I Said Yes

When people told me a year ago that I would one day stand again before groups of people as a speaker, I tried to hide the sadness in my eyes and the pain in my heart as I softly said, "That will never happen. I'm finished speaking ... that part of my life is over." What I didn't say to those folks was, "And that's as it should be ... it's my fault, and I'm getting what I deserve." You see, every single event I had booked through 2015 cancelled when I told the truth about who I am ... every single event ... and more than a few of the people who called or emailed to inform me they were cancelling didn't hesitate to tell me it was my fault and that I was getting what I deserved. What they didn't understand was that I didn't need them to tell me those things ... every single beat of my heart and every single pulse of my soul told me how unworthy I was. 

This evening, I spoke for a group of about 100 people, and the minute I walked into the room, that feeling of unworthiness swept over me in a big way. I had been nervous all day about speaking tonight, partly because I knew that some of the folks who would be attending are well-respected professionals. If you've been reading along with me for a while, you know how I freak out about wearing the appropriate attire for special events ... yep, when I walked into that room and saw all the people in their fancy business duds, I thought for sure I was going to throw up right in front of all of them. It didn't matter that I received a ton of compliments at work today about how sharp I looked ... I instantly felt like a fish out of water. And just like a fish out of water, I felt myself gulping for air as I wondered if it's possible to throw up as you faint. Thankfully, the person who had asked me to speak saw my obvious distress, made her way to me with a bottle of water, shoved me into a chair and said, "You need to calm down. You're okay ... just breathe and drink some water. You're going to do great ... breathe in ... breathe out ... take a drink. You can do this."

It wasn't until I stood looking into the eyes of the people tonight and began to speak that my nervousness started easing off. It was when I looked into their eyes that I knew we were the same. It was when I looked into their eyes that I knew why I was there. For those of you who are speakers, you know that there is often one person in a group who catches your attention ... one person who seems to be carrying a heavier burden than the others. Tonight that person was a man who looked to be around 50 ... a man who patiently waited at the end of the line of people who came to talk to me after the meeting was over. He asked if he could hug me, and as he did, he broke down and began to cry. He told me his name and said he is a counselor at a high school. He sobbed as he told me about students who are being bullied at school ... about a student who was bullied several years ago and ended up committing suicide ... about students who live in constant fear ... about students whose parents have rejected them. He asked me if I would be willing to speak to the students and teachers at his school.

Most of the time when I'm asked to speak now, I say I need time to think about it. And I turn down more requests than I accept. I didn't hesitate for even a moment as I said yes to the man this evening ... I said yes to him immediately. I have a friend who reminds me almost every day that not one step of my journey over the last year and a half has been random in any way. I think she's right. I think the high school counselor is why I was invited to speak tonight, and I think perhaps he was there tonight because there's someone at his school I need to meet.

I said yes, friends ... I said yes.

At Leash's End

Though I'm already dreading the arrival of spring storm season, I must say that I'm ready for warmer weather to get here. This winter seems to have been especially long and especially cold for many parts of the country, and I'm sure I'm not alone in being ready to trade in my indoor exercise routine for some nice long walks outside. There's just something about being outside ... it's soothing to me somehow ... the wind across my face, the sound of birds in the trees, the feel of the trail beneath my feet. And of course, walking outside means Ollie the wiener dog ... my loyal, faithful, bridge-running, squirrel and rabbit-chasing, happy-all-the-time, tail-wagging, people-loving wiener dog walking buddy.

Today was a sunny, warm day ... a touch on the windy side, but otherwise perfect for a long afternoon walk. It's been a couple of weeks since Ollie and I walked outside, and he was itching to go this afternoon when I grabbed his harness and the leash from the rack in the garage. As I clicked the lock on the retractable leash to keep Ollie close to my side as we crossed the main street, I thought as I have many times before what a wonderful invention the leash is. I remember the old days when leashes were only one length, and there was no option but to wrap the leash around my hand if I didn't want my dog walking too far ahead of me. Yep, with Ollie being the adventurous little hound that he is, I'm grateful for the retractable leash every single time we go for a walk.

