Face Time

These days when my phone rings and I see "Matt and Becca Canada Home" appear on the screen, I can be relatively certain that the voice I am about to hear will not be Matt's or Becca's but rather that of my sweet granddaughter Coraline. I can also be relatively certain that at some point in our conversation, Coraline will utter the words, "Ghee, you want a Skype now?" And every living creature on the planet can be relatively certain that I'm going to try everything in my power to accommodate that precious little girl's request when she calls me. Before Matt moved his family to Canada, I barely knew what Skype was ... and now ... well, now I can't imagine how I would survive without it. I'm not sure I could go on if I couldn't at least see Coraline and Amelie on my laptop screen, and my heart breaks for grandparents of geographically faraway grandkids who don't have that luxury.

For as thankful as I am for the technology that allows me to "see" my granddaughters every week, there is no denying that it's not the same as seeing them face to face. Being with them recently for a couple of weeks reinforced what I already knew ... no matter how wonderful the technology is, it simply isn't the same as human contact and personal face-to-face interaction. Last night, I Skyped with Amelie and Coraline for a little over an hour, and of course that hour included reading several bedtime stories to Coraline. As I read 101 Dalmatians and Lion King to her, all I could think about was that just a couple of weeks ago we were sitting together on her couch reading those same books ... all I could think about was her little head nestled against my shoulder as we read ... all I could think about was the tender touch of her tiny hand as she tucked it inside of mine ... all I could think about was the vivid blue of her eyes when she patted my cheek and said, "Ghee, I wuv you." Yes, Skype is wonderful, but tickling Amelie's tummy and kissing her baby toes and hearing her laughter and holding her in my arms ... yes, Skype is wonderful, but playing hide and seek with Coraline and coloring princess pictures with her and hearing her giggle and seeing her run across the room and jump into my arms ... no matter how amazing the technology is, there is absolutely, positively, beyond the shadow of any doubt no substitute for face time with the ones you love.

A few months ago, I heard an incredible speaker give a talk about the way technology has caused us to be farther apart from one another ... that instead of talking to one another, we talk at one another. We instant message ... we text ... we email ... we Facebook ... but we don't talk. We've sacrificed face time because ... well ... we've sacrificed face time because messaging and texting and emailing and Facebooking takes less time. Think about that ... really, really, really think about that ... we've given up face time with one another to save time, to add more minutes into our day, and we're losing each other in the process. On the rare occasion that we do actually talk to each other face to face, we spend as much if not more time checking our phones to see if we have messages than we do looking each other in the eye or listening to one another's hearts. Lest you think I consider myself to be innocent of allowing technology to replace human contact, I can assure you I'm as guilty as anyone. I hide behind my keyboard every single day, and I panic if by chance I happen not to have my phone with me.

As I mentioned in a previous post, several of my flights were delayed on my last trip to Canada, both on my way there and on my way home. It wasn't until the final leg of my journey home when I realized that with each delay, the people who were waiting didn't talk to each other. For the most part, they were on their phones or laptops or tablets, looking up only when there was an announcement concerning the status of the flight. I didn't see one person reading a book ... at least not an "old-fashioned" book anyway ... and the only people who talked to one another were the ones who were traveling together. I remember a time when people chatted as they waited ... in doctors' and dentists' offices, car repair businesses, checkout lines at stores, even airports. It's ironic, isn't it? In our never-ending quest to be more connected electronically and our constant attempt to save time and streamline efficiency, we're sacrificing the most important thing of all ... each other. As much as I love to write, reading words in an email or via instant messenger or text or Facebook isn't the same as talking face to face. It's impossible to see the pain in someone's eyes ... the joy in someone's eyes ... the fear in someone's eyes ... the compassion in someone's eyes ... it's impossible to see the love in someone's eyes if you don't see their eyes.

No matter how wonderful the technology is, it can't wrap its arms around me and hug me ... it can't sit across the table from me and look into my eyes ... it can't hold my hand when I'm afraid ... no matter how wonderful it is, it can't take the place of you.

