Sometimes it's hard for me to believe that it's been almost four years since I started walking on the trail across the street from my house with J.R. Almost four years ... has it really been that long? There are some evenings when it seems like only yesterday that I began those nightly walks with my sweet little wiener dog, and there are other evenings when the night I first stepped on the trail with J.R. feels like a hundred lifetimes ago. I had to force myself to go for a walk tonight, despite the fact that it's a gorgeous, warm evening. Ollie's incessant barking and running to the back door finally made me understand he wasn't going to stop until I took him for a walk, so I dragged myself off the couch and headed out to the garage with my wiener dog. He pranced like a reindeer in the snow as I tried to get his harness and leash on him, so excited to race across the street to the first wooden bridge. Much to Ollie's dismay, I still don't feel too great, so I moved much more slowly than I normally do when we hit the trail. Ollie ran ahead of me, turning around when he would reach the end of his leash with a "Are you coming or not?" look, and by the time we reached the first bench along the side of the trail, I knew I needed to sit and rest for a few minutes. It was as I sat on the bench with Ollie standing guard in my lap that I saw him coming down the trail ... I saw him, and Ollie saw his dog.
I first met him soon after J.R. and I began walking together ... well, I didn't really "meet" him, I suppose, because we didn't talk back then. The first time we actually talked was when he stopped one evening after J.R. passed away and asked me where my dog was. Prior to that emotional conversation, we did, however, always do the customary trail smile and nod of the head when we would pass each other, and I recall how I always thought he seemed like such a nice kid. I haven't seen him since last summer, and the first thing I noticed as I saw him and his golden retriever walking toward Ollie and me was how much he had grown up. He's not a kid anymore ... he's a tall young man with broad shoulders and a closely cropped beard. He was still a fair distance from the bench where Ollie and I sat when he saw us, and he immediately threw up his hand and waved, a gentle smile crossing his face.
When he got close enough for me to hear him, the ever-polite young man called out, "Long time, no see, Terrie ... why are you sitting on the bench? You and Ollie never sit on the bench ... you OK?"
I couldn't help but think again that he had matured so very much since I last saw him, and I was instantly angry with myself because I couldn't remember the kind young man's name. "I'm fine," I said, grateful that he didn't know that when I say I'm fine, I'm not really fine at all. "Just a long day, and I'm a bit tired tonight ... that's all. How are you, young man? I've missed seeing your smiling face."
I was surprised when he replied, "Mind if we join you for a little while, Terrie? I could stand to rest for a little while myself, and I know that Clyde would like to visit with Mr. Ollie here." I noticed how large his hand was as he reached out to pat Ollie on the head, and I noticed the gray around Clyde's eyes as he placed his big head on my lap and nuzzled my by now very excited and happy wiener dog.
"Of course you may join us," I said, trying with all my might to remember the young man's name. Hoping to avoid having to answer questions about myself, I immediately asked, "So how's life? Fill me in on what's going on in your world. I thought perhaps you had gone away to college since I haven't seen you since last summer."
"Not yet, Terrie ... I am graduating this year, though, and then I'll go to K-State in the fall," he said in his soft, low-pitched voice. "I want to be a teacher, an English teacher. My girlfriend says I have a way with kids, and my mom and dad are both teachers."
I listened as the tall, bearded young man chatted about sports and church and school and his girlfriend. I smiled when he said he wanted to marry her one day, and it warmed my heart as he talked about how much he would miss his family when he goes to college. He chatted for several minutes before he turned toward me, placed his arm on the back of the bench and said, "Are you sure you're OK, Terrie? You are very quiet tonight ... you really OK?"
"I'm just tired, my young friend ... I haven't felt too well for the last few days, and I'm tired tonight," I said, not sure who I was trying harder to convince, myself or the young man who gazed intently at me, concern etching his youthful face. "I'm just fine," I said, patting his hand ... I'm just fine."
"I want to tell you something, Terrie ... something I've wanted to tell you lots of times but I was never brave enough to do it. That first time we talked after J.R. died and you were so sad ... I've prayed for you every day since that day. I didn't have any friends back then, Terrie, and all the other kids teased me because I was kind of different from them. Even people on the trail ignored me ... they would say hi to Clyde, but they wouldn't even look at me or notice me at all. You were the first person outside of my family who noticed me, and I never forgot how nice you were to me. I've prayed for you every day since then, Terrie ... every day."
Tears welled up in my eyes as the young man spoke, and my voice shook as I remembered his name and I said simply, "Thank you ... Christian ... thank you." The young man's name is Christian, friends ... the kind and compassionate young man's name is Christian. Someone at work today asked me if I believe everything happens for a reason, and I could hear the sadness in my voice as I said, "I used to, but I'm not sure anymore." But tonight ... tonight ... tonight, I don't think it was any form of accident or coincidence at all that a young man named Christian happened along and stopped to talk to me ... a young man named Christian ... I was meant to see him tonight ... I was meant to hear him tonight ... I was meant to be blessed by him tonight. Him ... he is what his name should truly mean to anyone who claims to follow Christ ... a young man named Christian ... him.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Sunday, May 12, 2013
To Wake Up Playing
When I was a kid, Daddy would always buy corsages for Mom and me to wear to church on Mother's Day. I'm not sure if it was just a Southern tradition, but on Mother's Day, all the girls and women wore corsages ... white if your mother had passed away, red if your mom was living. When my children were old enough, they began their own Mother's Day tradition for me ... cooking breakfast. I thought about all the times they would get up early to cook and then "surprise" me with breakfast in bed, and I especially remember the times the eggs were crunchy because they had a shell or two in them ... makes me smile just thinking about those mornings. I've spent a lot of time over the last couple of days skipping down memory lane when it comes to my kiddos and Mother's Days gone by ... the year Matt played his guitar and sang "Happy Mother's Day to you, dear Mom" ... the year Brad wrote me a 4-page letter ... the year Meghann gave me a hug and a kiss every hour for the whole day. My mind couldn't help but linger on so many of those memories as I had dinner and saw a movie with Brad and Shelby last night, walked in a 5K Mother's Day walk with Meghann this morning and talked with Matt on the phone this afternoon. I've got great kids ... kids who bless me not just on Mother's Day, but every single day since the days they were born.
When I was in Canada over Easter visiting Matt, Becca and Coraline, one of my favorite things was to hear her when she woke up in the mornings or after her naps. She's such a happy little girl, and I loved hearing her laughing and talking in her crib from the moment she opened her eyes. Each time I heard her, it made me think of my own children and how much I loved hearing them doing the same thing so many years ago. There is something so incredibly sweet about that to me, something so very sweet about hearing babies wake up happy and giggling and playing. Those are such special moments ... those are the kinds of moments that need to be savored and remembered and treasured forever. I've always loved to hear my children laugh ... I still love to hear them laugh and see them happy ... but those early morning baby giggles will always rank among my favorite Mom moments.
