When my children and I moved from the house my ex-husband and I purchased when we first moved to Kansas City, we moved into a much, much smaller home. It was important to me, however, that even though the square footage was much less, we would still have four bedrooms so that each one of my kids would have their own space. My house is a story and a half ... a main level with two bedrooms, a bath, a family room and an eat-in kitchen; and an upper level with two bedrooms and a bath. As is true with most homes, we discovered a few quirks in our then 30-something-year-old house, not the least of which was that the upper two bedrooms are always hotter in the summer and colder in the winter than the rest of the house ... significantly hotter and colder, in fact.
A few months ago, some dear friends of mine gave me their old treadmill because they got a new one. I used to go walk at the mall near my house when the weather didn't allow me to walk outside, but now I can just jet upstairs to my treadmill and hoof away. The only problem is that it's hot here in Kansas City ... really hot ... so the bedroom that holds the treadmill is much hotter than the main level of the house where I reside most of the time. After a couple of nights of walking on the treadmill and soaking my clothes completely through with the sweat that was pouring from every pore on my body, I got a brilliant idea. Climbing the stairs and feeling the change in temperature about halfway to the top, I decided that I could strip down to my ... well ... my undies and my walking shoes for my hour or so of exercise on the treadmill. There's no one around to see me, unless of course you count my dogs Julie and Ollie, but I really don't think they care.
Last night as I walked in my semi-naked state on the treadmill, a thought popped into my head. If I die while I'm walking, someone is going to find me half naked on this treadmill and think I'm a crazy woman. And my next thoughts were ... So would that be the most embarrassing thing ever? Would the newspapers read "Woman found dead in her underwear on her treadmill surrounded by her dogs"? Would my children ever be able to live down the fact that their mom really was that crazy?
As I contemplated stopping my walk and putting my shorts and t-shirt back on just in case I did bite the dust on the treadmill, I felt the now familiar nudging in my heart that God had something He wanted me to learn and understand and absorb. Everyone else in this world may see the clothes I wear on my body, but God sees the real me, the naked me, if you will. Others may see a smile on my face, but God sees my aching heart ... others may see a confident spirit, but God sees my overwhelming fear ... others may see strength or achievement, but God sees my weakness and pride.
It seems fitting to end this post with some verses from Psalm 139 in God's Word, verses that have taken on a whole new meaning to me over the last year ... He sees me ... He knows me ... He loves me.
"O LORD, You have searched me and known me.
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
You understand my thought from afar.
You scrutinize my path and my lying down,
And are intimately acquainted with all my ways.
Even before there is a word on my tongue,
Behold, O LORD, You know it all.
You have enclosed me behind and before,
And laid Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
It is too high, I cannot attain to it.
Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
Even there Your hand will lead me,
And Your right hand will lay hold of me.
If I say, 'Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
And the light around me will be night,'
Even the darkness is not dark to You,
And the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to You.
Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me and know my anxious thoughts;
And see if there be any hurtful way in me,
And lead me in the everlasting way."
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Look For Me
The house we first lived in when we moved to Kansas City had a formal dining room with a huge window that almost filled one whole wall from floor to ceiling. It was beautiful, but it was also a bear to keep clean with three little kiddos in the house. It's funny how much your perspective changes as you age ... if I could do it again, I'd treasure every little fingerprint I ever removed from that window. My children were young when we first came here to live ... Matt was five; Brad was three; and Meg was a little over a year old. Occasionally, I would run errands alone and leave the three of them at home with their dad ... not often, but once in a while I simply needed to get out of the house and have a bit of time to myself. And many, many times when I returned and pulled into the driveway and pushed the button to open the garage door, I would see three little faces pressed against the dining room window, waiting and watching for me to come home. The minute they saw my van, they would clap their tiny hands, jump up and down, and shout, "Mommie's home! Mommie's home!"
I'm not sure why, but for the last month or so, I've been sort of captivated by old Southern gospel music and have even downloaded several CDs onto my iPod. Many of you may be too young to recognize the names of groups such as The Happy Goodman Family, The Oak Ridge Boys, The Blackwood Brothers, The Gaither Vocal Band or The Cathedral Quartet, but trust me ... those groups could flat out sing an old gospel song. My mom loved to watch the Gaither Homecoming series on video (musical reunions of sorts of some of those old timer vocalists), and last night I spent a couple of hours watching some clips from those videos on YouTube. It's one thing to listen to music playing in your ears, but it really got to me last night ... perhaps because I had already had such a weepy day ... to watch those older folks as they sang, most with tears streaming down their faces and many of whom have now passed away.
It struck me last night as I watched and listened to song after song just how many of their songs were about heaven. And I couldn't help but think about the heavenly choir that is singing praises to God ... a choir filled not only with those famous voices, but with voices from simple folks like my dad, too. What incredible music they must be making together ... what incredible music. I've said before in this blog that I think more about heaven now than I ever have, and as I watched the older folks sing last night, I could sense their understanding that heaven wasn't far away for them. There was no fear or trepidation in them, but rather anticipation and hope for the time they would see their Lord face to face.
As I readied myself for bed last night, one song in particular was stuck in my head ... a song titled Look For Me by The Happy Goodman Family. It's a song about heaven ... a song about looking for those you loved here on earth when you get to heaven. Snuggling into my bed next to my sleepy dogs, I couldn't help but think about my old dining room window and my kids as they watched and waited for me to come home ... their noses pressed against the window, their eyes dancing with excitement when they saw me. The odds are good that I will go to heaven before my children and grandchildren, just as my parents have preceded me in the transition from this life to the eternal. As my eyes grew heavy with sleep, I thought about heaven and wondered if there might be a big dining room window ... a window where I can watch and wait, a window where those I love are watching and waiting for me.
"You may look for me, for I'll be there,
I'll be there, I'll be there!
You may look for me, for I'll be there!
Glory to His Name!"