"Lo, men have become the tools of their tools." --- Henry David Thoreau

Get Lost

One of my greatest fears when my three children were young was that one of them would be kidnapped or get lost. My guess is that most parents have at some time experienced that paralyzing fear in the moment when your kiddo is missing from your sight ... you go running through a crowded store screaming his or her name in sheer terror while all sorts of horrible scenarios of where your little one might be or whom they might be with go barreling through your mind like a locomotive on steroids. I especially remember having those moments with my son Brad ... he was the one of my three who thought it was absolutely hilarious to hide from me and watch while I had a meltdown when I couldn't find him. He was also the one who would stand behind me and mirror my every move so that I wouldn't know he was there ... I can't begin to tell you how many times that boy had me running in circles trying to find him while he was right behind me the entire time. Obviously since all three of my children are now all young adults, I somehow always managed to find them ... whether they wandered off or got separated from me or ... ahem, Mr. Bradley ... hid from me, they were never lost for very long.

A few months ago, my granddaughter Coraline ... who is way too smart for her own good and incredibly independent, by the way ... wandered away from her mom and dad in Ikea. Of all the stores to get lost in, I'd have to say Ikea would be one of the worst ... that place is flipping enormous. Thankfully, my wandering, frightened, screaming her eyes out granddaughter was rescued by a kind woman who returned her to my by then terrified son and daughter-in-law. Though I wasn't there, I can only imagine the talking to little Miss Coraline received once Matt and Becca had her safely back in their arms ... I can only imagine because I well recall the stern lectures I gave my own children so many years ago. I'm certain many parents of preschool-age children wonder if their little ones really listen and understand when they try to teach them about the perils of not staying with their parents, but it was during a visit last weekend to the Strathcona Market while I was in Canada that I became completely convinced that Coraline had indeed listened and understood what her parents told her about the dangers of getting lost.

After purchasing some bagels and cream cheese from one of the vendors at the market, Matt and Becca made their way to a table so they could sit down and eat. I'm not a bagel eater, so I told them I was going to peruse the market while they were eating. As I started to walk away from the table, Coraline, who was sitting in a chair already chomping on her bagel, grabbed my hand and said, "Ghee, where are you going?" I replied that I was going to shop a bit while she was eating and that I would be back in a few minutes. Her expression was serious and her beautiful blue eyes were filled with concern as she looked up at me and said, "Ghee, you have a be careful acause if you get wost, you will be verwy scawred." I leaned over and kissed her soft cheek and told her I would be extra, extra careful and that I promised I wouldn't get lost. She gave me one of those "I'm not sure I trust you" looks and repeated her instructions to me, complete with pointing her finger at me to ensure I knew the seriousness of what she was telling me. The look of relief on her little face when I returned to the table after my brief tour of the market was priceless, and the unspoken "It's about time you came back" stare melted my heart as I gathered her into my arms and said, "I found my way back, baby girl ... I found my way back to you."

I know that little exchange between Coraline and I probably seems trivial and unimportant to many of you, but there's a reason I haven't been able to get it off my mind. Here's the thing ... I believe there are times for all of us when we get lost ... when we wander away from the ones who want nothing more than to love and protect us ... when we get separated from our place of safety and warmth ... when we lose sight of who or what is most important to us ... when we get lost in the darkness and fear we may never be able to find our way out. Being lost isn't fun ... for those of you who have ever been lost, you know that's a huge understatement. For me, being lost means being alone ... it means being isolated ... it means being afraid ... it means not being able to trust anyone ... it means not knowing where to go or what to do ... it means doubting myself and everyone else as well. You can trust me when I say getting lost isn't fun ... you can trust me when I say that because I've been lost far more times than I would ever want any of you to ever know.

Coraline may only be three years old, but she gets it ... my little granddaughter totally gets it when it comes to getting lost and being found. She knows that even grown-ups can get lost in the crowd, and she knows that the only way to find them is with steadfast, loyal, unconditional love. Some of the biggest lessons really do come from the most unlikely teachers, friends ... they really do indeed. 

I Just Stood There

Before I left for Canada a couple of weeks ago, I commented to my children that I was extra nervous about my flights this time around ... and before you go there, my added anxiety had nothing at all to do with my general all-around fear of flying. I will, however, remind you of my sincere and unshakable belief that if God had intended for me to fly way high up in the sky, He would have given me wings. Were it not for the fact that Matt, Becca, Coraline and Amelie live in Canada, I would keep my feet planted firmly on the ground. Having gotten that off my chest, now back to my increased apprehension regarding my most recent air travel adventure. This was my fourth trip to Canada since Matt and Becca moved 2 1/2 years ago, and other than my sheer terror of flying, all of my flights had gone smoothly ... little to no turbulence, no delays, no cancelled flights. I knew I was overdue to experience at least one, if not all, of those air travel woes and that the odds were against me having another round of trouble-free flights. So when my flight from Minneapolis to Alberta was delayed for more than an hour, I was certain that was the reason for my heightened sense of concern regarding my trip ... I was wrong.

