Obviously since I'm writing this post and you are reading it, the Mayan calendar didn't mean what a ton of people thought it meant ... that the world would end today, the 21st day of December 2012. I read yesterday that a lot of people had done some pretty crazy things financially because they truly believed the Mayan calendar predicted that life as we know it would end today. Planetary alignments, solar flares, melting of the earth's core ... and I'm sure the list of the things people believed would happen today goes on and on. And I've got a confession to make ... there was a time in my life when i would have completely bought into all of the hoopla ... a time when I would have believed the wacky interpretations of the old Mayan calendar to be dead on right. Heck, I probably would have even considered moving into an abandoned nuclear silo ... yeah, yeah, I know ... ranks right up there with my irrational behavior when I discovered the cracks in my basement floor. Though I didn't believe the world would really end today, I must admit that I decided this morning that I would postpone cleaning my house until tomorrow. Seriously, why spend possibly my last day on earth scrubbing toilets when I could curl up on the couch with my hounds and watch mindless television? Seems like a no-brainer to me.
I was thinking earlier today that I don't remember ever pondering when I was young the possibility that the world would come to an end, and I'd be willing to bet that's true for a lot of people in my generation. Oh, I heard my fair share of sermons in church about "the end of time," but there's something about youth that disregards those types of warnings. When I was young, I thought I would live forever, which probably explains a lot of my risky and careless behavior during my teenage and college years. It's funny how much my thinking and my actions changed when I became a mom ... I thought a lot more about the future of the world I lived in, and more specifically, the world my children would encounter as they grew up. Suddenly, not only did I remember those old "end of time" sermons from when I was a kid, I was scared to death of what the preachers had said would happen one day ... fear of the unknown is a powerful thing, friends, a powerful thing indeed.
The truth is that although the interpretation of the ancient Mayan calendar stating that the world would end today was incorrect, there will come a day for each one of us when our individual worlds ... the worlds that are our lives ... will most definitely come to an end. Though when I was young I thought I would live forever, every passing year now reminds me that I'm much closer to the end of my life than the beginning. Perhaps because I live alone, I often wonder when I go to bed at night if I will wake the next morning ... I often wonder if the world that is me will end while I sleep. But here's the thing ... whether it's the end of the whole world or the end of my own life, only God knows the day or the hour those events will occur ... not the Mayans, not the preachers, not the scientists, not the doctors ... only God knows the day or the hour. And the real truth, the really deep truth, is that each one of us should live every single day as if it could be our last, because ... well ... because it could.
"But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father." Matthew 24:36
Friday, December 21, 2012
Thursday, December 20, 2012
The Christmas Wiener
Sometimes a picture is worth way more than a thousand words ... sometimes a picture of The Christmas Wiener makes the whole world smile.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
13 Days
I knew when I woke up this morning that it should be a suspenders day ... red and green plaid suspenders with a red shirt, jeans and red Converse shoes. I knew it should be a plaid suspenders day for two reasons ... it was our Secret Santa reveal lunch today (another first for me in the 10 years I've worked for the company, and it was a ton of fun), and it was my last day at work until January 2nd. Our office closes from Christmas through New Year's, and I have three remaining vacation days for the year that I was encouraged to use rather than lose. That means beginning tomorrow morning, I will be off from work for 13 days. I knew it should be a plaid suspenders day because I wanted to dress Christmasy for the lunch today, and I needed something to put a smile on my face to help me cover the sadness that was already beginning to sweep through my heart.
See here's the thing ... it used to be that I looked forward to the week off at Christmas. When my kids still lived with me, I loved having extra time to spend with them. Sometimes we traveled, either to Tennessee or Colorado, but some years we stayed home. Even after the three of them moved out, I continued to enjoy my time away from the office ... the kids and I would get together and celebrate Christmas and my birthday; I spent time with friends going out for lunch or dinner or to see movies; I was involved in church activities and ministries. I used to enjoy my time off from work ... not so much anymore. Instead of waking up being excited about the upcoming holidays, I woke up wondering what in the world I'm going to do for the next 13 days.