I'm not sure why, but for the last month or so, I've been sort of captivated by old Southern gospel music and have even downloaded several CDs onto my iPod. Many of you may be too young to recognize the names of groups such as The Happy Goodman Family, The Oak Ridge Boys, The Blackwood Brothers, The Gaither Vocal Band or The Cathedral Quartet, but trust me ... those groups could flat out sing an old gospel song. My mom loved to watch the Gaither Homecoming series on video (musical reunions of sorts of some of those old timer vocalists), and last night I spent a couple of hours watching some clips from those videos on YouTube. It's one thing to listen to music playing in your ears, but it really got to me last night ... perhaps because I had already had such a weepy day ... to watch those older folks as they sang, most with tears streaming down their faces and many of whom have now passed away.
It struck me last night as I watched and listened to song after song just how many of their songs were about heaven. And I couldn't help but think about the heavenly choir that is singing praises to God ... a choir filled not only with those famous voices, but with voices from simple folks like my dad, too. What incredible music they must be making together ... what incredible music. I've said before in this blog that I think more about heaven now than I ever have, and as I watched the older folks sing last night, I could sense their understanding that heaven wasn't far away for them. There was no fear or trepidation in them, but rather anticipation and hope for the time they would see their Lord face to face.
As I readied myself for bed last night, one song in particular was stuck in my head ... a song titled Look For Me by The Happy Goodman Family. It's a song about heaven ... a song about looking for those you loved here on earth when you get to heaven. Snuggling into my bed next to my sleepy dogs, I couldn't help but think about my old dining room window and my kids as they watched and waited for me to come home ... their noses pressed against the window, their eyes dancing with excitement when they saw me. The odds are good that I will go to heaven before my children and grandchildren, just as my parents have preceded me in the transition from this life to the eternal. As my eyes grew heavy with sleep, I thought about heaven and wondered if there might be a big dining room window ... a window where I can watch and wait, a window where those I love are watching and waiting for me.
"You may look for me, for I'll be there,
I'll be there, I'll be there!
You may look for me, for I'll be there!
Glory to His Name!"
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Power in the Blood
My dad had a beautiful tenor voice, and for as far back as I can remember, Daddy sang in the church choir. In fact, he rarely missed a Sunday occupying his spot on the back row in the choir loft of the little Baptist church that I grew up in. And for as much as Daddy loved country music ... think Dolly and Porter and Johnny ... he loved the old gospel hymns even more. Even when his mind was ravaged with Alzheimer's disease, he could still remember the lines to some of his most favorite songs ... We'll Work 'Til Jesus Comes, How Great Thou Art, Victory in Jesus and There's Power in the Blood. I can close my eyes even now and picture Daddy laying in his hospital bed in the back room of his and Mom's house ... belting out the lyrics to his beloved hymns.
This morning, I went for my fasting blood work, and yes, someone drove me. It was a long night, and I woke up this morning crying ... you just gotta love it when you wake up crying. I suppose the only sweet part about it is that Ollie the wiener dog always tries to lick my tears when I cry, and in light of how easily I cry now, that crazy dog spends a lot of time trying to lick my face. No matter how hard I tried this morning, I couldn't control the tears ... I cried in the shower; I cried while I was waiting for my friend to come pick me up; I cried on the drive to the doctor's office; and I even made a fool of myself and cried while the gal drew my blood.
I had sort of pulled myself together as I sat in the chair waiting for the nurse to begin the procedure, watching as she lined up the collection vials on the desk to my right. Looking at the tubes that would soon hold my blood, I was completely overwhelmed with the thought that leapt into my mind. For as long as I'm alive, I'm going to be forced to do these tests. For as long as I'm alive, my blood will fill these tubes. And the tears returned. It was a rough blood draw this morning, involving several attempts to fill all the tubes that were required for the multiple tests. As the tears rolled down my cheeks, I began to think about the power that my own blood now has over my entire life. I live or die by the level of sugar in my blood. Blood, blood, blood ... my head pounded with the thought of the power in the blood ... with the thought of my dad singing ... with the thought of a baby coming ... with the thought of life or death ... blood, blood, blood.
Would you do service for Jesus your King?
There’s power in the blood, power in the blood;
Would you live daily His praises to sing?
There’s wonderful power in the blood.
There is power, power, wonder working power
In the blood of the Lamb;
There is power, power, wonder working power
In the precious blood of the Lamb."
This morning, I went for my fasting blood work, and yes, someone drove me. It was a long night, and I woke up this morning crying ... you just gotta love it when you wake up crying. I suppose the only sweet part about it is that Ollie the wiener dog always tries to lick my tears when I cry, and in light of how easily I cry now, that crazy dog spends a lot of time trying to lick my face. No matter how hard I tried this morning, I couldn't control the tears ... I cried in the shower; I cried while I was waiting for my friend to come pick me up; I cried on the drive to the doctor's office; and I even made a fool of myself and cried while the gal drew my blood.
I had sort of pulled myself together as I sat in the chair waiting for the nurse to begin the procedure, watching as she lined up the collection vials on the desk to my right. Looking at the tubes that would soon hold my blood, I was completely overwhelmed with the thought that leapt into my mind. For as long as I'm alive, I'm going to be forced to do these tests. For as long as I'm alive, my blood will fill these tubes. And the tears returned. It was a rough blood draw this morning, involving several attempts to fill all the tubes that were required for the multiple tests. As the tears rolled down my cheeks, I began to think about the power that my own blood now has over my entire life. I live or die by the level of sugar in my blood. Blood, blood, blood ... my head pounded with the thought of the power in the blood ... with the thought of my dad singing ... with the thought of a baby coming ... with the thought of life or death ... blood, blood, blood.
After being escorted to the car by nurses on either side of my wobbly legs, my head swimming and my stomach churning, my friend stopped at McDonald's and got me a breakfast burrito (the only good part of fasting blood work, by the way) and took me home. She settled me on the couch before she left, and I closed my eyes in the hope that sleep would come quickly and take away my pounding headache. Eventually I did snooze for a bit, but before I did, my mind continued to pulse with the words ... power in the blood ... power in the blood ... power in the blood. God has a lesson for me in today's painful visit to the lab ...