I suppose it should have been a sign to me when Matt and I witnessed a car accident right in front of us on our way to the airport at 5:30 a.m. yesterday morning ... so bad in fact that Matt pulled over and got out to see if the people needed help. Now that I think about it, had the people been seriously injured, Matt would have probably passed out cold when he saw them. Thankfully, even though one of the cars crashed into a utility pole after being hit, the drivers seemed to be okay and we were able to go on to the airport. Everything seemed to be going smoothly ... I sailed through customs because I was bawling after saying goodbye to Matt, and I even had time to grab some breakfast and a Starbucks and hop on Facebook to update my status. The plane boarded a little earlier than the scheduled time, and I was settling into my seat when the flight attendant announced that everyone needed to exit the plane immediately due to a security issue ... and yes, you can bet my flying anxiety shifted into high gear as I lined up with the other passengers along the hallway thingy just outside of the plane and waited ... and waited ... and waited while the security guards searched the plane. As if standing there wondering if there was a bomb on the plane or a vial of anthrax or a horde of renegade zombies wasn't enough to upset me, something else happened as I waited ... something that has troubled me far more than any possible threat to the aircraft.

While I was sitting in the waiting area before we first boarded the plane, I noticed one of the pilots walking toward the gate that led to the plane. I think even if pilots didn't wear uniforms I would know they were pilots ... there's a sort of underlying confidence and designated dignity about them that somehow makes me know they are the ones in charge of the plane. The pilot's back was to me as she approached the gate ... she was very tall and slender with long flowing blonde hair, and I remember thinking she walked like a man. It was when she turned to swipe her badge that I saw her face ... it was when she turned that I knew she was transgender. I know what you're thinking ... I of all people shouldn't jump to conclusions about anyone based solely on their appearance, and I can honestly say with all my heart that there was no judgment present within me when I came to that conclusion. Some of you will understand and others of you will not ... when she turned and I saw her face, I knew she was transgender and that she was either in the process of transitioning from male to female or already had. I can't explain it, but I just knew.

After a half-hour or so of waiting for the search of the plane to be completed, the pilot exited the plane and walked toward the middle of the line of restless, waiting passengers. She stopped directly across from me and began to tell us what the problem was and how much longer it would be until we were allowed to board the plane. Her voice was deep and masculine, but her nails were perfectly manicured with bright red polish. She looked straight into my eyes as she spoke, almost as if she felt safe in doing so ... as if she felt protected somehow from the stares of the other passengers by looking at me. I saw hurt in her eyes ... I saw someone who was trying desperately to be true to herself while at the same time fearing the reactions of the crowd of strangers who stood before her. I think she chose to stop in front of me and look at me as she spoke because she knew I knew ... perhaps she recognized a similar hurt in my own eyes or perhaps she sensed the same fear of judgment deep within my heart. She smiled when she finished talking, walked back down the ramp and disappeared into the cockpit of the plane. 

As soon as she was out of sight, the man standing across from me glanced over at some men in line in front of me and rolled his eyes ... that was all it took ... a man rolling his eyes was all it took to unleash a stream of commentary from several of the men in line that made me physically ill as I listened. And yes, I am quoting some of them ... be sure you read that again ... I am quoting some of them, not all of them, but some of them. I usually apologize if what I write offends any of you, but this is one time when I hope you are offended ... I hope you are really, really, really offended by the words of those men. I don't care where you are spiritually ... their words should offend Christians and non-Christians alike. I don't care what your sexuality is ... their words should offend gay and straight alike. I don't care where you work or what you eat for dinner or whether or not you go to church on Sunday or how much money you make or which side of the bed you sleep on ... their words should offend every single one of you. The words of those men should offend me and they should offend you. 

"We're all thinking the same thing ... keep your butts against the wall. For the love of God, don't bend over."

