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.