I share my house now with my two canine kids, Julie and Oliver, as those of you who've been reading my posts for any length of time well know. I wrote a while back about our morning routine ... the routine that was interrupted the morning Ollie decided to become a rabbit hunter. By the way, the score is now Ollie: 3, rabbits: 0, me getting sick in the yard because of Ollie's hunting prowess: 2 ... yesterday was not a good day for me to have to take care of dead rabbits. But back to our morning routine ... even though Ollie has lived with me for a couple of years now, it was only a week or so ago that I noticed something about him that I had never paid attention to before. The first thing he does every single morning when he jumps out of bed is grab a toy and start playing. Before he goes out to potty, before he hunts rabbits, before he eats, before he does anything else, Ollie runs and gets a toy and begins to play. In fact, sometimes I have to coax him to go outside because he doesn't want to stop playing. I stood in amazement the day that I finally noticed what Oliver does each morning ... my silly, pink-nosed, hopping wiener dog wakes up playing ... he wakes up playing ... Ollie wakes up playing.
Here's the thing ... at a time when I don't feel so great mentally or physically, I find myself thinking about babies who wake up giggling and noticing a wiener dog who wakes up playing. Coincidence or lesson? I wonder ... I wonder ... I wonder. To wake up playing ... hmmmm.
When I was in Canada over Easter visiting Matt, Becca and Coraline, one of my favorite things was to hear her when she woke up in the mornings or after her naps. She's such a happy little girl, and I loved hearing her laughing and talking in her crib from the moment she opened her eyes. Each time I heard her, it made me think of my own children and how much I loved hearing them doing the same thing so many years ago. There is something so incredibly sweet about that to me, something so very sweet about hearing babies wake up happy and giggling and playing. Those are such special moments ... those are the kinds of moments that need to be savored and remembered and treasured forever. I've always loved to hear my children laugh ... I still love to hear them laugh and see them happy ... but those early morning baby giggles will always rank among my favorite Mom moments.
I share my house now with my two canine kids, Julie and Oliver, as those of you who've been reading my posts for any length of time well know. I wrote a while back about our morning routine ... the routine that was interrupted the morning Ollie decided to become a rabbit hunter. By the way, the score is now Ollie: 3, rabbits: 0, me getting sick in the yard because of Ollie's hunting prowess: 2 ... yesterday was not a good day for me to have to take care of dead rabbits. But back to our morning routine ... even though Ollie has lived with me for a couple of years now, it was only a week or so ago that I noticed something about him that I had never paid attention to before. The first thing he does every single morning when he jumps out of bed is grab a toy and start playing. Before he goes out to potty, before he hunts rabbits, before he eats, before he does anything else, Ollie runs and gets a toy and begins to play. In fact, sometimes I have to coax him to go outside because he doesn't want to stop playing. I stood in amazement the day that I finally noticed what Oliver does each morning ... my silly, pink-nosed, hopping wiener dog wakes up playing ... he wakes up playing ... Ollie wakes up playing.
Here's the thing ... at a time when I don't feel so great mentally or physically, I find myself thinking about babies who wake up giggling and noticing a wiener dog who wakes up playing. Coincidence or lesson? I wonder ... I wonder ... I wonder. To wake up playing ... hmmmm.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Out With a Bang
Let's get one thing out of the way right up front tonight ... I started a new medication a couple of days ago, and I feel cruddy. I'm not sure which hurts worse, my stomach or my head. Doesn't really matter, though, cause I just feel pretty darn lousy. And when I feel bad, I tend to lose my filters and say what I think. So, having given you fair warning, here goes.
A lot of you have written and asked about the article I mentioned in my post titled "Faith Redefined." You've asked about the magazine. You've asked about the article. You've asked about whether I've decided to become a regular contributor to the magazine. You've asked why I haven't posted the link to the article here in my blog. You've asked so many questions, and I feel so incredibly terrible tonight that I'm going to post the link and let you read some of the answers for yourself. However, I do want to state a couple of things first with the hope that those of you who feel the need to send me hateful messages will choose not to this time around if for no other reason than that I feel like dog poop.
The magazine is a faith-based publication, yes. But it's one of "those kinds" of publications as well. So, if you don't want to read the article because of that, don't read it. In fact, if you don't want to read my blogs, don't read them. That's something I will never understand ... why do those of you who hate me so much continue to read my blogs and then send me not-so-nice messages? I simply do not get that ... sorry, but I don't get that at all. And if me saying that makes you angry, sorry about that, too. Many of the people I thought were my friends have already checked out, so losing some readers who don't like me ... well ... that will be like a walk in the park compared to losing people whom I truly cared about and whom I thought truly cared about me. Again, sorry, but that's just the way I feel.
So, for those of you who want to read it, here's the link to the article, and for those of you who don't ... sleep well, and take good care. Oh, and for all of you, readers and non-readers alike, remember this ... life really is pretty darned short ... too short to hate each other or be mean to each other or gossip about each other or judge each other or anything even remotely related to any of those things. So short that when I feel better, I think I'll choose to love and laugh and live ... I think I will indeed.
A lot of you have written and asked about the article I mentioned in my post titled "Faith Redefined." You've asked about the magazine. You've asked about the article. You've asked about whether I've decided to become a regular contributor to the magazine. You've asked why I haven't posted the link to the article here in my blog. You've asked so many questions, and I feel so incredibly terrible tonight that I'm going to post the link and let you read some of the answers for yourself. However, I do want to state a couple of things first with the hope that those of you who feel the need to send me hateful messages will choose not to this time around if for no other reason than that I feel like dog poop.
The magazine is a faith-based publication, yes. But it's one of "those kinds" of publications as well. So, if you don't want to read the article because of that, don't read it. In fact, if you don't want to read my blogs, don't read them. That's something I will never understand ... why do those of you who hate me so much continue to read my blogs and then send me not-so-nice messages? I simply do not get that ... sorry, but I don't get that at all. And if me saying that makes you angry, sorry about that, too. Many of the people I thought were my friends have already checked out, so losing some readers who don't like me ... well ... that will be like a walk in the park compared to losing people whom I truly cared about and whom I thought truly cared about me. Again, sorry, but that's just the way I feel.