"F------g faggot."

"Was that a queer or a steer?"

"It takes all kinds, but that kind gives me the creeps."

"Those freaks should all be gathered up and locked in a cage and let them starve to death."

"Hey sweetheart, run on up there and pop out your jugs and see if that will change his mind, eh?"

"So was that a he and a she or just a butch lesbo that can't make up its mind?"

"I hate those freaks ... those damn gays ... I hate 'em."

The remarks went on for a full seven minutes ... I know it was seven minutes because I stared at my watch when the horrible discourse began. ... seven minutes of terrible, awful, hate-filled remarks about a person they didn't even know. And perhaps even worse than the disgusting things the men were saying about the person who would soon be responsible for all of our lives as she flew the plane was the fact that no one stopped them ... not one person stepped out and told them to stop ... including me. I just stood there staring at my watch trying desperately to fight back the tears, hoping the men's tirade would end quickly. I just stood there ... I just stood there and did nothing. In a country that has longed proclaimed its openness and acceptance of the LGBT community ... I stood there and listened to some of the most vitriolic hate speech I've ever heard. I just stood there ... I just stood there and did nothing while I prayed the men wouldn't notice me in my flannel shirt, jeans and hiking boots ... while I prayed they wouldn't notice my spiked hair ... while I prayed they wouldn't notice me at all. I just stood there hoping with everything in me the hate wouldn't shift toward me ... I just stood there and did nothing. I didn't ask them to consider how their words were hurting others around them ... I didn't tell them how their hate was hurting me ... I just stood there, head down, eyes glued to my watch and did nothing.

I've lived most of my life filled with shame and guilt ... but tonight ... tonight I'm ashamed of myself not because of who I am but because of who I'm not. I just stood there, friends ... I just stood there and did nothing.

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." --- Edmund Burke

Where Love Lives

When you're single with no hope of ever being un-single, Valentine's Day always brings with it the potential of being a really cruddy day ... I know that to be true because I've been single for a long, long time, and I've seen a lot of really, really, really cruddy Valentine's Days over the years. In fact, now that I think about it, there's only been one Valentine's Day in the last 20 years that I was actually dating someone when the "romantic" holiday rolled around. I suppose I should take the glass half-full approach and count all the money I've saved in those 20 years by not having to buy gifts for a significant other ... hmmm ... sorry ... I guess you can just consider my glass half drunk because I'd rather be dead broke than to be alone on Valentine's Day year after year. My kiddos have always been great about making sure they sent some extra love and attention my way on that day, but as much as I love them and appreciate all they do to express their love for me, it's not the same as ... well ... you know ... it's not the same as having that one special person to do life with. I believe that God created within each of us a need and longing for an intimate personal relationship ... sorry if I offend some of you, but I don't believe God meant for me or you or anyone else to go through life alone. Which brings me back to the reason I'm writing this post ... the reason for every post really ... the reason for everything in life really ... the reason for life itself really ... and that's love.

My children have given me some incredible gifts over the years ... Christmas gifts, birthday gifts, Mother's Day gifts, even Valentine's Day gifts. Each and every one have been special to me, but even more special and unforgettable are the sweet memories that go with them. It would take me forever to tell you about all of them, but I do want to share just one with you today ... one that's taken on all-new meaning to me over the last two weeks that I've been in Canada with my son Matt, Becca, Coraline and Amelie. Even though this past Christmas was an electronic one for us via Skype, I could see that Matt and Becca seemed extra excited for me to open the gift they had sent me (and Coraline had been telling me for the previous two weeks that it was "someting bery special, Ghee"). I was filled with great anticipation when I opened the gift, and I wasn't disappointed ... inside was an awesome leather bracelet with a silver plate on the top which was engraved with several numbers. At first glance I thought perhaps the numbers were Coraline and Amelie's measurements at birth ... their height, weight and the dates they were born ... but then I realized that was incorrect. Feeling rather dumb because I didn't know what this obviously important gift meant, I had to ask what the numbers stood for ... "That's our location, Mom ... those are our coordinates." Yes, I cried ... of course I flipping cried ... a lot.