"Would you be free from the burden of sin?
There’s power in the blood, power in the blood;
Would you o’er evil a victory win?
There’s wonderful power in the blood.
There’s power in the blood, power in the blood;
Would you o’er evil a victory win?
There’s wonderful power in the blood.
Would you be free from your passion and pride?
There’s power in the blood, power in the blood;
Come for a cleansing to Calvary’s tide;
There’s wonderful power in the blood.
There’s power in the blood, power in the blood;
Come for a cleansing to Calvary’s tide;
There’s wonderful power in the blood.
Would you be whiter, much whiter than snow?
There’s power in the blood, power in the blood;
Sin stains are lost in its life giving flow.
There’s wonderful power in the blood.
There’s power in the blood, power in the blood;
Sin stains are lost in its life giving flow.
There’s wonderful power in the blood.
There’s power in the blood, power in the blood;
Would you live daily His praises to sing?
There’s wonderful power in the blood.
There is power, power, wonder working power
In the blood of the Lamb;
There is power, power, wonder working power
In the precious blood of the Lamb."
Monday, July 18, 2011
And Then There Were Three
My whole life I've heard people talk about women's intuition ... you know, the way women just seem to "know" certain things or pick up on certain emotions or anticipate certain events. And honestly, I've always believed that the concept of women having an innate sense of what's happening in the world around them is true, and especially so in regard to the mother and child relationship. Those of you who are moms know what I'm talking about ... the times that a mom knows that her children are in trouble or that something great has happened to them or that they need to talk ... a mom somehow knows what's going on with her kiddos. Well, at least I used to be that kind of mom ... the events of the last few days, however, say that I've lost my touch in regard to reading my children.
Our family gathering on Saturday evening was organized by Matt and Becca, most definitely the two planners in the family. I'm quite certain that I've written before about Matt's penchant for organization dating all the way back to his color-coordinated drawer arrangement of his tube socks or his alphabetization of the foods in my pantry. So I wasn't at all surprised when Matt and Becca began to coordinate our dinner get-together a couple of weeks in advance, thinking that they wanted us to meet Brad's new girlfriend Shelby (whom we did, by the way, and she is a lovely and charming young lady). It was the first time we had been together as a family since Meghann and Barrett's wedding a little over a month ago, and, as I'm sure you know, weddings don't lend themselves very well to laid-back, easy-going times of talking and visiting.
We had barely settled in at the table when Matt, smiling broadly with his crystal clear blue eyes dancing with glee, leaned forward and said, "We wanted all of us to get together tonight because Becca and I have something to tell you, and we wanted to tell you all together at once." As I placed my hand over my mouth and my eyes filled with tears, I looked from Matt to Becca who was grinning from ear to ear. I heard Matt say, "We're going to have a baby!" as Becca reached into her purse to retrieve the photos from their first sonogram. My hands were trembling as I took the photos from Becca's outstretched hand ... I sat at the table in the restaurant and bawled as I looked at the first pictures of my future grandchild. Technology has certainly come a long way since I was pregnant with my three kiddos ... I could see my grandbaby's nose and lips and face, and I could even see the fingers on its little hand as she (Matt is convinced that the baby is a girl) attempted to suck her tiny thumb.
So here's the thing ... I had no clue, no idea, no hint, no feeling that my son and his sweet wife were even thinking about starting a family. And here's the other thing ... they found out they were pregnant the day before Meghann and Barrett's wedding and managed to keep it a secret the entire time they were here because they didn't want to take away from their wedding day. And here's one more thing ... I'm going to be a grandma ... I so didn't see that one coming.
It's no secret to those of you who read this blog on a regular basis that the last year has been tough for me; depression combined with the daily grind of diabetes has quite literally sucked the life out of me. The last month or so has been especially hard ... and before you ask, I don't know why, it just has. I do know that I've grown weary of battling each day against the overwhelming sadness that continues to permeate my heart and soul and mind. And now ... now there's a baby coming ... now I'm going to be a grandma. A friend told me when I told her about Matt and Becca's news ... "So it seems to me that God has given you a pretty giant reason to hang on and keep fighting, Terrie ... a giant little reason."
I'm going to be a grandma ... my kid is having a kid of his own ... I so totally did not see that one coming ... wow, God ... wow.
Our family gathering on Saturday evening was organized by Matt and Becca, most definitely the two planners in the family. I'm quite certain that I've written before about Matt's penchant for organization dating all the way back to his color-coordinated drawer arrangement of his tube socks or his alphabetization of the foods in my pantry. So I wasn't at all surprised when Matt and Becca began to coordinate our dinner get-together a couple of weeks in advance, thinking that they wanted us to meet Brad's new girlfriend Shelby (whom we did, by the way, and she is a lovely and charming young lady). It was the first time we had been together as a family since Meghann and Barrett's wedding a little over a month ago, and, as I'm sure you know, weddings don't lend themselves very well to laid-back, easy-going times of talking and visiting.
We had barely settled in at the table when Matt, smiling broadly with his crystal clear blue eyes dancing with glee, leaned forward and said, "We wanted all of us to get together tonight because Becca and I have something to tell you, and we wanted to tell you all together at once." As I placed my hand over my mouth and my eyes filled with tears, I looked from Matt to Becca who was grinning from ear to ear. I heard Matt say, "We're going to have a baby!" as Becca reached into her purse to retrieve the photos from their first sonogram. My hands were trembling as I took the photos from Becca's outstretched hand ... I sat at the table in the restaurant and bawled as I looked at the first pictures of my future grandchild. Technology has certainly come a long way since I was pregnant with my three kiddos ... I could see my grandbaby's nose and lips and face, and I could even see the fingers on its little hand as she (Matt is convinced that the baby is a girl) attempted to suck her tiny thumb.