So, for those of you who want to read it, here's the link to the article, and for those of you who don't ... sleep well, and take good care. Oh, and for all of you, readers and non-readers alike, remember this ... life really is pretty darned short ... too short to hate each other or be mean to each other or gossip about each other or judge each other or anything even remotely related to any of those things. So short that when I feel better, I think I'll choose to love and laugh and live ... I think I will indeed.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
It's Been a While
On December 31, 2012, I did something I had never done before in my blog ... I allowed another person to write the words that appeared in my post that evening. Since then, a couple of other folks have written guest posts, and they, like my first guest blogger, touched not only my heart but many of yours as well. It's been a while since the last guest post, and I've been thinking for a couple of weeks that it was time. As fate would have it, today I received an email ... an email that caused the tears I had been fighting all morning to keep at bay to course down my cheeks as I read. It's that email that will appear as my guest blog post for this evening, because I think some of you may need to be reminded of your own rope. But first, I want to share something with you that happened at work today.
Over the last few months, we've had a lot of new folks join the ranks of our company ... which means business is booming, and that's a great thing. It's always interesting to me to watch the new people find their place within our work family, and I especially enjoy hearing their take on the dynamics of how we function as a company. Most of the time, those conversations are about ... well ... they are about work stuff ... about how cool our company is, how great all the people are, how awesome the benefits and perks are ... that kind of stuff. It's very unusual to have someone who is very new talk about something like ... well ... love. But that's exactly what happened today, perhaps because it needed to happen today ... perhaps because it was meant to happen today. As I was talking to one of our newest employees, she said, "Everyone here loves you so much, Terrie. Really, they love you deeply. As an outside observer, I can tell you one thing for sure ... they love you, Terrie, they really do."
I spoke in my last post about the great big old puddle that's been creeping up on me for the last few weeks, and this week has been especially difficult. Depression is a genius when it comes to making a person feel all alone in the world ... unloved, unwanted, unaccepted ... put all the "un" words you want in there. Even though in your heart you know you aren't alone, the crazy beast within your mind tells you that you are. My new co-worker told me what she did today because I needed to hear her words ... she told me what she did because I was meant to hear her words. The subject line of the email I received today was "About Ropes." The minute I read those two words, I instantly thought of the lyrics to a song by Jason Gray. "Spent some time looking for a length of rope, and a place to hang it from the end of my hope." I had a whole different perspective last year about ropes for sure, friends ... a whole different perspective indeed.
"Just finished reading your blog and it, of course, started me thinking.
Over the last few months, we've had a lot of new folks join the ranks of our company ... which means business is booming, and that's a great thing. It's always interesting to me to watch the new people find their place within our work family, and I especially enjoy hearing their take on the dynamics of how we function as a company. Most of the time, those conversations are about ... well ... they are about work stuff ... about how cool our company is, how great all the people are, how awesome the benefits and perks are ... that kind of stuff. It's very unusual to have someone who is very new talk about something like ... well ... love. But that's exactly what happened today, perhaps because it needed to happen today ... perhaps because it was meant to happen today. As I was talking to one of our newest employees, she said, "Everyone here loves you so much, Terrie. Really, they love you deeply. As an outside observer, I can tell you one thing for sure ... they love you, Terrie, they really do."
I spoke in my last post about the great big old puddle that's been creeping up on me for the last few weeks, and this week has been especially difficult. Depression is a genius when it comes to making a person feel all alone in the world ... unloved, unwanted, unaccepted ... put all the "un" words you want in there. Even though in your heart you know you aren't alone, the crazy beast within your mind tells you that you are. My new co-worker told me what she did today because I needed to hear her words ... she told me what she did because I was meant to hear her words. The subject line of the email I received today was "About Ropes." The minute I read those two words, I instantly thought of the lyrics to a song by Jason Gray. "Spent some time looking for a length of rope, and a place to hang it from the end of my hope." I had a whole different perspective last year about ropes for sure, friends ... a whole different perspective indeed.
"Just finished reading your blog and it, of course, started me thinking.
Here's the thing about ropes. They're composed of many, many, many single
strands. Each strand has very little strength on its own. In fact, I'd say a
single strand of hemp would break easily with the slightest tug. What makes
a rope have such incredible strength is the harmonious weaving together of
all the individual strands.
It's my privilege to be one single strand in your life. While I give you
love, support, and encouragement, it isn't enough to single-handedly tow you
out of any deep puddles. The amazing fact is that there are many "strands"
in your life that are working together to keep you from the mire, and, if
you do get stuck, to help you out as quickly and as gently as possible.
To me, what is even more amazing, is that God has orchestrated each of the
strands for His purpose...and that means that your collective "rope" is
comprised of those whom you know and those whom you will never know this
side of heaven.
So, take a deep breath, take another deep breath, and know that the strands
in your life are pulling together and that we will help you with whatever
you need.
I know you oh so well. You are thinking that you don't deserve it...you are
thinking that God couldn't possibly be doing this for you...you are thinking
that no one would want to help you because of who you are...you are thinking
that I'm full of hot air and "glass half full" thinking. YOU ARE WORTHY OF
LOVE AND SUPPORT!
Today, be more than OKAY...or FINE...and let the strands pull together on
your behalf."
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Don't Press Pause
My son Brad drives a Jeep Wrangler ... a black 1996 Jeep Wrangler Apex, to be exact. Brad loves his car ... loves, loves, loves it. When he was in high school, Brad decided he wanted to join the KC Jeep Club, a group of Jeep lovers who get together and go on off-road adventures together. And one Saturday all those years ago, my daughter Meghann and I went along on one of those day trips with Brad ... and amazingly, we all lived to tell about it. The off-roading took place near Manhattan, Kansas, a couple of hours from our house, and it was quite the adventure indeed. I got scared pretty quickly when Brad started to follow the leader of the group down a steep incline, and I spent the rest of the "ride" traveling with said leader in his Jeep rather than with my then inexperienced off-roading teenaged son.
Brad actually did very well negotiating all the boulders, steep hills and twists and turns, considering that it was his first time to tackle such enormous obstacles in his Wrangler. Until we approached the end of the trail ... the end of the trail that included driving through a huge puddle of water. It was really more like a small pond than a puddle, deep enough that Brad got about halfway through and got stuck. I'm not sure which was funnier that day ... watching Brad's Jeep sink in the water all the way up to the windows, or Meghann's shrieks as the water started coming in around her. Not to worry, everything turned out just fine ... some of the guys in the club calmly attached tow ropes to Brad's Jeep and pulled the car, Bradley and his freaked-out sister out of the water.