It's weird, I know, but I'm really kind of lost when I don't have to go to work each day. And it's about way more than just the physical act of having to get up and get ready and go to the office ... it's about the people there ... people who make me smile even when I don't feel like smiling ... people who are genuinely happy to see me each day ... people who love me not in spite of who I am but because of who I am. As I got ready to leave the office this evening, there were lots of hugs and lots of heartfelt I love yous and spirited Merry Christmases between me and my work friends. I managed to keep the tears at bay until I got into my car, but the minute I put my key in the ignition, the liquid filled my eyes, spilled over and ran down my cheeks.
As I drove home feeling quite overwhelmed and very alone, the all too familiar urge to withdraw and isolate myself from everything and everyone began to wash over me. But then another thought began to work its way into my mind ... I started thinking that maybe I should ask you to send me your ideas for things for me to do to keep myself busy for the next 13 days.
So here's me asking for your help by asking for your ideas ... those of you who know me know that I sure don't ask for help easily (that's an understatement, huh?). The stupid head doctor would be so proud ... that she would indeed.
See here's the thing ... it used to be that I looked forward to the week off at Christmas. When my kids still lived with me, I loved having extra time to spend with them. Sometimes we traveled, either to Tennessee or Colorado, but some years we stayed home. Even after the three of them moved out, I continued to enjoy my time away from the office ... the kids and I would get together and celebrate Christmas and my birthday; I spent time with friends going out for lunch or dinner or to see movies; I was involved in church activities and ministries. I used to enjoy my time off from work ... not so much anymore. Instead of waking up being excited about the upcoming holidays, I woke up wondering what in the world I'm going to do for the next 13 days.
It's weird, I know, but I'm really kind of lost when I don't have to go to work each day. And it's about way more than just the physical act of having to get up and get ready and go to the office ... it's about the people there ... people who make me smile even when I don't feel like smiling ... people who are genuinely happy to see me each day ... people who love me not in spite of who I am but because of who I am. As I got ready to leave the office this evening, there were lots of hugs and lots of heartfelt I love yous and spirited Merry Christmases between me and my work friends. I managed to keep the tears at bay until I got into my car, but the minute I put my key in the ignition, the liquid filled my eyes, spilled over and ran down my cheeks.
As I drove home feeling quite overwhelmed and very alone, the all too familiar urge to withdraw and isolate myself from everything and everyone began to wash over me. But then another thought began to work its way into my mind ... I started thinking that maybe I should ask you to send me your ideas for things for me to do to keep myself busy for the next 13 days.
So here's me asking for your help by asking for your ideas ... those of you who know me know that I sure don't ask for help easily (that's an understatement, huh?). The stupid head doctor would be so proud ... that she would indeed.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Jarred Loose
Whenever I see a Mason jar, it always makes me think of my mom. Mom never was much of a cook, but she certainly had a knack for putting food into Mason jars ... she called it "canning," which was always weird to me, you'd think it would be called "jarring," right? I remember rows and rows of jarred tomatoes, okra, pickles and beets perched on the shelves in the laundry room, and I remember how fascinated I was with the colorful contents of the jars. It took Mom a lot of time to put all that food into those jars ... she would spend hours and hours preparing the food and sterilizing the lids and jars, and then she would carefully place the various items into the jars. One thing I learned early on as I watched Mom as she worked was that canning (or jarring) was a process, a process that required dedication and determination ... those old Mason jars didn't fill themselves.
Yesterday, I read something that has made me think a lot about Mason jars, and more specifically about the contents of those jars. The story talked about a woman who decided to conduct an experiment ... an experiment that involved two jars. She decided to put two Mason jars on her desk at her job, and for an entire year she would place items in one of the jars while she removed items from the other. She would write the "I'm worthless" or "I hate my life" or "I'm a horrible person" thoughts that often entered her mind on slips of paper and place them in one of the jars. Into the other jar she would place 365 slips of paper upon which she had previously written a good deed to do ... an act of kindness toward another person. She made a commitment to reach into the "deed" jar each morning as soon as she arrived at her job and perform the act of kindness that was written on the paper.