Yesterday was a first for me on Valentine's Day ... I was awakened by my oldest granddaughter who excitedly proclaimed, "Wake up, Ghee! It's Happy Valentime's Day a you ... get up and come upstairs ... dere's a special surprise for you!!!" It took everything in me not to cry when Coraline proudly handed me a special piece of artwork she had created for me ... not only is she a genius, she's also a budding Rembrandt in the making. And I seriously thought my heart would melt right onto the floor when she handed me the card she had picked out for me ... I was obviously taking too long to open it because she grabbed it back and ripped it open for me as she shouted, "Wook, Ghee, wook!! It's 101 Dalmatians, Ghee ... wook, Ghee!!! It's da dalmatians, Ghee!!" Her little blue eyes were absolutely dancing with happiness ... not because of what I gave her for Valentine's Day, but because of what she gave me. Little does my precious Coraline know that she gave me so very much more than a beautiful piece of artwork and "da best 101 Dalmatians card ever" ... if I'm still around when she's old enough to understand, maybe I'll tell her ... maybe I'll tell her what she gave me yesterday was love.

When I was getting ready for bed last night, I took off my bracelet and placed it on the corner of the sink so as not to get it wet when I washed my face. Tears filled my eyes as I snapped it back onto my wrist and I recalled the words from when I first opened my gift on Christmas day ... "This is where love lives." I realized as I snuggled into bed next to Matt and Becca's two wiener dogs that love does indeed live at the coordinates engraved upon my bracelet ... there is a deep and abiding love within the hearts of my son and his sweet family ... love does indeed live at the location etched on a silver plate attached to a leather band that encircles my arm. I tossed and turned for quite a while before I finally fell asleep last night, partly because I have to get on a plane for home tomorrow morning. As I thought about my quiet and empty house ... as I thought about how happy Julie and Ollie will be to see me ... as I thought about returning to the regular routine of life ... I saw Coraline and Amelie ... I saw their ready and glowing smiles ... I heard the sound of their laughter ... I felt the warmth of their hugs.

That's what my bracelet is really about, you know ... it's to remind me every day that I have two little girls who think I'm a pretty awesome Ghee. It's to remind me that even on the darkest of days and loneliest of nights, there are two little girls who love me ... two little girls who love me just the way I am with my prickly hair and all the other parts of me that make me their Ghee. My bracelet reminds me where love lives, yes, but it also reminds me that love isn't dependent on longitude or latitude coordinates ... love is dependent only on the coordinates we carry with us in our hearts. 

Where love lives ... love lives in me and you, friends ... love lives in me and you.

Who Cares?

It's hard to believe I've been in Canada for two weeks because it feels like I just got here yesterday. I'm always amazed at how quickly the time passes when I'm here ... the days literally seem to fly by. This particular visit couldn't have come at a better time for Matt and Becca ... they and their sweet girls had been sick for almost a week when I arrived, and they readily welcomed having some help. When you aren't around them all the time, it's easy to forget how crazy active little ones can be, how little they sleep at night when they don't feel well, or how their smiles and laughter can make your heart melt like butter. I've enjoyed every single minute of my time here, sore throat and achy ears included, and I hope I've been able to give Matt and Becca at least a small break in the day-to-day routine of caring for a toddler and an infant.

Coraline has asked me at least a million questions since I got here ... she reminds me a lot of her Uncle Brad when he was a little guy when it comes to asking questions. Brad was like a non-stop question machine ... he was constantly asking me what things were made of or where things came from or how to put something together or why the sun wasn't a square or how Batman got his costume off to pee or who decided dogs were dogs and cats were cats ... yep, that was my Bradley alright ... Mr. Rapid-fire Question Man from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes. I was thinking last night when I was reading to Coraline and she stopped me to ask me why my ears were big ... no, really, she did ... I was thinking how fun it would be to have a time machine and be able to put 3-year-old Brad in a room with 3-year-old Coraline. I can't even begin to imagine the questions the two of them would think of together, but I'm sure they would be mind-blowing and totally awesome.

