Northern Exposure

For as little as I go to the movies or watch television these days, I must confess that I've got a real soft spot for films and TV shows that are based in rural towns, especially quaint little mountain towns. That's why I loved the movies "The Proposal" and "A River Runs Through It" and why I was so enamored with television shows like "Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman," "The Waltons," "Little House on the Prairie," "Bonanza," "Everwood," "Gilmore Girls," and yes, my all-time favorite, "Northern Exposure" ... I flipping loved "Northern Exposure" for far too many reasons to elaborate upon in this post, not the least of which was that I had a major crush on Janine Turner (Maggie the pilot for those of you old enough to remember the show). Suffice it to say that I often dreamed of moving to a town like Cicely, Alaska, and becoming an eclectic local just like the folks who were depicted on the television series.

It's hard for me to believe that only a couple of days ago I was in Canada ... just last Saturday evening I was stretched out on the floor with my two favorite little Canadians jumping and crawling all over me. My son Brad and I were only able to spend a few days with my son Matt and his family, but believe me, I'd fly around the world for just one moment with my precious granddaughters ... yep, that's how much I love Coraline and Amelie ... I'd willingly get on a plane and fly around the world for just one of their sweet hugs. After three perfect days with Matt, Becca and the girls, Brad and I hopped in a rental car and headed over to Calgary to film a huge chunk of the documentary we've been working on for more than a year. We spent a little more than three days in the home of Nate and Cindi Phelps ... to say they were more than abundantly gracious and kind would be a huge understatement, and we are truly humbled and honored that they have entrusted us to tell their story.

I decided before I headed out on my most recent Canadian journey that I would focus as much as possible on being fully present with my family and friends. I knew I couldn't completely unplug from technology, but I was determined to be on my laptop or phone far, far less than I normally am. And I'm happy to report that for the most part, I lived up to my self-imposed technology break and was able to make some real and lasting memories with my sons, my daughter-in-law, my granddaughters and my friends. It really struck me when I sat down after I got back home and read through a bunch of emails that there was a pretty equal division in the notes and messages I received. There were those who chewed me out for not writing and those who praised my commitment to focus on my family and friends. Even typing those words, it strikes me again ... at the end of the day, I can't make everyone happy no matter how hard I try or how badly I wish I could.

This particular trip was an extra special one for me for many reasons, some of which I'll be writing about in the coming days. I came home a different person than I was when I left ... I hope and pray with everything in me that I came home a better person than I was before. I hope and pray that I came home from my northern exposure a more loving, compassionate, caring person ... I hope and pray that I came home fully understanding that the most important things in life aren't things at all. Think on that for a while, friends ... think and stew and ponder and contemplate and mull it over ... the most important things in life have absolutely nothing to do with things. 

Fully Present

Hello, readers ... thanks to all of you who've written to ask why I haven't posted lately, and I promise I'll get back to blogging in a week or so. 

For this week, however, I've decided to focus on being fully present with my sweet sons, amazing daughter-in-law, precious granddaughters and dear friends. I want to listen fully, laugh freely and love with every ounce of love I have within me.

See you in a week or so ... I'm off to be fully present and listen to my sons talk about beer and my daughter-in-law ooh and ah over pictures of my gorgeous granddaughters. 

And don't worry, I promise I'll have some stories for you when I blog again. In the meantime ... be kind to one another ... don't worry about the things you can't change ... focus on what matters most of all ... each other.

Don't Shoot

My heart is heavy tonight for the people in my hometown back in Tennessee. As I'm sure most of you know, four Marines were killed today and three others were wounded when a 24-year-old young man opened fire at two different military recruiting offices in Chattanooga. The young man died today as well ... five lives lost and countless others changed forever in yet another senseless act of violence. Chattanooga isn't a large city, and as I read the news reports today, I immediately realized that the shootings took place not far from where several of my family members live or work. As I read the news reports of the shootings and the Facebook posts of my family and friends, I was reminded once again of how very precious life is and how quickly and tragically it can end.

There simply are not words to express the depth of my sorrow for the friends and families of the ones who lost their lives today ... please know there are hundreds of thousands of people across the country who are lifting you up in prayer tonight. The town where I was born and raised ... the town that will forever and always be home to me ... the town will never be the same again following the events that took place today, and that saddens me deeply for my family and friends who live there.