When she began the experiment, the woman found that she struggled to do the good deeds, and she admitted that in the beginning, she often just tossed the slip of paper into the wastebasket under her desk. The woman also found that she needed a much bigger jar to hold all the pieces of paper that contained her self-loathing thoughts. After a few weeks, however, she reached into the good deeds jar and actually performed the act of kindness ... she invited a co-worker to lunch and paid for her friend's meal. And that day, she only put 15 notes into the other jar. It wasn't long until the woman couldn't wait to get to work, reach into the deeds jar and carry out the act of kindness. And it also wasn't long until something else happened ... she noticed that the more good deeds she performed, the fewer notes she wrote and placed into the "hate" jar. At the end of the year, the woman made another commitment ... a promise to enlist others to join her on her good deeds quest.
As I read the story, I realized there was a huge lesson in it for me. I've spent a lot of time over my 52 plus years of life filling my self-loathing jar ... actually, I've probably filled a million or more of those jars. When I should have been dipping into the good deeds jar, I was busy shoveling notes into the other one. Here's the thing ... it's so much easier to crawl into my big bad Terrie cave than it is to peer outside the rock walls and look for ways to do some good in the world. I think it was no accident I read the article yesterday ... I don't think much of anything in life happens by accident or coincidence. And here's what else I think ... it's almost the end of another year, and I think I need to put a couple of jars on my desk ... yep, I think I do, indeed.
"I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live." Ecclesiastes 3:12
Yesterday, I read something that has made me think a lot about Mason jars, and more specifically about the contents of those jars. The story talked about a woman who decided to conduct an experiment ... an experiment that involved two jars. She decided to put two Mason jars on her desk at her job, and for an entire year she would place items in one of the jars while she removed items from the other. She would write the "I'm worthless" or "I hate my life" or "I'm a horrible person" thoughts that often entered her mind on slips of paper and place them in one of the jars. Into the other jar she would place 365 slips of paper upon which she had previously written a good deed to do ... an act of kindness toward another person. She made a commitment to reach into the "deed" jar each morning as soon as she arrived at her job and perform the act of kindness that was written on the paper.
When she began the experiment, the woman found that she struggled to do the good deeds, and she admitted that in the beginning, she often just tossed the slip of paper into the wastebasket under her desk. The woman also found that she needed a much bigger jar to hold all the pieces of paper that contained her self-loathing thoughts. After a few weeks, however, she reached into the good deeds jar and actually performed the act of kindness ... she invited a co-worker to lunch and paid for her friend's meal. And that day, she only put 15 notes into the other jar. It wasn't long until the woman couldn't wait to get to work, reach into the deeds jar and carry out the act of kindness. And it also wasn't long until something else happened ... she noticed that the more good deeds she performed, the fewer notes she wrote and placed into the "hate" jar. At the end of the year, the woman made another commitment ... a promise to enlist others to join her on her good deeds quest.
As I read the story, I realized there was a huge lesson in it for me. I've spent a lot of time over my 52 plus years of life filling my self-loathing jar ... actually, I've probably filled a million or more of those jars. When I should have been dipping into the good deeds jar, I was busy shoveling notes into the other one. Here's the thing ... it's so much easier to crawl into my big bad Terrie cave than it is to peer outside the rock walls and look for ways to do some good in the world. I think it was no accident I read the article yesterday ... I don't think much of anything in life happens by accident or coincidence. And here's what else I think ... it's almost the end of another year, and I think I need to put a couple of jars on my desk ... yep, I think I do, indeed.
"I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live." Ecclesiastes 3:12
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Hating Santa
No this isn't a post railing about how Christmas should be about Jesus rather than Santa. Personally, I don't see anything wrong with celebrating both the birth of our Savior (though many theologians and historians believe that Jesus was actually born in the fall of the year rather than the winter) and the visitation of the big guy in the red suit on the same day. I believe it's way more important to celebrate Jesus' birth ... His entrance into the world to become the way of salvation for me and every person who has ever lived or who will ever live ... it's way more important to celebrate the arrival of my Lord every moment of every day with a spirit of gratitude and worship than it is to make a big deal over Jesus vs. Santa on Christmas day. So there ... that's my sermon for the day and my disclaimer that this post isn't about what most of you thought it might be when you read the title.