So here's the thing ... I had no clue, no idea, no hint, no feeling that my son and his sweet wife were even thinking about starting a family. And here's the other thing ... they found out they were pregnant the day before Meghann and Barrett's wedding and managed to keep it a secret the entire time they were here because they didn't want to take away from their wedding day. And here's one more thing ... I'm going to be a grandma ... I so didn't see that one coming.
It's no secret to those of you who read this blog on a regular basis that the last year has been tough for me; depression combined with the daily grind of diabetes has quite literally sucked the life out of me. The last month or so has been especially hard ... and before you ask, I don't know why, it just has. I do know that I've grown weary of battling each day against the overwhelming sadness that continues to permeate my heart and soul and mind. And now ... now there's a baby coming ... now I'm going to be a grandma. A friend told me when I told her about Matt and Becca's news ... "So it seems to me that God has given you a pretty giant reason to hang on and keep fighting, Terrie ... a giant little reason."
I'm going to be a grandma ... my kid is having a kid of his own ... I so totally did not see that one coming ... wow, God ... wow.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Transformation Time
To say that it's hot in Kansas City doesn't even begin to tell the full story of how truly hot it is here. In the 21 years I've lived here, I don't ever remember so many days in a row where it's been this hot and humid. There have been hot days, but I can't remember such a stretch of endless heat. It's so hot it's hard to breathe when I step outside, and it's so humid that within minutes of going outside, I'm quite literally soaking wet. Except early, early in the morning ... and I do mean early. I've been walking at 5:30 a.m. for the past few days, because it's the only time of day that is cool enough to be out on the trail.
Yesterday morning, I was deep in thought as I walked alone in the low light before the sun officially rose for the day. I was thinking about the day ahead ... what I needed to get done around the house; where I needed to shop for groceries; when I needed to leave to drive to Topeka to meet my children and their wife, husband and girlfriend for dinner; how I was going to gear myself up and put on my happy face for everyone I had to have contact with throughout what promised to be a very long day. I was so deep in thought, in fact, that I was sort of ... well ... wandering a bit on the trail as I walked with my hat pulled low on my forehead and my eyes planted on the path beneath my feet. And I was wandering so much that I walked right into a tree on the side of the trail ... yep, I walked smack dab head-on into a tree. Thankfully, the bill of my cap hit the bark of the tree before my face did, and I made sure that I paid better attention to where I was going for the remainder of my walk.
It never ceases to amaze me how it seems that God almost always has a lesson to teach me out on the walking trail ... and to think that not that long ago, I only went for a walk on the trail when my kids forced me to go. And now ... well, now, walking not only keeps me alive physically, there are days when I feel that my time on the trail is all that keeps me alive emotionally and mentally. After my bump into the tree yesterday morning, I decided to sit for a few minutes on a bench along the side of the trail before heading toward home. Sitting there sipping on my water bottle and telling myself how dumb it was that I didn't see the tree, I pushed my cap back a bit on my head. As I brought my hand down from my cap, a large monarch butterfly landed on the end of the bench. Watching its wings slowly move back and forth, I wondered if it was the time of year when the monarchs migrate through Kansas City. Some years, it is an amazing sight ... butterflies everywhere ... floating effortlessly along on their journey.
The butterfly was on my mind all day, and I found myself thinking about the transformation that takes place when a caterpillar becomes a butterfly ... I thought about the slow movement of the caterpillar crawling along, about the time spent wrapped in a cocoon, about the freedom of flight once the transformation is complete. As I sat at dinner last night with my children, I recognized in full that they have all gone through the transformation from children to adults. As they laughed and talked and hugged, tears filled my eyes as I thanked God that they are all so healthy and happy, and that their lives are so full.
Climbing into my car to drive home, I couldn't help but wonder what the future holds ... for me and for my sweet children. I couldn't help but breathe a prayer of protection for them ... please, Lord, watch over my kids no matter what the future holds ... keep them, Father God, in the palm of Your mighty hand and wrapped in Your eternal love. I can never thank You enough for them, Lord, never enough.
Yesterday morning, I was deep in thought as I walked alone in the low light before the sun officially rose for the day. I was thinking about the day ahead ... what I needed to get done around the house; where I needed to shop for groceries; when I needed to leave to drive to Topeka to meet my children and their wife, husband and girlfriend for dinner; how I was going to gear myself up and put on my happy face for everyone I had to have contact with throughout what promised to be a very long day. I was so deep in thought, in fact, that I was sort of ... well ... wandering a bit on the trail as I walked with my hat pulled low on my forehead and my eyes planted on the path beneath my feet. And I was wandering so much that I walked right into a tree on the side of the trail ... yep, I walked smack dab head-on into a tree. Thankfully, the bill of my cap hit the bark of the tree before my face did, and I made sure that I paid better attention to where I was going for the remainder of my walk.
It never ceases to amaze me how it seems that God almost always has a lesson to teach me out on the walking trail ... and to think that not that long ago, I only went for a walk on the trail when my kids forced me to go. And now ... well, now, walking not only keeps me alive physically, there are days when I feel that my time on the trail is all that keeps me alive emotionally and mentally. After my bump into the tree yesterday morning, I decided to sit for a few minutes on a bench along the side of the trail before heading toward home. Sitting there sipping on my water bottle and telling myself how dumb it was that I didn't see the tree, I pushed my cap back a bit on my head. As I brought my hand down from my cap, a large monarch butterfly landed on the end of the bench. Watching its wings slowly move back and forth, I wondered if it was the time of year when the monarchs migrate through Kansas City. Some years, it is an amazing sight ... butterflies everywhere ... floating effortlessly along on their journey.
The butterfly was on my mind all day, and I found myself thinking about the transformation that takes place when a caterpillar becomes a butterfly ... I thought about the slow movement of the caterpillar crawling along, about the time spent wrapped in a cocoon, about the freedom of flight once the transformation is complete. As I sat at dinner last night with my children, I recognized in full that they have all gone through the transformation from children to adults. As they laughed and talked and hugged, tears filled my eyes as I thanked God that they are all so healthy and happy, and that their lives are so full.