Please pray for the people of Chattanooga tonight, friends ... they will be faced with many difficult decisions in the next few days and their hearts will hurt as they never have before. Please pray for them ... please pray for all of the and while you're at it, get down on your knees and thank God for that breath you just drew. 

Your Place or Mine?

If you clicked on this evening's post thinking it would be a racy tale of a candlelight dinner, a walk in the park and drinks at the local tavern followed by a steamy romantic late-night encounter, prepare to be tremendously disappointed. I probably should apologize for my somewhat misleading title choice for tonight's post ... nah ... sometimes it's good to have a little fun and be a bit mischievous. My guess is I'm not the only one who tends to be too serious ... life's too short to be so serious all the time. In fact, I think we'd all be much better off if we played more and worried less.

When my three kiddos were young, they were big fans of Michael W. Smith, who is probably one of the most successful Christian singers of all time. The truth is I was just as big a fan of Mr. Smith as my children were ... maybe even more so. It wasn't just my kids who knew the words to every one of Michael W. Smith's songs, and they weren't the only ones singing along each time we popped in one of his CDs. Though I was quite moved by many of Mr. Smith's songs, there are two in particular that I often find myself humming even now all these years later and one of those songs has been playing in my head for the last several days ... "Place in This World."

I work with a lot of young folks, and though I have no idea why they do, several of them really seem to like me. They like me enough to invite me to tag along with them on their unusual lunch outings ... trust me when I say you haven't fully experienced life until you've dined at the weird taco place down the street from our office with a group of young guys on Taco Tuesday. You can also trust me when I tell you that more than one of those young guys has received a free t-shirt from said weird taco place for eating 10 tacos in one sitting. While it's a ton of fun to watch the guys eat more tacos than any human should ever eat, that's not why I love going to lunch with this group of fine young men. It's the conversation that I love ... it's listening to these young men talk about their hopes and dreams, their fears and failures, their search for their place in this world ... that's what I love most about my lunches with the guys.

While I was lunching with the young men a week or so ago, a thought popped into my mind ... a thought I've been unable to shake ... a thought that may well be one of the biggest thoughts I've had in a long, long, long time. Just a few short months ago, I wouldn't have ever believed that part of my place in this world would include such sweet friendships as I now share with these young men. And had I listened to the voice of fear and doubt and unworthiness that's always playing in my mind ... had I given heed to that inner voice telling me it wasn't my place to be friends with these guys, I would have missed out on knowing some of the coolest, most interesting, intelligent, kindhearted, wonderful fellows I've ever known. I don't care how many servers or patrons of various restaurants look surprised to see this old gray-haired girl lunching and laughing it up with my gang of guys, I wouldn't trade my place with my buds for anything.

See, here's the thing, friends ... we all need to stop worrying about whether it's your place or mine to speak up and make a difference. It's not your place or mine ... it's ours.

Hot Diggity Dog

When I was diagnosed with diabetes a few years ago, it took me a few days to wrap my mind around the fact that life as I had always known it had changed forever in the blink of an eye. The moment my doctor uttered the words, "You have diabetes and it's serious," my very existence suddenly became dependent upon blood sugar levels and the food I chose to eat, or not to eat as the case may be. For the most part, I've grown accustomed to the standard high protein, low carb diabetic diet ... for the most part being the important and key words in that statement. There are times, like today at work, for instance, when we were all treated to a Chipotle buffet in the kitchen following our quarterly meeting.

I would have given almost anything this afternoon to be able to chow down on a giant burrito ... a soft flour tortilla filled to capacity with rice and beans and sour cream and corn salsa ... but instead I mixed together a couple of spoonfuls of chicken and steak, threw some cheese, lettuce and fresh tomato salsa on top, and called it done. The crazy thing is that we've had Chipotle catered in for our quarterly meeting lunches a bunch of times and I didn't crave a burrito at all. I wasn't jealous of my co-workers as they created their own version of burritos and nachos ... yes, there are always tortilla chips, too ... but today for some unknown reason, I would have given just about anything to be able to eat a delicious filled-to-overflowing Chipotle burrito.

My daughter and son-in-law live in a small town in Missouri ... a small town that has a gigantic Fourth of July celebration, so gigantic, in fact, that it lasts for four days. Just like so many other things in my life, there was no way I could fully understand or appreciate what a big deal the Fourth of July festivities are in my daughter and son-in-law's town until I experienced them firsthand. Even though Meg and Barrett have told me over and over again how spectacular the celebration is, I just didn't get it until I saw it with my own eyes, smelled it with my own nose, heard it with my own ears and tasted it with my own mouth. I was amazed at how many people filled the park for the concerts, veteran appreciation ceremonies and fireworks ... people came from miles around to this little town to take part in the Fourth of July festivities. 