Yesterday, my daughter-in-law emailed me a photo of C.J.'s first visit to Santa, and I'll attach it to the end of this post so you can see my gorgeous, though quite upset, granddaughter perched upon Santa's knee. C.J. didn't just not like Santa ... she hated the bearded, red-suited Ho! Ho! Ho! man. She is in the stage of her life where she doesn't want to have anything to do with any strangers, and Santa proved to be an over-the-top stranger for my little C.J. I can't say as I blame her really ... having to get all decked out in a frilly dress and brave the cold (and it's beyond cold and snowy in Canada now) and go to the mall is bad enough, but then to be handed off to some big man who looks like a giant chili pepper with whipped cream on top would be pure torture for sure for me if I was a baby.
Before they moved, I gave Becca some pictures of Matt when he was a little guy, and one of those pictures just happened to be of Matt and Santa ... a screaming Matt with Santa actually. Becca scanned the photo and emailed it to me (and yes, I'll attach that photo at the end of the post as well), and the minute I saw it, it caused me to think about how much things can change in a short amount of time. You see, Matt is the one of my three children who LOVED Santa when he was or 3 or 4 years old, to the point of dressing like Santa every single day for like a year or so ... red flannel pajamas, black boots, red stocking cap ... yes, my son who hated Santa in the old picture was the same child who then played Santa to all of his stuffed animals. And my guess is that C.J. will one day love Santa just like her daddy ... yep, I bet she will.
So here's the thing, the great big old lesson for me today in the screaming Santa pictures ... life really is a journey. Life is a journey, and things that frighten us to death at the beginning of that journey may well end up becoming the things we love the most as we travel along. Think about it, friends ... think about it a lot, cause that really is a great big old lesson indeed.
Yesterday, my daughter-in-law emailed me a photo of C.J.'s first visit to Santa, and I'll attach it to the end of this post so you can see my gorgeous, though quite upset, granddaughter perched upon Santa's knee. C.J. didn't just not like Santa ... she hated the bearded, red-suited Ho! Ho! Ho! man. She is in the stage of her life where she doesn't want to have anything to do with any strangers, and Santa proved to be an over-the-top stranger for my little C.J. I can't say as I blame her really ... having to get all decked out in a frilly dress and brave the cold (and it's beyond cold and snowy in Canada now) and go to the mall is bad enough, but then to be handed off to some big man who looks like a giant chili pepper with whipped cream on top would be pure torture for sure for me if I was a baby.
Before they moved, I gave Becca some pictures of Matt when he was a little guy, and one of those pictures just happened to be of Matt and Santa ... a screaming Matt with Santa actually. Becca scanned the photo and emailed it to me (and yes, I'll attach that photo at the end of the post as well), and the minute I saw it, it caused me to think about how much things can change in a short amount of time. You see, Matt is the one of my three children who LOVED Santa when he was or 3 or 4 years old, to the point of dressing like Santa every single day for like a year or so ... red flannel pajamas, black boots, red stocking cap ... yes, my son who hated Santa in the old picture was the same child who then played Santa to all of his stuffed animals. And my guess is that C.J. will one day love Santa just like her daddy ... yep, I bet she will.
So here's the thing, the great big old lesson for me today in the screaming Santa pictures ... life really is a journey. Life is a journey, and things that frighten us to death at the beginning of that journey may well end up becoming the things we love the most as we travel along. Think about it, friends ... think about it a lot, cause that really is a great big old lesson indeed.
Scrooge and Marley
I can't recall how old my children were when I first took them to see the Missouri Repertory Theatre's production of Charles Dickens grand old tale A Christmas Carol. I do recall, however, their wide-eyed wonderment as the lights lowered and the story began to unfold on stage. A holiday tradition began for us that year, and for several years following, my kids and I would get all dressed up and head out for our afternoon or evening at the theatre. One performance was extra special to our little family ... the year that we took our sweet friend Annie along with us the Christmas before she passed away unexpectedly a few months later. In fact, I don't think I had been back to the Missouri Rep for the Christmas performance since that year until today.