Climbing into my car to drive home, I couldn't help but wonder what the future holds ... for me and for my sweet children. I couldn't help but breathe a prayer of protection for them ... please, Lord, watch over my kids no matter what the future holds ... keep them, Father God, in the palm of Your mighty hand and wrapped in Your eternal love. I can never thank You enough for them, Lord, never enough.
Friday, July 15, 2011
A Thousand Words
A picture is worth a thousand words. So two pictures are worth two thousand words, I suppose.
Julie and Ollie. Best buddies. Nuff said.
Julie and Ollie. Best buddies. Nuff said.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Setting Sun, Rising Moon
I've lived in Kansas for over 21 years, and it still amazes me how quickly the weather can change in the Midwest. I remember one year when a good friend from Tennessee came to spend a week with me and my kiddos, and in a 6-day time frame, we had fall-like temperatures that changed into blistering humid temps above 90 (which came with powerful thunderstorms and blaring tornado sirens). The week ended with a crazy drop in the temperature, and it was snowing when my friend left for the airport. All in one short 6-day time span. Which is why, I suppose, it didn't surprise me that following several days of dangerously high temperatures that precipitated excessive heat warnings, a cool front moved through yesterday afternoon and last night was close to perfect weatherwise.
After dinner, I played left-handed Frisbee with Julie until she was too tired to move and then I took Ollie for a long, long, long walk. I don't know who was more thankful to be out on the trail in the beautiful weather, me or my tired-of-being-in-the-house wiener dog. Ollie was so happy to be walking that he stuck out his little chest, wagged his little tail and pranced on his little paws like he was king of the world. He greeted every single person we passed, and he was especially excited to see the little kids along the trail who now know him by name. By the time we made our turn to head home, I looked at my watch and realized we had been on the trail for almost two hours.
Stopping to give Ollie a drink from his water bottle, I noticed that the sun was setting on the horizon in a beautiful display of reds and pinks. I'm not sure how long I stood by the side of the trail watching the orange ball descend behind the clouds with Ollie waiting patiently for me to start moving again. As I began to walk with Ollie trotting by my side, I remembered how my mom used to say that the sky in Kansas was so much bigger than the sky in Tennessee. Each time Mom would make that comment, I would say, "Mom, it's the same sky; it can't be bigger. It just seems bigger here because there aren't any mountains." And each time, Mom would smile and say, "It's all in how you see things ... the sky is bigger in Kansas."
It struck me as Ollie and I walked slowly toward home that there was a lesson in Mom's words that I had never taken heed of before. Life is all about perspective ... how I see things affects every piece and part of my life. Whether my sky is big or small is quite dependent on how I view it ... whether I see the openness of unobstructed fields or the confinement of seemingly unclimbable mountains ... it's all in how I see things. As we passed the elementary school that signaled we were almost home, Ollie suddenly stopped and I looked up to see two young girls approaching on their bicycles. Not wanting to take the time for Ollie to visit with them, I leaned forward and lifted him into my arms and as I did, the almost full moon rising in the sky to my left caught my eye. "Look, Ollie," I said, "look at the pretty moon." Again, I'm not sure how long I stood there gazing at the bright white sphere in the sky while I talked to my hound, but tears filled my eyes when I finally started walking toward home, speaking a prayer as I stepped.
Open my eyes and make me stop and see the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon, Lord. Let me see the world through Your eyes, Father ... keep me from seeing the mountains that seem so steep and cause me to see the open plains of Your love.
After dinner, I played left-handed Frisbee with Julie until she was too tired to move and then I took Ollie for a long, long, long walk. I don't know who was more thankful to be out on the trail in the beautiful weather, me or my tired-of-being-in-the-house wiener dog. Ollie was so happy to be walking that he stuck out his little chest, wagged his little tail and pranced on his little paws like he was king of the world. He greeted every single person we passed, and he was especially excited to see the little kids along the trail who now know him by name. By the time we made our turn to head home, I looked at my watch and realized we had been on the trail for almost two hours.
Stopping to give Ollie a drink from his water bottle, I noticed that the sun was setting on the horizon in a beautiful display of reds and pinks. I'm not sure how long I stood by the side of the trail watching the orange ball descend behind the clouds with Ollie waiting patiently for me to start moving again. As I began to walk with Ollie trotting by my side, I remembered how my mom used to say that the sky in Kansas was so much bigger than the sky in Tennessee. Each time Mom would make that comment, I would say, "Mom, it's the same sky; it can't be bigger. It just seems bigger here because there aren't any mountains." And each time, Mom would smile and say, "It's all in how you see things ... the sky is bigger in Kansas."
It struck me as Ollie and I walked slowly toward home that there was a lesson in Mom's words that I had never taken heed of before. Life is all about perspective ... how I see things affects every piece and part of my life. Whether my sky is big or small is quite dependent on how I view it ... whether I see the openness of unobstructed fields or the confinement of seemingly unclimbable mountains ... it's all in how I see things. As we passed the elementary school that signaled we were almost home, Ollie suddenly stopped and I looked up to see two young girls approaching on their bicycles. Not wanting to take the time for Ollie to visit with them, I leaned forward and lifted him into my arms and as I did, the almost full moon rising in the sky to my left caught my eye. "Look, Ollie," I said, "look at the pretty moon." Again, I'm not sure how long I stood there gazing at the bright white sphere in the sky while I talked to my hound, but tears filled my eyes when I finally started walking toward home, speaking a prayer as I stepped.
Open my eyes and make me stop and see the setting of the sun and the rising of the moon, Lord. Let me see the world through Your eyes, Father ... keep me from seeing the mountains that seem so steep and cause me to see the open plains of Your love.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Peaceful Coexistence
My dad was a hard worker, a really hard worker. He had a physical job at the railroad, and then he worked hard around the house when he came home in the evenings. Many weekends, Daddy spent a lot of time working at the little Baptist church that he helped build ... mowing the lawn, painting, repairing plumbing ... my sweet Daddy was a hard worker for sure. But Daddy also knew and understood the importance of relaxing, too ... of taking time to just be lazy or have fun. I remember him often saying, "It's a lazy kind of night, Sam, time to take it easy for a little while." The older I get, the more I realize that my dad was a very, very smart man who had a great knack for achieving balance in life, and I recognize that I could do well to learn from him even now.