One of the first questions Coraline asked me upon my arrival was presented to me as she sat upon her Ikea potty. With a look of complete seriousness on her adorable little face, she said, "Ghee, do you poop a wot?" I was trying super hard not to laugh as I replied, "Uhmmm ... well ... uhmmm ... uhmmm ... I uhmmm ... I don't know." Coraline's little brow was furrowed as she thought about my answer and I could see her little mind processing my less than stellar response. "Ghee, you don't know you poop a wot or not?" Seeing that I was going to be forced to provide a more acceptable answer to my genius granddaughter, I changed my answer to "Yes, Coraline, I poop a lot." Never in a gazillion years could I have prepared myself for her next comment ... never ever in a gazillion years. "Ghee, if you eat da healfy food you poop a wot. I poop a wot, Ghee, acause I eat da healfy food and not da junk food. But sometimes I wike da junk food, Ghee." Though I'm sure parents are often embarrassed by what their kiddos say, I'm sure down deep inside we can all agree that one of the greatest things about little kids is their honesty.

Answering Coraline's bazillion questions over the course of the last couple of weeks has caused me to do a lot of thinking ... about important things like death ... "Ghee, do you have a die one day?" ... and about not so important things like cheese ... "Ghee, do you wike cheese?" But so much more than causing me to think about how many teeth a raccoon has or where plastic comes from or what's inside a throat lozenge, Coraline's ceaseless stream of questions has caused me to think about the questions we ask one another ... no, that's not right ... Coraline's questions have made me think about how much we shy away from asking the questions we should be asking each other. And even more, my sweet granddaughter's litany of questions has caused me to understand that we only ask superficial questions of one another because we only want to hear superficial answers. We don't ask deep or tough questions because we don't care to hear the deep or tough answers we may receive. We don't ask about the things that really matter ... we don't ask because we don't care.

Here's the thing, friends ... the really important lesson I've learned from Coraline's multitude of questions ... if she didn't care about me, if she didn't love me, if she didn't know me, she wouldn't be asking me anything. 

Think about it ... who cares? Who really and truly cares? Do you? Do I?

You Are the Special

Sometimes it's really hard for me to believe it's only been a little over two years since I penned the post that changed my life forever because so much of the time, it feels like a lifetime ago. And for as long as those two years sometimes feel to me, I'm certain they feel much, much longer to those of you who made the choice to hang around and travel those years with me. That's a really big deal to me, you know ... those of you who choose to stay ... choose not to leave ... choose to believe in me even when I don't believe in myself ... choose to think I'm worth keeping around. You really will never know ... there really are no words ... you mean so much to me ... I will be forever grateful for you. If I never before understood the deep truth of the words, "You don't know what you have until it's gone," you can bet every penny you have that I sure do understand it now. I had no idea how guilty I was of not appreciating certain people who were an important part of my life until they were gone ... some through death, some through distance, some through decision.

Yesterday afternoon was "family movie night" here in the home of my eldest son and his little family, and in keeping with dear Mattie's restored connection with the Legos from his childhood, we watched ... of course we watched ... The Lego Movie. Matt couldn't believe I hadn't already seen the film, and he was over-the-top excited for me to watch it with him ... uh, I mean watch it with Coraline. As we all settled in on the couches and waited for the movie to start, my mind raced back to all the kid movies I used to see ... all the kid movies I used to take my two favorite movie buddies to see ... the kid movies I used to see before "the post." As the movie began to play on the television, I blinked back tears as I prayed that Coraline and Amelie will always choose to stay ... I blinked back tears and prayed with everything in me that Coraline and Amelie will forever and always only see me as their Ghee who loves them so very, very much.

As was so often true in the kid movies I used to take my young movie buddies to, The Lego Movie contained within it some big life lessons ... yep ... a movie about plastic building bricks has caused me to do some serious thinking about my life. I should know by now that when a scene near the beginning of a movie strikes a deep and resonating chord within me ... I should know by now there's some big, huge, gigantic lesson ahead for me. In The Lego Movie, it's the scene when Bad Cop is interrogating Emmet ... Emmet says, "Look, this is a misunderstanding. I'm just a regular, normal, ordinary guy. And I'm late to meet my best friends in the whole world, and they're probably missing me right now. They're probably out looking around, saying, 'Hey, where's Emmet? Hey, where's my best friend Emmet?' Ask all my friends and they'll tell you." I suppose I should have known what was coming next ... Bad Cop tells Emmet he did ask his friends and got their responses on camera which he proceeds to show to Emmet. Not one of the people Emmet thought were his friends stood up for him ... not one of them had anything positive to say about him ... some of them couldn't even remember who he was. But the comment that got to me the most was from a guy named Randy ... "We all have something that makes us something, and Emmet is ... nothing." And Emmet's reply to Bad Cop after hearing the devastating words from the "friends"? "There you go. I told you I was a nobody." Before you ask ... heck yes, I was teary ... gosh, of course I was teary, are you kidding me?