Though I hate to admit it, I've been fighting that all-too familiar sadness again for the last two or three weeks ... not wanting to leave my house, not wanting to eat, not wanting to interact with other people, not wanting to get out of bed, not wanting to do ... well ... anything really. All the signs that signal there's a deep pond ahead that I'll have to drive through in order to get back to the dry land and the trail that will lead me where I need to go. Here's the thing ... I don't want to drive through the puddle, nope, nope, nope I don't. The truth is that I'm tired of puddles ... I've had enough with the puddles, yep, yep, yep I have. But according to my doctors, that's one of the really crappy things about depression ... sometimes puddles just happen. Something changes in the brain, medications don't work as well, and puddles just happen. The trick is learning to recognize the rain that precedes the really, really, really deep puddles and asking for help before I find myself stuck in the mud with water pouring in all around me. Or, perhaps even harder than seeing the mist that will become a downpour ... trusting those who love and care about me and listening to them when they tell me they feel some raindrops.
Here's the thing about Brad's car getting stuck in the water that day ... he got stuck because he slowed down ... he got frightened by the water around him, and he hesitated ... he let his fear and nervousness cause him to pause just long enough for his Wrangler to get stuck in the mud. But ... but ... but ... even though he got stuck for a few minutes, Brad knew that he didn't have to stay there. He accepted the help that was offered to him, and it wasn't long until not only was his car free from the muck and mire, he and his sister were as well. That's what happens when you're a vehicle, you know ... you carry the people who are with you to safety. Yep, go ahead and think about that one for a while ... it's deep, really deep. Brad may have pressed the pause button on courage and bravery for a moment, but it didn't last forever. He was soon back on the trail and ready to tackle any obstacle that presented itself as he completed his grand adventure.
So, God ... You know I don't like puddles, and I don't want to be a vehicle. But since I have no control over either of those, I'm going to try my best not to press pause ... to keep my foot on the gas ... and to be thankful for the tow ropes and the people who tie them on my bumper when I can't.
Brad actually did very well negotiating all the boulders, steep hills and twists and turns, considering that it was his first time to tackle such enormous obstacles in his Wrangler. Until we approached the end of the trail ... the end of the trail that included driving through a huge puddle of water. It was really more like a small pond than a puddle, deep enough that Brad got about halfway through and got stuck. I'm not sure which was funnier that day ... watching Brad's Jeep sink in the water all the way up to the windows, or Meghann's shrieks as the water started coming in around her. Not to worry, everything turned out just fine ... some of the guys in the club calmly attached tow ropes to Brad's Jeep and pulled the car, Bradley and his freaked-out sister out of the water.
Though I hate to admit it, I've been fighting that all-too familiar sadness again for the last two or three weeks ... not wanting to leave my house, not wanting to eat, not wanting to interact with other people, not wanting to get out of bed, not wanting to do ... well ... anything really. All the signs that signal there's a deep pond ahead that I'll have to drive through in order to get back to the dry land and the trail that will lead me where I need to go. Here's the thing ... I don't want to drive through the puddle, nope, nope, nope I don't. The truth is that I'm tired of puddles ... I've had enough with the puddles, yep, yep, yep I have. But according to my doctors, that's one of the really crappy things about depression ... sometimes puddles just happen. Something changes in the brain, medications don't work as well, and puddles just happen. The trick is learning to recognize the rain that precedes the really, really, really deep puddles and asking for help before I find myself stuck in the mud with water pouring in all around me. Or, perhaps even harder than seeing the mist that will become a downpour ... trusting those who love and care about me and listening to them when they tell me they feel some raindrops.
Here's the thing about Brad's car getting stuck in the water that day ... he got stuck because he slowed down ... he got frightened by the water around him, and he hesitated ... he let his fear and nervousness cause him to pause just long enough for his Wrangler to get stuck in the mud. But ... but ... but ... even though he got stuck for a few minutes, Brad knew that he didn't have to stay there. He accepted the help that was offered to him, and it wasn't long until not only was his car free from the muck and mire, he and his sister were as well. That's what happens when you're a vehicle, you know ... you carry the people who are with you to safety. Yep, go ahead and think about that one for a while ... it's deep, really deep. Brad may have pressed the pause button on courage and bravery for a moment, but it didn't last forever. He was soon back on the trail and ready to tackle any obstacle that presented itself as he completed his grand adventure.
So, God ... You know I don't like puddles, and I don't want to be a vehicle. But since I have no control over either of those, I'm going to try my best not to press pause ... to keep my foot on the gas ... and to be thankful for the tow ropes and the people who tie them on my bumper when I can't.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Faith Redefined
It's always very difficult for me to write something after penning a post like the one I wrote Sunday night ... a post like that carries such deep meaning for me and causes such overwhelming emotion to course through my heart. I haven't been able to get the woman and her two small children off of my mind ... no, those words aren't accurate at all ... I can't get the woman and her children off of my soul. I've kicked myself over and over since I drove out of the Walmart parking lot for not asking what her last name was or getting her phone number so that I could do more to help her and her family. You see, it's hard to look past someone's pain when they tell you their story, and as we walked through the store on Sunday, Kate told me her story. Once you know someone's story, once you see someone's wounded heart, it's hard to look past a whole lot of things, friends.
When my brother Jerry used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would always say one of two things ... a professional basketball player or a writer. I never was a very good basketball player, so that dream was nothing more than that ... a dream. And as for wanting to be a writer, I remember when Jerry would ask me what I wanted to write about, I would always say, "Fish. I want to write about fish." I have absolutely no clue where the fish thing came from, no clue whatsoever. But I have written a few blog posts about fish, so I suppose at least part of my dream to be a writer who writes about fish came true. It's in looking back on the years of my youth that I've come to realize something that I think might be rather important ... at least to me anyway. So many things I dreamed about seeing or doing or being when I was young just simply have not come true, and at this stage of my life some of them never will. Many of those dreams faded away as I grew older, and some of them I gave up on because I knew they would never happen. But the writer thing ... the writer thing has always been a part of me, and it probably will be until I draw my last breath. It doesn't matter whether I'm any good at it or not, writing is something that is etched into my soul the same as my tattoos are etched into my body.
When I was asked a week or so ago to write an article for an online magazine, I was ... well, I was just downright tickled pink. Except that I don't much care for the color pink, so it's more accurate to say I was tickled blue or red. I wrote the article, and it was posted on Sunday. And then Monday morning, I received an email from the editor asking if I'd like to write for the magazine on a regular basis. We talked about what type of material he was looking for, and I suggested he read my blog post from Sunday evening to get a better feel for my writing style. Well ... that post became my second article for the magazine, and it posted today. And guess what? Neither my first article nor my blog post article had anything at all to do with fish ... go figure, eh? But both of the articles did tell a story ... both articles told stories about my journey in life and about the role faith plays in the often uncertain pilgrimage that is my life these days.