It was a busy day for me, a day that began with a visit to the stupid head doctor ... a visit that was a difficult one for me, one in which she challenged me about my relationship with God. To give you an idea of how our session went, more than once I said the following words, "I hate it when you're right." To which she replied, "I hate it when you don't listen." Yep ... nuff said on that subject ... back to what I really want to write about tonight. After I left her office, I met a friend for lunch and then we went to see A Christmas Carol. I didn't tell my friend, but the minute I turned into the parking garage, memories from years gone by began to wash over me and I fought with everything in me to squelch the tears that threatened to overtake me. I've been a weepy mess for the last couple of weeks ... due in part to missing my children and knowing that this will be the first Christmas since Matt was born 28 years ago that our family won't all be together, and in part due to ... well, actually, I'm not sure what the other part is due to ... I've just been weepy and sad this week (except for suspenders day, of course). I managed to blink back the waterworks, but the memories that invaded my mind only grew stronger with each step I took as we made our way into the theatre. Memories are powerful things, friends ... powerful things indeed.
As the story commenced, I found myself once again swept away by the words that Mr. Dickens penned hundreds of years ago ... so many words with such deep meaning, such a poignant reminder of the power of redemption and the priceless gift that is bestowed when a person is given a second chance. The story is replete with lessons, so replete in fact that I could pen countless posts on what I've learned from A Christmas Carol down through the years. It's one of those stories that seems to teach me something different each time I see the play or read the book, depending on what path on the journey of life I'm walking at the time. Today's performance proved true to that premise, as one scene in particular struck a chord deep within my soul ... the scene in which the ghost of Jacob Marley appears to Ebeneezer Scrooge and warns his old friend of how he will spend eternity lest he repent and change his ways. I haven't been able to shake the words of Mr. Marley from my mind all evening ... words that have caused me to search my heart ... words that have caused me to ponder my own depth of care for those less fortunate ... words that have caused me to reevaluate my level of generosity and how I give of myself to others. It seems only fitting to end this post with Mr. Marley's words ... words I am certain I will think on for a while ... words I pray will change me as they did Mr. Scrooge.
"Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunities misused! Yet such was I! Oh such was I!"
It was a busy day for me, a day that began with a visit to the stupid head doctor ... a visit that was a difficult one for me, one in which she challenged me about my relationship with God. To give you an idea of how our session went, more than once I said the following words, "I hate it when you're right." To which she replied, "I hate it when you don't listen." Yep ... nuff said on that subject ... back to what I really want to write about tonight. After I left her office, I met a friend for lunch and then we went to see A Christmas Carol. I didn't tell my friend, but the minute I turned into the parking garage, memories from years gone by began to wash over me and I fought with everything in me to squelch the tears that threatened to overtake me. I've been a weepy mess for the last couple of weeks ... due in part to missing my children and knowing that this will be the first Christmas since Matt was born 28 years ago that our family won't all be together, and in part due to ... well, actually, I'm not sure what the other part is due to ... I've just been weepy and sad this week (except for suspenders day, of course). I managed to blink back the waterworks, but the memories that invaded my mind only grew stronger with each step I took as we made our way into the theatre. Memories are powerful things, friends ... powerful things indeed.
As the story commenced, I found myself once again swept away by the words that Mr. Dickens penned hundreds of years ago ... so many words with such deep meaning, such a poignant reminder of the power of redemption and the priceless gift that is bestowed when a person is given a second chance. The story is replete with lessons, so replete in fact that I could pen countless posts on what I've learned from A Christmas Carol down through the years. It's one of those stories that seems to teach me something different each time I see the play or read the book, depending on what path on the journey of life I'm walking at the time. Today's performance proved true to that premise, as one scene in particular struck a chord deep within my soul ... the scene in which the ghost of Jacob Marley appears to Ebeneezer Scrooge and warns his old friend of how he will spend eternity lest he repent and change his ways. I haven't been able to shake the words of Mr. Marley from my mind all evening ... words that have caused me to search my heart ... words that have caused me to ponder my own depth of care for those less fortunate ... words that have caused me to reevaluate my level of generosity and how I give of myself to others. It seems only fitting to end this post with Mr. Marley's words ... words I am certain I will think on for a while ... words I pray will change me as they did Mr. Scrooge.
"Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunities misused! Yet such was I! Oh such was I!"
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