I was more than a little anxious when my daughter and son-in-law informed me upon my arrival that they had signed me up to work with them at a food truck on Friday evening ... anxious because I had never in my life worked at a food truck and didn't have a clue what to expect. I'll spare you the details of how miserably I failed at my initial assignment ... let's just say that I would make a really terrible server in a restaurant and leave it at that. Because of my complete ineptitude at making change and remembering what people were ordering, it only took a few minutes for the head of the crew to politely ask me to relinquish my spot on the front lines and move to the inside of the truck to help prepare the food. Now remember, I had never ever worked at or in anything that even remotely resembled a food truck, and I'm quite sure the seasoned folks who are without question food truck gods and goddesses could have and probably should have kicked me right out the door of their gourmet wagon on wheels as my inexperience quickly made itself known. Perhaps it was just nerves, but you would think I had never put a hot dog on a bun in my entire life. I mean seriously ... the other people working that evening in the food truck had unbelievably awesome food prepping skills, and I struggled like a crazy woman just trying to put hot dogs on buns. 

As I was driving home after work this evening, I realized that it wasn't the soft flour tortilla with all the fixings that I was really craving at work today ... it wasn't the tortillas I wanted at all. What I was craving ... what I wanted and would have given anything to have was to be like everyone else. I wanted to not feel different from my friends at work ... I wanted to be the same as them. It's the same feeling I had when I was standing in that food truck on the Fourth of July weekend ... I would have given anything in that moment to not feel different or inadequate ... I would have given anything to just be like the people who ripped through preparing burgers and dogs and walking tacos like no one else I've ever seen.

So what's my point this evening? What great lesson I've learned or truth I've come to understand do I have to share with you? The truth is that I will never again have the luxury of eating whatever I want and the odds are I'll always be the odd eater in the crowd. The lesson is that there are now and will forever be things that I'm not good at, and that's absolutely, positively okay. It's our differences that make us special ... it's when we learn to use our differences to work together that we become better people. I will never again be able to eat a loaded burrito and I most certainly will not win a hot dog making contest ... but ... but ... but ... I can buy Chipotle for a family who's struggling to make ends and I can cook up some hot dogs and feed a bunch of hungry kids or my homeless buddies under the bridge. You bet I can do that, friends ... you bet I can, and so can you.

Hot diggity dog ... that's why I was on that food truck and that's why I wanted that tortilla so badly ... hot diggity dog indeed.

I Was Almost a Period

This evening I have no clever story or meaningful memory with which to begin my post. In fact, this evening I find it to be an almost insurmountable task to even write at all. And yet I feel driven and compelled to write ... tonight I feel destined to share the words that are screaming to be loosed from my heart and aching to be freed from my mind. Tonight I have no choice but to write ... difficult though it may be ... tonight I have no choice but to let you see what I saw ... to let you hear what I heard ... to let you feel what I felt as I sat among a group of 14 parents whose greatest desire in life is to see their children live.

It was one of the fathers from the group of parents who contacted me almost four weeks ago after someone sent him the link to our video "Ears Wide Open?" and information about my blog. As I sat on my couch reading his initial email, I was overcome with what my mom would have deemed a true "gully washer cryin' fit." You know the kind of crying I'm talking about ... the kind that has you struggling to breathe while your tears are pouring like rain and you're wiping your nose with the back of your hand to keep your snot from dripping on the floor. I'm not sure I even made it to the end of the gentleman's first sentence before the tears came ... tears that come to me so frequently now as I learn of the pain and desperation another person is experiencing. 

What began as one email from a father whose teenage child has attempted suicide twice in the last six months ended with me sitting in a room with seven sets of emotionally drained and unspeakably frightened parents of LGBT teens who have attempted suicide within the previous six to eight months. I have never felt so humbled as I did as I listened to the stories told by those precious parents ... stories that all had the same ending ... parents who love their children and want nothing more than to see them live. That's all ... parents who just want to see their children choose life rather than death. I sat among those mothers and fathers and wished with all my might that I could promise them their kids would someday be okay ... but I couldn't. The truth is that according to statistics, LGBT teenagers are four times more likely to commit suicide than heterosexual teens ... read that again ... lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender kids are four times more likely to commit suicide than straight kids. 