Faith ... those of you who've been following my journey over the last couple of years know that my faith has taken quite a pounding. I know those of you who know me well are thinking ... "Geez, Terrie, that's an understatement if there ever was one." And you would be completely correct in your thinking, by the way. I've questioned God time and time again, and more than questioning Him, I've been abundantly angry with Him for more things than I have time to write about this evening. But ... even though there are so many things I don't understand and I know I never will, I will admit that I always have and always will believe that things happen for a reason. Having said that, I've been totally freaked out lately by the plethora of things that have happened that all seem to lead back to one apparent truth ... there's something I'm supposed to do. And what freaks me out even more is that over the last couple of weeks, I think God's been working triple overtime to cause me to redefine my tattered and bleeding faith. I think that's why I'm writing for the magazine, and I think that's why when I was discussing the opportunity to write the articles with a friend, I got an email from her today with these words, "You still have a ton more faith than 99% of people do. Maybe it would be refreshing for people to read from a perspective of someone who is in the process of redefining their faith."
So if that's part of my journey at this place in time ... being in the process of redefining my faith ... I think maybe I'm beginning to get a glimmer as to what my faith redefined should look like. I think perhaps it should look like Kate or Elizabeth or Gary or Russell or my neighbor kids or my family and friends who've remained steadfast in their love for me. I think perhaps it should look like seeing and being the woman God made me to be. I think perhaps it should look a whole lot like a Man Who dined with tax collectors ... Who rescued adulterous women from death ... Who healed lepers and spoke with prostitutes ... Who brought a little girl back to life ... Who loved ALL people freely, openly and unconditionally.
Is that what my faith redefined should like like? I think maybe so, friends ... maybe so indeed.
When my brother Jerry used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would always say one of two things ... a professional basketball player or a writer. I never was a very good basketball player, so that dream was nothing more than that ... a dream. And as for wanting to be a writer, I remember when Jerry would ask me what I wanted to write about, I would always say, "Fish. I want to write about fish." I have absolutely no clue where the fish thing came from, no clue whatsoever. But I have written a few blog posts about fish, so I suppose at least part of my dream to be a writer who writes about fish came true. It's in looking back on the years of my youth that I've come to realize something that I think might be rather important ... at least to me anyway. So many things I dreamed about seeing or doing or being when I was young just simply have not come true, and at this stage of my life some of them never will. Many of those dreams faded away as I grew older, and some of them I gave up on because I knew they would never happen. But the writer thing ... the writer thing has always been a part of me, and it probably will be until I draw my last breath. It doesn't matter whether I'm any good at it or not, writing is something that is etched into my soul the same as my tattoos are etched into my body.
When I was asked a week or so ago to write an article for an online magazine, I was ... well, I was just downright tickled pink. Except that I don't much care for the color pink, so it's more accurate to say I was tickled blue or red. I wrote the article, and it was posted on Sunday. And then Monday morning, I received an email from the editor asking if I'd like to write for the magazine on a regular basis. We talked about what type of material he was looking for, and I suggested he read my blog post from Sunday evening to get a better feel for my writing style. Well ... that post became my second article for the magazine, and it posted today. And guess what? Neither my first article nor my blog post article had anything at all to do with fish ... go figure, eh? But both of the articles did tell a story ... both articles told stories about my journey in life and about the role faith plays in the often uncertain pilgrimage that is my life these days.
Faith ... those of you who've been following my journey over the last couple of years know that my faith has taken quite a pounding. I know those of you who know me well are thinking ... "Geez, Terrie, that's an understatement if there ever was one." And you would be completely correct in your thinking, by the way. I've questioned God time and time again, and more than questioning Him, I've been abundantly angry with Him for more things than I have time to write about this evening. But ... even though there are so many things I don't understand and I know I never will, I will admit that I always have and always will believe that things happen for a reason. Having said that, I've been totally freaked out lately by the plethora of things that have happened that all seem to lead back to one apparent truth ... there's something I'm supposed to do. And what freaks me out even more is that over the last couple of weeks, I think God's been working triple overtime to cause me to redefine my tattered and bleeding faith. I think that's why I'm writing for the magazine, and I think that's why when I was discussing the opportunity to write the articles with a friend, I got an email from her today with these words, "You still have a ton more faith than 99% of people do. Maybe it would be refreshing for people to read from a perspective of someone who is in the process of redefining their faith."
So if that's part of my journey at this place in time ... being in the process of redefining my faith ... I think maybe I'm beginning to get a glimmer as to what my faith redefined should look like. I think perhaps it should look like Kate or Elizabeth or Gary or Russell or my neighbor kids or my family and friends who've remained steadfast in their love for me. I think perhaps it should look like seeing and being the woman God made me to be. I think perhaps it should look a whole lot like a Man Who dined with tax collectors ... Who rescued adulterous women from death ... Who healed lepers and spoke with prostitutes ... Who brought a little girl back to life ... Who loved ALL people freely, openly and unconditionally.
Is that what my faith redefined should like like? I think maybe so, friends ... maybe so indeed.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Her
The first time I saw her was as I waited in line behind several other people at the Walmart prescription counter. She was a couple of people ahead of me, but she definitely caught my attention from the moment I noticed her. Her hair was dark ... like the color of charcoal ... and her eyes were an intense, deep green. She was about my height, and she was thin ... she was very, very thin. She wore no jewelry, and the jeans that sat low on her hips were worn and frayed. She shifted nervously back and forth as she waited for her turn at the window to pick up her medication, her hands jammed deeply inside the pockets of her jeans. The two small children who sat in the cart in front of her were eerily quiet, too quiet for kids who looked to be five or six years old. It seemed like hours before her eyes finally met mine, and I fought to look away from her ... I fought to look away from her face, her eyes ... I fought to look away from her.
She paid for her two prescriptions with change from her pockets, the pockets her hands had been jammed into only a few minutes earlier. I don't know that I've ever seen anyone pay for medicine with quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies before, and I couldn't help but notice the impatience of the clerk as he carefully counted the money to make sure it was enough. She gathered the small bags that contained the medications and placed them in the pocket of the tattered hooded sweatshirt that hung loosely from her small shoulders. She turned the cart that held the two silent children and made her way past those of us who were still waiting. I smiled at the kids as they got closer, and her eyes met mine once again. Those intense, deep green eyes met mine, and I saw again what I had seen earlier ... hurt and pain. She mumbled something as she quickly looked down at the floor when she hurried past me. I turned and watched as she walked away with her two eerily quiet children.
I paid for my diabetes medication and pushed my own cart along the aisles of the crowded store as I tried to recall what I needed to purchase. I was in the peanut butter aisle when I saw her again, her forehead wrinkled in what seemed to be deep thought as she stared at the multitude of peanut butter jars before her. I wondered what it was about peanut butter that could cause her such apparent distress, and I fought back the urge to ask as I placed a half-dozen jars of my favorite brand into my cart. I smiled at her children again as I turned to head on down the aisle, and surprisingly, the little boy sheepishly smiled back at me. And then I looked into her eyes again, the children's mother's eyes, and I smiled at her as well. She nodded her head and once again stared at the floor beneath her feet. I kept walking, stopping to grab a couple of jars of sugar-free peach preserves. And then I heard the dainty voice of the little girl say, "Mommie, can we have some jelly just this once to go on our peanut butter?"