Last night was a steamy, stormy night in Kansas City, and by 8:00, I decided I needed to put away my laptop and just be lazy until bedtime rolled around. Almost as soon as I closed my computer, Julie hopped up from her snooze at my feet and found a toy and plopped it in my lap, her tail wagging furiously and her eyes begging me to play. "Want to play, big girl?" I asked her as Ollie continued to sleep next to me on the couch. I tossed the toy down the hallway, and before I could blink, Ollie had flown off the couch and he and Julie were racing to retrieve the toy. I could hear them growling and see them tugging, each with an end of the toy in their mouths, as they came down the hallway carrying the toy together ... neither willing to let the other to carry the toy alone. That scene was repeated several times over the next half-hour or so as I continued to toss the toy to my hounds until they tired and collapsed in a panting heap next to each other on the floor in front of me.
Sliding off the couch and down to the floor next to the dogs, I patted their sleeping heads and smiled at the way Julie had thrown her paw over Oliver and pulled him close to her. "You two have become such good buddies, haven't you?" I said aloud to the tired pups. Tears filled my eyes as I recalled the rocky start that Ollie and Julie had, and how I thought the two of them would never be able to get along. I thought about the first time I brought Ollie home and how ferocious Julie was with him that day. I thought about how I cried all the way home after I took him back and told the lady that Julie hated the little wiener dog. I thought about how both the lady and Oliver just wouldn't go away, and how I eventually placed J.R.'s collar around Ollie's neck and Julie decided to let him stay. I thought about J.R. and how frightened he would have been in last night's storm. I thought about how Julie laid by his side and licked his head in the final days of his life. I looked at Ollie and Julie snuggled together last night, and I cried buckets of tears.
Someone said to me after J.R. died that she found it interesting that God chose a nonspeaking companion to speak to me so deeply. As I rose to dry my tears and ready myself for bed last night, I realized that there was a lesson for me in the companionship and love that I had just witnessed between Julie and Ollie. I don't believe God means for us to be at odds with each other in this life; I believe He wants us to have a peaceful coexistence as much as it is within our ability to do so. I don't think it pleases Him when we fight and snarl and attack each other; I think He wants us to play nice together, to carry things together and drop them at our Master's feet. I think He wants us to protect each other ... to put our paws around each other and hold each other close.
My prayer as I climbed into bed (quickly joined by Julie and Ollie) last night? Make me like my dogs, Lord ... teach me to lead a life of peaceful coexistence with those you have placed along the journey with me. Teach me to love as You love, to accept as You accept, to care as You care. Give me an open heart, God ... an open heart and open paws, too.
Last night was a steamy, stormy night in Kansas City, and by 8:00, I decided I needed to put away my laptop and just be lazy until bedtime rolled around. Almost as soon as I closed my computer, Julie hopped up from her snooze at my feet and found a toy and plopped it in my lap, her tail wagging furiously and her eyes begging me to play. "Want to play, big girl?" I asked her as Ollie continued to sleep next to me on the couch. I tossed the toy down the hallway, and before I could blink, Ollie had flown off the couch and he and Julie were racing to retrieve the toy. I could hear them growling and see them tugging, each with an end of the toy in their mouths, as they came down the hallway carrying the toy together ... neither willing to let the other to carry the toy alone. That scene was repeated several times over the next half-hour or so as I continued to toss the toy to my hounds until they tired and collapsed in a panting heap next to each other on the floor in front of me.
Sliding off the couch and down to the floor next to the dogs, I patted their sleeping heads and smiled at the way Julie had thrown her paw over Oliver and pulled him close to her. "You two have become such good buddies, haven't you?" I said aloud to the tired pups. Tears filled my eyes as I recalled the rocky start that Ollie and Julie had, and how I thought the two of them would never be able to get along. I thought about the first time I brought Ollie home and how ferocious Julie was with him that day. I thought about how I cried all the way home after I took him back and told the lady that Julie hated the little wiener dog. I thought about how both the lady and Oliver just wouldn't go away, and how I eventually placed J.R.'s collar around Ollie's neck and Julie decided to let him stay. I thought about J.R. and how frightened he would have been in last night's storm. I thought about how Julie laid by his side and licked his head in the final days of his life. I looked at Ollie and Julie snuggled together last night, and I cried buckets of tears.
Someone said to me after J.R. died that she found it interesting that God chose a nonspeaking companion to speak to me so deeply. As I rose to dry my tears and ready myself for bed last night, I realized that there was a lesson for me in the companionship and love that I had just witnessed between Julie and Ollie. I don't believe God means for us to be at odds with each other in this life; I believe He wants us to have a peaceful coexistence as much as it is within our ability to do so. I don't think it pleases Him when we fight and snarl and attack each other; I think He wants us to play nice together, to carry things together and drop them at our Master's feet. I think He wants us to protect each other ... to put our paws around each other and hold each other close.
My prayer as I climbed into bed (quickly joined by Julie and Ollie) last night? Make me like my dogs, Lord ... teach me to lead a life of peaceful coexistence with those you have placed along the journey with me. Teach me to love as You love, to accept as You accept, to care as You care. Give me an open heart, God ... an open heart and open paws, too.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Range of Motion
Some days just start off better than others, don't they? Some mornings, I wake up feeling rested, the dogs run right outside and do their business and come right back in, I have a good hair day, enjoy my breakfast, have time to check my email, traffic is light and I get to work a little early ... some days just begin better than others. Then there are the mornings that begin with really low blood sugar, the dogs take their sweet time outside, I'm exhausted because I've tossed and turned all night, I'm already late when I walk out the door and then it pours down rain and I sit in traffic forever ... days when I wish I would have stayed in bed. Or days like today ... when I had to get up extra early so that I could make it to my first 6:45 physical therapy appointment. Yep, I said 6:45 ... which meant I had to haul myself out of bed at 5:15. Not the grooviest way to start a Tuesday for sure.