I'm quite certain it's not a coincidence that my meeting with the 14 parents took place within days of me receiving multiple emails asking me if I knew about Project Semicolon ... if you haven't heard of it, you should check it out and you should read the story of the young gal who started it. People from all over the country are getting tattoos of a semicolon on their bodies ... the semicolon tattoo has become a symbol for raising awareness about mental illness, depression and suicide. I love these words on the Project Semicolon website ... "A semicolon is used when an author could've chosen to end their sentence but chose not to. The author is you and the sentence is your life." As my meeting with the parents drew to a close, one of the mothers noticed my Hebrew tattoo peeking out from below my rolled-up shirt sleeve and asked if I had heard about the semicolon tattoo movement. I said I had and then watched in amazement as all 14 of those parents turned their hands over ... every single parent in that room had a tattoo of a semicolon on their palms ... every single parent had a semicolon tattoo on their palms ... every single parent.

Perhaps it's because I've been reading about the semicolon tattoo project a lot over the last week or so that's caused me to think so much lately about that day a little more than three years ago when I sat at my kitchen table ready to end my life. I was almost a period rather than a semicolon ... I came within minutes of being a period ... I came within minutes of choosing to end the sentence of my life with the period of a drug overdose. 

I was almost a period ... I was so very, very close to being a period instead of a semicolon. Please, please, please help the people around you who are hurting to find their semicolon, friends ... don't let them become a period ... pay attention to them, listen to them, love them unconditionally and help them be a semicolon.

Where the Boys Are

Today was one of those days when all I wanted to do was stay home, snuggle with Ollie and our house guest Maxie (Brad's dog) and drink hot tea. It was one of those days when I kind of sort of wished I wasn't so ethical when it comes to taking sick days from work ... okay, okay ... I wished a whole lot that I could fake a cough or claim a headache, call in and say I was sick, and not be torn apart by mountains of guilt so intense that I would end up telling my boss I wasn't really sick after all and offering to use a vacation day instead of a sick day. Don't even tell me you haven't felt the same way at least once in your life ... don't even. My job had absolutely nothing to do with me wanting to stay home today, by the way ... it was simply a Monday that arrived too quickly on the heels of a busy weekend and I just wanted to sleep in and laze around the house all day in my favorite jambos. But being the honorable person I am, I dragged myself out of bed and went to work anyway. 

Perhaps another part of why I didn't want to leave my house today was because the weather guys have been saying for the past two days that storms would be erupting in our area this afternoon ... okay, okay ... that was a big part of the reason why I wanted to stay home. If you've been reading along with me for any length of time at all, you know I feel about stormy weather ... I do not like it one bit. While we've had some nasty storms in and around KC, the last time I remember the tornado sirens sounding in my neighborhood was on May 6, 2012. The reason I remember the specific date is because it was the day we had a going-away party for Matt, Becca and Coraline before they moved to Canada. The party was great ... the total meltdown I had following the party when the sirens began blaring wasn't so great. Today ended the 3-year dry spell of tornado sirens for me ... there were tornado warnings issued not only for the county where my office is located but for the county where my house sits as well. Not kidding ... tornado sirens were blaring all across Kansas City late this afternoon. Thankfully, I haven't heard of any injuries ... lots of damage and flooding around town, but as far as I know, no one got hurt.

I watched the radar all afternoon at my desk ... yes, I can edit and watch radar at the same time ... and did my civic duty by keeping everyone within earshot informed as to where the watches and warnings were. What I really mean is that everyone around me could hear me proclaiming over and over again, "I don't like this ... I don't like this at all ... I really, really, really don't like this," and they most certainly could sense my anxiety level climbing higher and higher as the sky grew darker and darker. It was only a few minutes after I saw that the area where I live was under a tornado warning ... and yes, I was freaking out worrying about Ollie and Max and my home ... when I thought I heard the sirens sounding outside of our office. I asked the gal who sits next to me if that was the sirens I was hearing and she assured me that it wasn't ... she was wrong. When I confirmed with someone else that it was indeed the tornado sirens I was hearing, it took me less than a minute to gather my things, throw on my backpack and head for the back stairwell where I was greeted by several of my co-workers who unbeknownst to me are wusses just like me when it comes to storms. Uh ... I meant to say several of my co-workers who, like me, have a healthy respect for those blaring horns ... nah ... pretty sure they were almost as scared as I was. And so you know, I refuse to answer any questions as to whether I may or may not have been the last one to leave the stairwell.