"Just this once?" I thought ... "What does that mean, just this once? Does that mean that kid has never had jelly before? Are those kids so quiet because they are hungry? Just this once ... What. Does. That. Flipping. Mean?" As those thoughts raced through my mind, I turned to look back to see if I could catch her eyes again ... those intense, deep green eyes ... and when she looked up, I saw it again. I saw the hurt and pain again, but this time the hurt and pain were joined by tears.
"I'm sorry, sweetie, but no," she said softly to her daughter. "We don't have enough money today for jelly and peanut butter. Maybe next time."
"That's what you say every time," the little boy said with his arms crossed in defiance across his chest. "You always say maybe next time on jelly and lots of other things, too."
"I'm so sorry, Mattie," she said with sadness lacing her voice. "When Daddy gets well, I promise."
My own blue eyes filled with tears as I gathered my courage and walked toward the trio who now had my undivided attention.
"Did I hear your mom say your name is Mattie?" I asked the little boy who had the same intense, deep green eyes as his mother. He nodded his head at me and smiled a little, and I said, "Well, Mattie, I have a son named Mattie, too! And do you know what today is?" Mattie shook his head from side to side, wondering what in the world the crazy lady with the ball cap, baggy jeans and really ugly sweatshirt was talking about. "Well, sir," I said in my most serious voice, "today is buy a Mattie and his sister their favorite food day!! And it's my extra lucky day because my Mattie lives very far away, and I was looking for someone to celebrate this special day with!" I extended my hand and gazed into her eyes once again ... the intense, deep green eyes that seemed to hold so much hurt and pain. The intense, deep green eyes that now held my gaze as they struggled to contain the tears that filled them.
"I'm Terrie," I said, "and these kiddos need some jelly today, don't you think, Mom?"
"I'm Kate," she said as she held both my hand and my gaze. "All children need jelly from time to time, I suppose," she agreed quietly.
"Great! Cause I'm here for buy a Mattie and his sister their favorite food day! What's your favorite kind?" I asked the two now giggling children.
"I like grape!" shouted Mattie's sister.
"And strawberry for me!" Mattie said loudly. "And Mommie likes the orange kind, but I think it's yucky."
We walked together as we finished shopping, and she told me her story. The once eerily quiet children gleefully clapped their hands and laughed as I dropped items into the cart on top of them. I paid for our groceries, and we walked out into the parking lot. She stopped when we reached her car and turned to look into my eyes one final time ... the dark-haired woman with the intense, deep green eyes looked deeply into my eyes and said, her voice cracking with each word, "Why did you do this for us? You don't even know us. Why?"
I stepped away from the cart so the two children who were eating candy bars couldn't hear me. "I'm not sure," I said, my own voice trembling as I spoke. "But I think it's because Someone wanted me to." She hugged me, and I high-fived the kids and headed toward my car, tears pouring down my face. And as I climbed into my car, the words from a note I received on Friday were pounding in my head.
"I think you're starting to listen, even if you don't want to. Maybe Someone else wants you to. Think what would happen if you opened your ears even wider???"
"Why did You do what You did for me, God?" I whispered as I tried to see through the tears and put the key in my shaking hand into the ignition. "Did You know me even then? Did You love me even then? Why do You do what You do, God?"
Ears wide open ... what would happen if I opened my ears even wider? What if you did as well? Think what would happen indeed.
She paid for her two prescriptions with change from her pockets, the pockets her hands had been jammed into only a few minutes earlier. I don't know that I've ever seen anyone pay for medicine with quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies before, and I couldn't help but notice the impatience of the clerk as he carefully counted the money to make sure it was enough. She gathered the small bags that contained the medications and placed them in the pocket of the tattered hooded sweatshirt that hung loosely from her small shoulders. She turned the cart that held the two silent children and made her way past those of us who were still waiting. I smiled at the kids as they got closer, and her eyes met mine once again. Those intense, deep green eyes met mine, and I saw again what I had seen earlier ... hurt and pain. She mumbled something as she quickly looked down at the floor when she hurried past me. I turned and watched as she walked away with her two eerily quiet children.
I paid for my diabetes medication and pushed my own cart along the aisles of the crowded store as I tried to recall what I needed to purchase. I was in the peanut butter aisle when I saw her again, her forehead wrinkled in what seemed to be deep thought as she stared at the multitude of peanut butter jars before her. I wondered what it was about peanut butter that could cause her such apparent distress, and I fought back the urge to ask as I placed a half-dozen jars of my favorite brand into my cart. I smiled at her children again as I turned to head on down the aisle, and surprisingly, the little boy sheepishly smiled back at me. And then I looked into her eyes again, the children's mother's eyes, and I smiled at her as well. She nodded her head and once again stared at the floor beneath her feet. I kept walking, stopping to grab a couple of jars of sugar-free peach preserves. And then I heard the dainty voice of the little girl say, "Mommie, can we have some jelly just this once to go on our peanut butter?"
"Just this once?" I thought ... "What does that mean, just this once? Does that mean that kid has never had jelly before? Are those kids so quiet because they are hungry? Just this once ... What. Does. That. Flipping. Mean?" As those thoughts raced through my mind, I turned to look back to see if I could catch her eyes again ... those intense, deep green eyes ... and when she looked up, I saw it again. I saw the hurt and pain again, but this time the hurt and pain were joined by tears.
"I'm sorry, sweetie, but no," she said softly to her daughter. "We don't have enough money today for jelly and peanut butter. Maybe next time."
"That's what you say every time," the little boy said with his arms crossed in defiance across his chest. "You always say maybe next time on jelly and lots of other things, too."
"I'm so sorry, Mattie," she said with sadness lacing her voice. "When Daddy gets well, I promise."
My own blue eyes filled with tears as I gathered my courage and walked toward the trio who now had my undivided attention.
"Did I hear your mom say your name is Mattie?" I asked the little boy who had the same intense, deep green eyes as his mother. He nodded his head at me and smiled a little, and I said, "Well, Mattie, I have a son named Mattie, too! And do you know what today is?" Mattie shook his head from side to side, wondering what in the world the crazy lady with the ball cap, baggy jeans and really ugly sweatshirt was talking about. "Well, sir," I said in my most serious voice, "today is buy a Mattie and his sister their favorite food day!! And it's my extra lucky day because my Mattie lives very far away, and I was looking for someone to celebrate this special day with!" I extended my hand and gazed into her eyes once again ... the intense, deep green eyes that seemed to hold so much hurt and pain. The intense, deep green eyes that now held my gaze as they struggled to contain the tears that filled them.