I've never had to do physical therapy before, and I'm pretty sure that when I'm finished with the process on my shoulder, I'll never do it again. In fact, I think it should be called physical torture rather than therapy ... I had no idea what the therapist was going to do to me, and I'm already dreading going back next week. I'm also not looking forward to performing the exercises she instructed me to do each day until I return ... not once a day, mind you, but twice every single day. She kept saying that the mantra "no pain, no gain" didn't apply in my case and to only stretch until I felt pain. I didn't have the heart to tell the sweet little gal that I have pain in my shoulder with every movement.
She began my appointment with asking me a bunch of questions and then having me perform a list of tasks to determine my range of motion, using some funky little device to measure each different twist and turn. She started with my left arm, and I arrogantly said, "Well, this is a walk in the park," and proceeded to demonstrate just how far I could reach and how strong I was ... and then ... she instructed me to accomplish the same maneuvers with my right arm. My arrogance and strength quickly dissolved into grimaces of pain and weakness as I made a feeble attempt to do as she asked with my aching right shoulder and arm. Typing measurements and notes into her laptop, she said, "You certainly have a very limited range of motion with your right arm ... I can't believe you've lived with that level of pain for this long." After going through all the exercises she wants me to work on until my next appointment, she told me to lay down on the exam table and she wrapped my shoulder in a huge ice blanket ... and that icy cold blanket, my friends ... ahhh ... that blanket felt like heaven had come down and landed right on top of my old wounded wing.
I couldn't help but think about her range of motion comments as I left the rehab center and got into my car to drive to work. A very limited range of motion, I mused, as I merged onto the interstate and headed toward downtown. That young gal has no idea how true that is, I thought to myself, and not just in regard to my shoulder. My range of motion concerning life in general has become very limited over the last months ... and for all my trying and all my pondering about it, I can't determine why I feel the way I do. At a time in my life when I should be free to go wherever I desire or do whatever I want or most certainly to be myself, I feel grounded, trapped and confined. My kids are all out of the house and self-sufficient ... I should be having the time of my life and doing all the things I promised myself I would do when they were all grown and on their own. And yet ... and yet, my range of motion is very limited.
Sometimes I think God allows a lot of traffic on my drives to and from work so that He can speak to me while I'm alone in the car, and tonight's drive home was extra slow. All day the words "limited range of motion" have been swirling in my brain, and I've been trying to figure out just what God was trying to teach me through the therapist's words from this morning. As the cars slowed to a complete stop this evening, a thought jumped into my mind ... my motion in life is limited because I'm afraid to step out in faith and trust where God wants to take me. Whoa, I mused ... wonder where that thought came from ... I wonder indeed.
Limited range of motion ... speak to me, Lord ... lead me, Lord ... take me, Lord.
I've never had to do physical therapy before, and I'm pretty sure that when I'm finished with the process on my shoulder, I'll never do it again. In fact, I think it should be called physical torture rather than therapy ... I had no idea what the therapist was going to do to me, and I'm already dreading going back next week. I'm also not looking forward to performing the exercises she instructed me to do each day until I return ... not once a day, mind you, but twice every single day. She kept saying that the mantra "no pain, no gain" didn't apply in my case and to only stretch until I felt pain. I didn't have the heart to tell the sweet little gal that I have pain in my shoulder with every movement.
She began my appointment with asking me a bunch of questions and then having me perform a list of tasks to determine my range of motion, using some funky little device to measure each different twist and turn. She started with my left arm, and I arrogantly said, "Well, this is a walk in the park," and proceeded to demonstrate just how far I could reach and how strong I was ... and then ... she instructed me to accomplish the same maneuvers with my right arm. My arrogance and strength quickly dissolved into grimaces of pain and weakness as I made a feeble attempt to do as she asked with my aching right shoulder and arm. Typing measurements and notes into her laptop, she said, "You certainly have a very limited range of motion with your right arm ... I can't believe you've lived with that level of pain for this long." After going through all the exercises she wants me to work on until my next appointment, she told me to lay down on the exam table and she wrapped my shoulder in a huge ice blanket ... and that icy cold blanket, my friends ... ahhh ... that blanket felt like heaven had come down and landed right on top of my old wounded wing.
I couldn't help but think about her range of motion comments as I left the rehab center and got into my car to drive to work. A very limited range of motion, I mused, as I merged onto the interstate and headed toward downtown. That young gal has no idea how true that is, I thought to myself, and not just in regard to my shoulder. My range of motion concerning life in general has become very limited over the last months ... and for all my trying and all my pondering about it, I can't determine why I feel the way I do. At a time in my life when I should be free to go wherever I desire or do whatever I want or most certainly to be myself, I feel grounded, trapped and confined. My kids are all out of the house and self-sufficient ... I should be having the time of my life and doing all the things I promised myself I would do when they were all grown and on their own. And yet ... and yet, my range of motion is very limited.
Sometimes I think God allows a lot of traffic on my drives to and from work so that He can speak to me while I'm alone in the car, and tonight's drive home was extra slow. All day the words "limited range of motion" have been swirling in my brain, and I've been trying to figure out just what God was trying to teach me through the therapist's words from this morning. As the cars slowed to a complete stop this evening, a thought jumped into my mind ... my motion in life is limited because I'm afraid to step out in faith and trust where God wants to take me. Whoa, I mused ... wonder where that thought came from ... I wonder indeed.