Though it took him a long time ... well, it took him almost the whole movie anyway ... Emmet finally came to understand he wasn't a nobody after all; in fact, Emmet ended up being the one and only Lego who could save the entire Lego kingdom from certain destruction. Funny how similar to real life that is ... there's always that one person ... that one person in the background ... that one person no one notices ... that one person who somehow finds their way out of the sea of anonymity ... that one person who overcomes seemingly impossible challenges ... that one person who ends up making a difference ... that one person who finally discovers he or she is the Special after all. Talk about a gigantic lesson, friends ... that's an enormously gigantic life lesson if ever there was one for sure. The more I've thought about Emmet's words to Lord Business at the close of the film, the more I've decided they are words every one of us needs to hear ... words we need to say to one another. The more I've thought about Emmet's words, the more I've decided they are words I need to hear ... words I need to remember ... words I need to think about for a long, long, long time ... words I may even need to believe.

"You are capable of amazing things, because you are the Special. And so am I. And so is everyone. The prophecy is made up, but it's also true. It's about all of us. Right now, it's about you. And you can still change everything."

Don't Break Ghee

I know many of you will judge me based on what I'm about to confess, but honestly ... I don't care. God knows I've been judged for far more personal and life-changing confessions than the one I'm about to share ... somehow I managed to survive those judgments, so I'm not too worried about any condemnation that is sure to come this time around. So here it is ... hate me if you must ... I had never set foot inside of an Ikea store until three days ago. Man, it feels so good to finally say those words out loud (or type them out loud, as the case may be) ... it's like I've had a million pounds lifted off of my shoulders. Even when the first Ikea store opened in Kansas City last year, I remained strong and didn't succumb to peer pressure to finally join the ranks of loyal and faithful Ikea shoppers. But ... Coraline had been cooped up in the house for the last week because she, her parents and her sister have been sick, and my sweet granddaughter desperately needed a warm, indoor, open space where she could burn off some of her feeling better energy. Yep ... that's right ... I made my first-ever visit to Ikea because that's where my granddaughter said she wanted to go, and I bear no shame or guilt whatsoever in that admission.

I've heard tons of things about Ikea, and many of them revolved around how massively huge the store is ... that's an understatement for sure, it's like Costco on steroids. For the first hour or so, Coraline ran and jumped and played like a wild woman ... she was thrilled to not only be out of the house but to be feeling better as well. But after about an hour, she got tired and wanted me to hold her as we walked through the store ... through the massively huge store. I actually surprised myself by how long I was able to carry her perched upon my hip before I got tired, but my suggestion to Coraline that she get down and walk for a while was met with a resounding, "No, Ghee, no!!" However, my suggestion to my sweet granddaughter that she ride on my shoulders was met with a resounding, "Yes, Ghee ... I will wide on your shoulders!" I'm not sure why, but there's just something extra sweet about a little kid riding on my shoulders ... I always loved it when my own kiddos did it, and, perhaps because our visits are too few and far between, I love it even more when my sweet Coraline does it and I'm already looking forward to the day when Amelie is big enough to ride on my shoulders as well.

Yesterday it was almost "warm" here in Canada ... and by warm I mean we were able to walk to the train to meet Matt when he came home from work. By warm I also mean that we were able to make said walk with regular clothing and coats and hats and gloves without four layers of Under Armour underneath. Coraline was rather ... ummm ... well ... she was rather cranky when she woke up from her nap yesterday and suffice it to say she was a wee bit less than cooperative when my daughter-in-law instructed her to get her gear on. By the time we were out the door and headed toward the train, an epic 3-year-old kid vs. mom battle had transpired and Coraline was grumpier than a cat in a field full of dogs. She didn't want to hold my hand ... she didn't want to wear her hat ... she didn't want to talk ... she didn't want to walk on the sidewalk ... she didn't want to walk in the snow ... all she wanted to do was whine and fuss about everything. She finally agreed to let me hold her, but with all of our gear on, I tired out in a hurry and asked her to ride on my shoulders instead ... bad, bad, bad idea. Suffice it to say she walked the rest of the way by herself ... her own angry, stomping, fussing, whining, pouting, grumpy little self ... until the little stinker saw her dad and then she suddenly became all smiles and the happiest little girl in the world.