"I'm Terrie," I said, "and these kiddos need some jelly today, don't you think, Mom?"
"I'm Kate," she said as she held both my hand and my gaze. "All children need jelly from time to time, I suppose," she agreed quietly.
"Great! Cause I'm here for buy a Mattie and his sister their favorite food day! What's your favorite kind?" I asked the two now giggling children.
"I like grape!" shouted Mattie's sister.
"And strawberry for me!" Mattie said loudly. "And Mommie likes the orange kind, but I think it's yucky."
We walked together as we finished shopping, and she told me her story. The once eerily quiet children gleefully clapped their hands and laughed as I dropped items into the cart on top of them. I paid for our groceries, and we walked out into the parking lot. She stopped when we reached her car and turned to look into my eyes one final time ... the dark-haired woman with the intense, deep green eyes looked deeply into my eyes and said, her voice cracking with each word, "Why did you do this for us? You don't even know us. Why?"
I stepped away from the cart so the two children who were eating candy bars couldn't hear me. "I'm not sure," I said, my own voice trembling as I spoke. "But I think it's because Someone wanted me to." She hugged me, and I high-fived the kids and headed toward my car, tears pouring down my face. And as I climbed into my car, the words from a note I received on Friday were pounding in my head.
"I think you're starting to listen, even if you don't want to. Maybe Someone else wants you to. Think what would happen if you opened your ears even wider???"
"Why did You do what You did for me, God?" I whispered as I tried to see through the tears and put the key in my shaking hand into the ignition. "Did You know me even then? Did You love me even then? Why do You do what You do, God?"
Ears wide open ... what would happen if I opened my ears even wider? What if you did as well? Think what would happen indeed.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
The Village Keepers
Over the last year or so, I've experienced a lot of firsts in my life. And when I think about it, that's rather amazing to me considering the fact that I'm not a youngster by any means. Some of those firsts were good ones ... like wearing a size 6 in jeans or participating in the Step Out walk to fight diabetes or going to the office holiday party or flying on an airplane or being honest about who I am (though some would say that should go in the not so good firsts category) or attending a fancy luncheon put on by one of our clients or watching my daughter run in her first 5K (and winning 2nd in her age division ... hooray, Megs!) or the best first of all ... becoming a granny to my precious little C.J. Some of my other firsts weren't so wonderful ... like getting stitches in my knee or saying goodbye to my son and his family when they moved to Canada or having more ear infections than there were months in the year or sobbing my guts out at work or having friends decide they couldn't be my friends any longer or having speaking engagements cancel or the worst first of all ... writing farewell letters to my children. Yep, this old gal has seen a lot of firsts in the last year and a half.
Both yesterday as I sat in the large banquet hall with several of my co-workers at the fancy luncheon listening to the young speaker tell her story and this morning as I stood at the 5K in the cold drizzle with my son-in-law waiting and watching for my only daughter to accomplish a big first in her life and cross the finish line, I was struck by the importance of something that has been brought to my mind over and over again in the last week. So much more than the enormity of some of those firsts in my life is the depth of meaning, the strong significance, the potential outcome of being part of a village of people who truly comprehend and understand what it means to love unconditionally. Last year, my children demonstrated a love for me that will forever humble me in every future moment of every future day. Matt, Brad and Meghann continue to stand firmly with me and around me and behind me and for me without compromise or regret, as do Becca, Shelby and Barrett as well. Those six young adults are the heartbeat of the village where I now reside, and their love and acceptance means more to me than they will ever know.
That whole standing with me and around me and behind me and for me thing ... I've come to understand within the last few months that it's not only my kids who do that, you know. Certain members of my family stand like strong and mighty oaks surrounding me, steadfast and unswaying in their acceptance and love for me as well ... family who will always stand with me through the good and the bad times of life. A few of my long-time friends have chosen to remain, and their feet are planted firmly on the steps of loyalty, commitment and faithfulness. As much as I hate to admit it, there's a life-saving head doctor who is part of my village as well. She's a key player, in fact, in spite of the really dumb homework she makes me do and the hard-to-answer questions she asks. And then there are the friends who give all-new meaning to the phrase, "It takes a village." They are the friends who push me, pull me, urge me on, encourage me, believe in me, listen and listen and listen some more, and speak truth to me even when I don't want to hear it. They are the ones who tell me I need to keep my ears wide open and listen for God's voice. They are the ones who tell me there's a purpose and a reason I'm still breathing, that there's a mission and a calling and something I'm supposed to do yet in my life.
A little over a year ago, I wanted to leave and never come back ... and today ... today, I live in a village of people whose love flows the purest, whose honesty speaks the loudest, whose loyalty holds the firmest, whose commitment runs the deepest, whose faith spans the widest, whose hope stretches the farthest, whose support stands the truest of any group of people I've ever known. They are my village keepers ... and they are keepers for sure.
Both yesterday as I sat in the large banquet hall with several of my co-workers at the fancy luncheon listening to the young speaker tell her story and this morning as I stood at the 5K in the cold drizzle with my son-in-law waiting and watching for my only daughter to accomplish a big first in her life and cross the finish line, I was struck by the importance of something that has been brought to my mind over and over again in the last week. So much more than the enormity of some of those firsts in my life is the depth of meaning, the strong significance, the potential outcome of being part of a village of people who truly comprehend and understand what it means to love unconditionally. Last year, my children demonstrated a love for me that will forever humble me in every future moment of every future day. Matt, Brad and Meghann continue to stand firmly with me and around me and behind me and for me without compromise or regret, as do Becca, Shelby and Barrett as well. Those six young adults are the heartbeat of the village where I now reside, and their love and acceptance means more to me than they will ever know.
That whole standing with me and around me and behind me and for me thing ... I've come to understand within the last few months that it's not only my kids who do that, you know. Certain members of my family stand like strong and mighty oaks surrounding me, steadfast and unswaying in their acceptance and love for me as well ... family who will always stand with me through the good and the bad times of life. A few of my long-time friends have chosen to remain, and their feet are planted firmly on the steps of loyalty, commitment and faithfulness. As much as I hate to admit it, there's a life-saving head doctor who is part of my village as well. She's a key player, in fact, in spite of the really dumb homework she makes me do and the hard-to-answer questions she asks. And then there are the friends who give all-new meaning to the phrase, "It takes a village." They are the friends who push me, pull me, urge me on, encourage me, believe in me, listen and listen and listen some more, and speak truth to me even when I don't want to hear it. They are the ones who tell me I need to keep my ears wide open and listen for God's voice. They are the ones who tell me there's a purpose and a reason I'm still breathing, that there's a mission and a calling and something I'm supposed to do yet in my life.