Limited range of motion ... speak to me, Lord ... lead me, Lord ... take me, Lord.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Lots of Shoes
There may be a lot of things my children didn't appreciate about me when they all lived under my roof ... things like making them clean their rooms or take out the trash or mow the lawn. Or consulting the "board of directors" (a couple of my closest friends) concerning some form of discipline or punishment that needed to be enacted if they misbehaved. They may have had some pretty choice words to say about their dear old mama when they were angry with me. But there is one thing about me that all three of my kids were (and still are, for that matter) grateful for beyond measure ... my skill as an editor. I was wondering a couple of days ago just how many essays, book reports, thesis papers, sermons, screen plays, scholarship applications, or a host of other written materials I've proofed and edited for my three children ... the most recent being a paper for my film boy, Bradley. A paper for one of his film classes ... a paper about the film Forrest Gump, of course.
It appears to me rather "coincidental" that within a few days of reading Brad's paper, I found myself unable to sleep last night and skipping through the channels on television trying to find something to watch. Guess what movie was on? No, really. Go ahead and guess. Well ... Forrest Gump, of course. I settled onto my couch with an ice pack on my shoulder and two sleepy hounds vying for the spot closest to me, thinking I would watch dear old Forrest until I fell asleep. Instead, I found myself awake through the 2 1/2 hours of the movie ... the dogs slept, though (and they woke well rested this morning, I might add).
It's more than a bit fascinating to me that there are certain films that no matter how many times I view them, it seems that something new or different strikes me each time ... and Forrest Gump is definitely one of those kinds of films. Perhaps it's because walking has become such a big part of my life over the last year and a half that I was immediately struck last night by a statement Forrest makes in the opening of the film. He's talking with a nurse on the bench while he waits for the bus and he says, "I bet them's comfortable shoes ... Mama always says there's an awful lot you can tell about a person by their shoes. Where they're going. Where they've been. I've worn lots of shoes."
Those lines delivered with such thought and emotion by Tom Hanks have been on my mind all day. All day, I've been thinking about my own shoes and the story they tell to others about where I've been. I, like Forrest, have worn lots of shoes. Shoes that walked through a happy childhood and a rocky adolescence. Shoes that partied their way through my college years. Shoes that spent a summer in Mexico. Shoes that stumbled and fell in the canyons of a painful marriage and a devastating divorce. Shoes that climbed the mountain of single parenthood. Shoes that finally, after 40 years, slowly trudged along the road that led to Calvary and the foot of the cross. Yep, I've worn lots of shoes alright.
I was thinking, though, as I was driving home tonight about the shoes I'm wearing now ... about where those shoes are taking me. As much as the shoes I've worn in the past have helped to make me who I am, the shoes I'm wearing now will help to make me who I will become. I recognize that I am at a place in life where I've never been ... I'm too old to be young, and I'm too young to be old. "Where are you taking me?" I asked aloud in the car as I drove. "Where am I going? I know where I've been, Lord ... I just don't know where I'm going."
There's another famous Forrest quote when Jenny shows him the clippings she has saved from his cross-country run. Another quote that's been stuck in my mind today ... "I ran a long way, for a long time." Tears filled my eyes as I turned into my driveway and watched the garage door as it slowly lifted. "I've been running a long way, Lord," I said, "a long, long way, for a long, long time." And as I walked into my house and was greeted by two happy-to-see-me hounds, I understood the lesson God was trying to teach me. He knows every pair of shoes I've ever worn, and He knows every pair I will ever wear. He knows where I've been, and He knows where I'm going. He knows when I want to run, and He knows where to find me when I do and bring me home.
It appears to me rather "coincidental" that within a few days of reading Brad's paper, I found myself unable to sleep last night and skipping through the channels on television trying to find something to watch. Guess what movie was on? No, really. Go ahead and guess. Well ... Forrest Gump, of course. I settled onto my couch with an ice pack on my shoulder and two sleepy hounds vying for the spot closest to me, thinking I would watch dear old Forrest until I fell asleep. Instead, I found myself awake through the 2 1/2 hours of the movie ... the dogs slept, though (and they woke well rested this morning, I might add).
It's more than a bit fascinating to me that there are certain films that no matter how many times I view them, it seems that something new or different strikes me each time ... and Forrest Gump is definitely one of those kinds of films. Perhaps it's because walking has become such a big part of my life over the last year and a half that I was immediately struck last night by a statement Forrest makes in the opening of the film. He's talking with a nurse on the bench while he waits for the bus and he says, "I bet them's comfortable shoes ... Mama always says there's an awful lot you can tell about a person by their shoes. Where they're going. Where they've been. I've worn lots of shoes."
Those lines delivered with such thought and emotion by Tom Hanks have been on my mind all day. All day, I've been thinking about my own shoes and the story they tell to others about where I've been. I, like Forrest, have worn lots of shoes. Shoes that walked through a happy childhood and a rocky adolescence. Shoes that partied their way through my college years. Shoes that spent a summer in Mexico. Shoes that stumbled and fell in the canyons of a painful marriage and a devastating divorce. Shoes that climbed the mountain of single parenthood. Shoes that finally, after 40 years, slowly trudged along the road that led to Calvary and the foot of the cross. Yep, I've worn lots of shoes alright.
I was thinking, though, as I was driving home tonight about the shoes I'm wearing now ... about where those shoes are taking me. As much as the shoes I've worn in the past have helped to make me who I am, the shoes I'm wearing now will help to make me who I will become. I recognize that I am at a place in life where I've never been ... I'm too old to be young, and I'm too young to be old. "Where are you taking me?" I asked aloud in the car as I drove. "Where am I going? I know where I've been, Lord ... I just don't know where I'm going."
There's another famous Forrest quote when Jenny shows him the clippings she has saved from his cross-country run. Another quote that's been stuck in my mind today ... "I ran a long way, for a long time." Tears filled my eyes as I turned into my driveway and watched the garage door as it slowly lifted. "I've been running a long way, Lord," I said, "a long, long way, for a long, long time." And as I walked into my house and was greeted by two happy-to-see-me hounds, I understood the lesson God was trying to teach me. He knows every pair of shoes I've ever worn, and He knows every pair I will ever wear. He knows where I've been, and He knows where I'm going. He knows when I want to run, and He knows where to find me when I do and bring me home.
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