Whenever I get tired when I'm carrying her or if she decides to do a full body slam on my lower back when we're wrestling, Becca always says, "Coraline! Be gentle ... don't break Ghee ... we need her." It seems that all my claims of my having super special Ghee immunity to the sickness my Canadian kiddos had when I arrived last week are now trying super hard to prove me wrong. I haven't felt too great for the last couple of days ... so far, it's just a sore throat, achy ear and a bit of congestion, and I'm summoning every ounce of positive thinking I possess to assure myself that I'll be completely back to normal in a day or two. I have to feel better ... it's snowing today and Coraline is feeling much better and we've got some serious sledding to do. I had a hard time getting to sleep last night partly because my throat was hurting and partly because Becca's words kept pounding in my head ... "Don't break Ghee ... we need her." 

As I tossed and turned in the darkness last night wishing my throat would stop burning, I thought about the times in my life when I've been broken ... times when my heart was broken ... times when my spirit was broken ... times when my will to go on was broken. I'm here to tell you this old Ghee has been broken more than a few times during my lifetime, and that's especially true of the last few years for sure. I often say that the biggest lessons in life come through the most unexpected words at the most unexpected times in the most unexpected places ... like last night when it hit me that the most devastating brokenness of all is that of feeling unneeded, unwanted and unnecessary. I've come to the conclusion that people can survive just about anything as long as they feel they are needed, wanted and necessary ... as long as they feel they are loved ... it's when they feel they aren't that they give up. I can't begin to tell you how many messages I receive that all say the same thing ... "No one needs me ... no one wants me ... no one notices if I'm present or not."

Do you ever think about whether you've broken someone? Whether your words have hurt someone? Whether your actions have said someone isn't worthy or needed or cared for or wanted? Do people know how much you need them? Think maybe you should tell them?

 "Don't break Ghee ... we need her."

Oh, Ghee ...

When I arrived in Canada on Friday evening, it was snowing and bitterly cold. Come on, it's February in Canada ... of course it was snowing and bitterly cold ... duh. When I stepped out from the warmth of the airport to get in Matt and Becca's car, the cold felt a lot like the needles I use to check my blood sugar ... it was like a million needles slammed into my face. Now that I've been here for a couple of days, I've sort of adjusted to the subzero temps or else I've learned to better prepare myself for the sting when I step outside ... or ... I'm busy hanging on to Coraline's hand so she doesn't slip on the ice while trying to make sure I don't wipe out myself. The truth is that by the time we finally get to the car, I'm sweating and thankful it's so cold outside ... suffice it to say I have a whole new level of respect for my daughter-in-law Becca and what she does every day.

I think it's safe to say that if you've been reading along with me for more than ... oh ... a day, you know my granddaughter Coraline is incredibly verbal and that her vocabulary is unbelievably extensive for a 3-year-old. And if Amelie's baby jabbering and noise making is indication of future verbal skills, I'd say Coraline may well have met her match in the little girl talking department ... and I'd also say that Matt and Becca are in for quite the adventure, boy, oh boy, are they.

Coraline has said a ton of really sweet things to me over the last three days ... she's got a really sweet and caring spirit ... but one of my favorites has to be when she wraps her arms tightly around my neck and repeats the words, "Oh, Ghee ..." over and over and over again. Nothing follows her "Oh, Ghee ..." declarations ... well ... nothing except for her very sweet sigh of contentment as she snuggles her little head into my neck. And here's the thing ... nothing more needs to be said because Coraline and I know ... we know what the unspoken words are ... we know we have a special bond ... we know "Oh, Ghee ..." is enough ... we know "Oh, Ghee ..." says it all.

As I was reading her bedtime story to her tonight, Coraline turned and looked up at me and said, "Ghee, you not go far away amorrow?" Tears filled my eyes as I assured her that I wasn't going far away tomorrow and that I would be at her house for several more days before I have to leave. "Oh, Ghee ..." she said quietly ... "Oh, Ghee ..." I held her a little more tightly tonight as I finished reading her book ... you bet I did, friends ... you bet I did.