A little over a year ago, I wanted to leave and never come back ... and today ... today, I live in a village of people whose love flows the purest, whose honesty speaks the loudest, whose loyalty holds the firmest, whose commitment runs the deepest, whose faith spans the widest, whose hope stretches the farthest, whose support stands the truest of any group of people I've ever known. They are my village keepers ... and they are keepers for sure.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
No, No, No
My precious granddaughter C.J. did and said so many adorable things when I was in Canada a few weeks ago that I could easily fill like a million posts if I tried to write about all of them. She is, after all, the cutest, sweetest, smartest ... well, you know the rest of that sentence by now. I wrote a post while I was there called "All Done," and there isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about the deep meaning of those two little words that was impressed upon me when my little granddaughter said them. And though I didn't think much about it when I was in Canada, over the last couple of days something else C.J. said has taken on all new meaning to me as well. There are two wiener dogs who reside with Matt, Becca and C.J. ... Andy and Chloe. C.J. loves those crazy dogs, and they tolerate ... ummm, I mean, love her, too. While they put up with little C.J. when she gets in their dog beds or steals their toys, they adore her when she's in her high chair eating breakfast, lunch or dinner. They adore her then because she often tosses food off of her tray so that she can watch them scurry to scarf the tasty morsels. But even though she wanted to see the dogs gobbling up her food, she would always say, "No, no, no," the minute they began to eat. She would say, "No, no, no," and then she would crack up laughing as the dogs ignored her protest, ate the food and patiently waited for the whole scene to repeat itself.
As most of you know, my life has changed drastically in the last few months ... geez, has it really only been a few months since my conference room confession to my friend at work? It feels like I've lived an entire lifetime since that day ... some days, it feels like I've lived several lifetimes since that day. You have no idea how many times I've questioned how that happened, how I ever allowed myself to say what I did that day. Seriously ... I kept that part of me hidden away for half a century (yeah, think about that ... half a century ... that's a heck of a long time), only to break down and spill my guts in a conference room at work. Sheesh, sheesh, and more sheesh ... how did that happen? You know what I said when I got into my car that day after I left the conference room? I said over and over again, "No, no, no. No, no, no, that did not just happen. No, no, no, I did not say that. No, no, no, she didn't get what I was saying." Yeah, right, huh? What began that day as a sobbing, trying-to-breathe, rambling conversation has turned into ... well ... that conversation has turned into Elizabeth and many others like her.
Last week, my life-saving head doctor kept using the word "vehicle," as in "Terrie, you are a vehicle." And I said, "No, no, no." She said, "God is working through you." And I said, "No, no, no." A new friend I met a couple of weeks ago said, "You're supposed to be a voice and tell your story." And I told him, "No, no, no." On Sunday, someone posted a comment on my blog that said, "This is what God is calling you to do Terrie, to speak of your journey and your salvation and about unconditional love! All the speaking engagements prior to this was to prime you for these exact moments." And I thought when I read it, "No, no, no." On Monday, a friend from Wichita said, "This is your calling." And I told her, "No, no, no." Yesterday, a gal I met years ago at a speaking event emailed me and said, "God isn't finished with you yet, and you can't begin to comprehend what He has planned for you to do." And I replied and said, "No, no, no." Last night, a friend wrote me a note and said, "You are a woman with a passion for God and a story to tell. What you have to say matters. God speaks through you. Deal with it." And I said, "No, no, no." Today, my conference room friend said, "God is sending you so many signs that this is what you are meant to do. You need to listen to Him. You need to have your ears wide open, and understand that this is powerful stuff!" And I said, "No, no, no."
So, here's the thing ... sometimes saying, "No, no, no," just doesn't work. C.J. can say, "No, no, no," to those dogs all she wants, but they will still accomplish their food-finding mission. They will ignore her "No, no, no" ... they will wait patiently for her ... and they will accomplish their mission.
Go ahead ... tell me there's not an enormous, gigantic, overwhelming lesson in that for me ... an enormous, gigantic, overwhelming lesson indeed.
As most of you know, my life has changed drastically in the last few months ... geez, has it really only been a few months since my conference room confession to my friend at work? It feels like I've lived an entire lifetime since that day ... some days, it feels like I've lived several lifetimes since that day. You have no idea how many times I've questioned how that happened, how I ever allowed myself to say what I did that day. Seriously ... I kept that part of me hidden away for half a century (yeah, think about that ... half a century ... that's a heck of a long time), only to break down and spill my guts in a conference room at work. Sheesh, sheesh, and more sheesh ... how did that happen? You know what I said when I got into my car that day after I left the conference room? I said over and over again, "No, no, no. No, no, no, that did not just happen. No, no, no, I did not say that. No, no, no, she didn't get what I was saying." Yeah, right, huh? What began that day as a sobbing, trying-to-breathe, rambling conversation has turned into ... well ... that conversation has turned into Elizabeth and many others like her.
Last week, my life-saving head doctor kept using the word "vehicle," as in "Terrie, you are a vehicle." And I said, "No, no, no." She said, "God is working through you." And I said, "No, no, no." A new friend I met a couple of weeks ago said, "You're supposed to be a voice and tell your story." And I told him, "No, no, no." On Sunday, someone posted a comment on my blog that said, "This is what God is calling you to do Terrie, to speak of your journey and your salvation and about unconditional love! All the speaking engagements prior to this was to prime you for these exact moments." And I thought when I read it, "No, no, no." On Monday, a friend from Wichita said, "This is your calling." And I told her, "No, no, no." Yesterday, a gal I met years ago at a speaking event emailed me and said, "God isn't finished with you yet, and you can't begin to comprehend what He has planned for you to do." And I replied and said, "No, no, no." Last night, a friend wrote me a note and said, "You are a woman with a passion for God and a story to tell. What you have to say matters. God speaks through you. Deal with it." And I said, "No, no, no." Today, my conference room friend said, "God is sending you so many signs that this is what you are meant to do. You need to listen to Him. You need to have your ears wide open, and understand that this is powerful stuff!" And I said, "No, no, no."
So, here's the thing ... sometimes saying, "No, no, no," just doesn't work. C.J. can say, "No, no, no," to those dogs all she wants, but they will still accomplish their food-finding mission. They will ignore her "No, no, no" ... they will wait patiently for her ... and they will accomplish their mission.
Go ahead ... tell me there's not an enormous, gigantic, overwhelming lesson in that for me ... an enormous, gigantic, overwhelming lesson indeed.
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