It shouldn't have surprised me when, in the midst of the storm, my phone rang and I saw that it was my son Brad. The first thing he said when I answered the phone was, "Mom, I'm calling to make sure you're okay. Shelby said there are bad storms there and the sirens are going off, and I know how scared you get ... are you okay, Mom?" I blinked back tears as I told my sweet middle kiddo that I was still at the office and that my buddies Brent, Danny and Yosef were taking extra good care of me ... in fact, Yosef stayed right by my side and even shared his Veggie Straws with me until the worst of the storm had passed and I was finally able to head home. I'm not sure which made it harder to see the road as I drove home tonight, the driving rain or the tears that filled my eyes as I thought about how very blessed I am to have people in my life who love and care so deeply about me. People who love me enough to put up with all my crazy quirks and irrational fears ... people who love me enough to call and text just to make sure I'm okay ... people who love me enough to stay by my side when the skies darken and the sirens warn of danger nearby. I am blessed, friends ... so very, very blessed to have people in my life who love me enough not to give up on me or let me give up on myself.

By the way ... if the weather gets bad while I'm at the office and you're looking for me, I'll be where the boys are ... you can bet your last cent I'll be where the boys are.

A Civic, a Chevy and Certifiably Crazy Courage

When my son Matt called to tell me he had accepted a teaching position at the University of Alberta, I managed to hold it together until I got off the phone. I remember that phone call like it was yesterday ... it's hard to believe that Matt and his little family have lived in Canada for three years. I remember what I did as soon as I got off the phone with Matt that evening ... I climbed into my bed, pulled the covers over my head and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. While I was so proud of Matt for landing such a sought-after position, I was absolutely terrified that I would never be able to have a close relationship with my granddaughter Coraline. That's the perfect example of just one more time in my life when I was wrong ... if you've been reading along with me, you know that sweet little Boo and I are buddies for life. And guess what? My second granddaughter Amelie knows me, too ... the minute she sees me on Skype, she starts smiling and heading for the computer. 

A couple of weeks ago when my son Brad called to tell me he was moving to Maine for two months to work on a project for Discovery Channel, I did the same thing I did when Matt called to tell me they were moving to Canada ... I held it together until I got off the phone, and then I bawled my eyes out. Even though my mind knows it's a temporary move for Brad and a really great opportunity for him career-wise, my heart wants him not to be so far away. And I must say that it scared the living daylights out of me when he told me he was planning to drive the new used Honda Civic he bought last week all the way to Maine, especially since just a month or so ago he was in a serious accident that totaled his Jeep. Brad headed out for Maine on Sunday, and I can't tell you what a relief it was to answer the phone on Monday evening and hear his sweet voice say, "I'm in Maine, Mom!" 

Last night I mentioned an amazing young man I've been blessed to work with for the last 2 1/2 years, and the emotional conversation we had before he left yesterday. My young friend didn't leave our agency to go to work somewhere else ... on Friday, he'll hop into his recently purchased Chevy van to begin the first leg of a two-month journey around the country. Yep, my friend Kyle is hitting the road for what I am certain will prove to be one of the greatest adventures of his life. He's following a route originally mapped out by his grandfather ... young Kyle is taking the trip his grandfather never got to take, which makes his journey take on even deeper meaning. One of the things I respect most about my young friend is his love for his family and friends ... Kyle gets it ... he gets what matters most in life. I can't possibly imagine the level of anxiety his mom is experiencing in regard to her baby boy's upcoming adventure, but I can easily imagine the level of pride she feels for her son.

Though Brad and Kyle are traveling for different reasons and their journeys will have different outcomes at the end of these two months, they share one common trait ... courage. It takes courage to leave your comfort zone, no matter what that comfort zone may be. For both Brad and Kyle to do what they're doing takes certifiably crazy courage, and I'm beyond proud of them for following their dreams and broadening their horizons. Both Brad and Kyle will return in two months as changed young men, of that I have no doubt. They will have a new perspective on life ... a perspective they could never have if they didn't have the courage to take a leap of faith, to trust their hearts, to pave new trails and experience new horizons. 

A Civic, a Chevy and certifiably crazy courage ... go get 'em, boys.