn't believe me if I told you how many I get each day. As is always the case these days, some of the notes were nice and some were ... not. Usually when I begin reading a mean or hateful message, I stop reading and click delete pretty quickly. But because I was looking for notes containing feedback about the launch of the documentary, I read way more than I should have last night ... way, way, way more than I should have. It's rare for me to write any sort of response to the hate mail I receive ... perhaps it's because I'm bone tired tonight, but I've got a couple of things I need to get off my chest. 

To those who feel the need to repeatedly tell me I'm going to hell because I'm who I am ... I don't need you to tell me where you think I will spend eternity. Believe me when I say I don't need you to tell me that ... would you care to know why? I don't need you to tell me I'm going to hell because I've spent every single day of my life since I was old enough to understand asking God that very question. I don't need you to tell me I'm evil or a perversion in the eyes of God because I struggle with those feelings every time I look in the mirror. I don't need you to quote Scripture to me ... I read my Bible every single day ... more than I ever have in my life. I don't need you to hate me ... I've hated myself far more than you ever could ... and for way longer than you have, by the way. 

As to why Nate chose us to tell his story, this is what he wrote on our Kickstarter page ... 

"When I met them a few months later in Lawrence, Kansas, and they asked if they could do a documentary about my story, I knew they were the ones who would do it right. Because they get it. When I watched the trailer they’ve created for "Not My Father’s Son," I was reminded again…they get it."

The "it" that we get ... we get what abuse does to people ... we get that living in hiding destroys people ... we get how hate wounds people. We do get it ... we get it in a big way.

I don't need you to remind me how far I have to go, friends ... I need you to remind me how far I've already come.

Launch.

On January 1, 2013, I posted an entry to this blog that changed my life forever. On February 26, 2013, I shared a video on YouTube that has helped to change the lives of other people. I well remember how terrified I was on those days ... I will forever remember how terrified I was on those days ... you bet I will. This afternoon, Brad, Jason and I launched the campaign for Not My Father's Son ... the documentary we've been working on for the last year. I believe the film will change the world. Am I scared? You bet I am.

I don't normally ask you to share my posts, but tonight I'm asking you to do just that. Share it on Facebook. Share it on Twitter. Share it on every social network you can. Share it via email. Share it on your blogs. Ask other people to share it. Please. Please. Please share it. It's important. Really, really, really important. 

Thank you, friends ... thank you.

Ready? Set? Launch.

Click the photo below to watch the trailer.

Set?

It's interesting to me how much my thinking has changed over the last couple of years in regard to possessions ... having or getting more stuff simply doesn't matter to me any longer. I used to dream of living in a big house and driving an expensive sports car, but not anymore. Now I'm content with a roof over my head, clothes on my back and some peanut butter in my tummy. I've thought a great deal about the reason for the major shift in my idea of what constitutes enough, and I keep coming back to one event ... one dramatic and life-altering event. Two years ago, I was ready to take my own life ... getting past that time when I was sitting at my kitchen table only minutes away from carrying out my plan is what changed the way I view my possessions. Trust me ... being in the place where you believe dying is better than living will change the way you think about a lot of stuff ... a whole, whole, whole lot of stuff.

Back when I was in college, I spent a summer studying Spanish in Mexico. I have a ton of memories from that summer, many of which I'll take with me to my grave ... yep, go ahead and ponder on that one for a bit. One of the memories I can share, however, is one that involves a marble chess set. I can't remember why a marble chess set was so high on my list of items I wanted to purchase in Mexico, but it was. I spent hours and hours that summer searching for just the right one, and when I finally found it, I was one happy gal. I remember carefully wrapping the heavy marble board and individual pieces and then packing them into my suitcase. I also remember that for many years the chess set rested regally on the coffee table in my living room. That chess set was so important to me back then ... it was truly one of my most prized possessions. I think it may still be in my basement somewhere with many of the pieces broken or missing ... interesting indeed how much my thinking about what matters most to me has changed.

Brad, his buddy Jason and I have spent a great deal of time throughout the last year researching, filming, traveling, writing and interviewing ... all in preparation for telling the story of the gentleman I mentioned in my previous post. I've learned a ton about the process of movie-moving ... suffice it to say that I had absolutely no idea of what's involved in producing a film. Just setting up to film one scene is quite complicated ... again, I had no absolutely no idea. But now that we are set to launch the trailer ... now that we are set to launch the trailer ... now that we are set to launch the trailer ... holy moly ... now that we are set to launch the trailer ... I need to breathe ... I need to breathe ... I need to breathe.

The gentleman who is the subject of the documentary is without question one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met. He is brave and courageous, a noble man of character and integrity. He is generous and giving, compassionate and caring. He has overcome tremendous odds to become the man he is today ... a man who works tirelessly in his quest to help others. He is a son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather ... a man whom I respect deeply ... a man who is an inspiration to so many. I am humbled and honored that he chose to allow us to tell his story ... and I am proud to call him my friend.

Ready? Set?