When we reached the trail, it only took a moment for me to realize that every human and dog in every nearby neighborhood had decided to do the same thing Ollie and I were doing ... there were people and dogs everywhere. Ollie's excitement level about going for a walk went up a gazillion-fold when he saw all the other dogs, and he tugged with all his wiener dog strength on the leash, whining as he tried desperately to run ahead and greet each one of them. Knowing that I would have to keep the leash locked if we stayed on the trail, I immediately turned around and told Ollie that we were going to walk the more deserted route we take during the winter months when it gets dark early. He wasn't the happiest wiener in the world as I tugged him off the trail away from the other dogs, but it didn't take long for his jubilation to return once I unlocked the leash so that he could run up ahead of me on the sidewalk.

Ollie and I walked for more than an hour this afternoon, and for pretty much the entire walk, Ollie ran ahead of me ... he ran ahead of me as far as the leash would reach. I smiled as I followed behind him, watching as he did his little hopping and skipping run ... he really is an adorably happy little guy. My mind was racing as fast as Ollie's feet were hopping and skipping ... so fast that I almost missed something ... I almost missed something important ... something meaningful ... something that I should have seen and understood long ago. It wasn't until we were on our way home that I got it, that it struck me, that my mind slowed down enough to take it in ... the truth that walked before me ... the truth at leash's end.

As we approached one of the three streets we had to cross on our way home, I tugged on Ollie's leash to pull him close to me to keep him safe from the cars that were speeding by. The more I tugged on the leash, the harder Ollie pulled against me until I finally picked him up and carried him across the road. The minute his little paws were back on the road, he ran to the end of the leash as hard and as fast as he could ... so hard and so fast that when he reached the end, the jerk of the leash against his harness not only gave my shoulder a jolt, it also lifted my little wiener dog's front feet off the ground. I stopped dead in my tracks and said aloud, "Ollie, you need to slow down, buddy, before you hurt me and you both. Sometimes it's not good to run ahead ... sometimes it's better to walk. Why are you in such a hurry anyway? One step at a time, little guy ... one step at a time."

I guess Ollie understood that the words that came out of my mouth were meant more for me than him, because when my eyes began filling with tears, he turned and trotted back to me and pawed at my legs for me to lift him into my arms. Burying my face in his furry little neck, I whispered, "I'm the one who needs to stop trying to run ahead, Oliver ... I'm the one who needs to walk ... I'm the one who needs to trust the process and stop trying to run ahead. One step at a time, buddy ... one step at a time ... one step at a time." 

Ollie walked the rest of the way home close to me ... I don't know if he knew I needed him to walk by my side ... maybe it was that he needed me to walk by him. I do know that God can use anything He chooses to reveal His truth to me. I know that because today that truth walked before me ... today that truth walked before me at leash's end.

Maybe It's About the Story

Last night, I changed my cover photo on Facebook like I do every week or so. I'm not sure what made me start changing the image so often ... I remember having one certain photo as my Facebook cover for like a year or longer. As those of you who are friends with me on Facebook well know, sometimes the images I choose are somewhat unique ... like the orangutan photos for example (the story behind those pics deserves a post all its own, by the way). Sometimes the images I choose are of my kids or my granddaughter, and there's only one word that defines those photos ... love. Sometimes I use photos of majestic mountains or fiery sunsets or crashing waves ... those images remind me that the world is so much bigger than the tiny part I live in each day. But sometimes ... sometimes I run across an image that reaches out, grabs my soul and screams, "This one is for you, Terrie." 

The image I chose for my Facebook cover photo last night was one of those ... one of those that grabbed me the moment I saw it. In the background is a blurry image of an open book, and in the foreground are the words, "Maybe it's not about the happy ending. Maybe it's about the story." Powerfully intense words for someone like me who is so often driven by the desire to finish ... to be done ... to arrive ... to find the happy ending. Powerfully intense words for someone like me who worries so much about being done that I fail to appreciate how important the journey to that "doneness" truly is. I haven't been able to shake those words from my mind today ... "Maybe it's not about the happy ending. Maybe it's about the story."

If that's true ... if it really is about the story, then what is the story? The story is life ... the story is living ... the story is life and everything that comes with it. The story is the good and the bad and everything in between. There are times when the story is beautiful. There are times when the story is messy. The story is life. The story is honest. The story is deep. The story is family. The story is growing. The story is tears. The story is acceptance. The story is laughter. The story is real. The story is sharing. The story is glorious. The story is helping. The story is painful. The story is friendship. The story is love. The story is life, friends ... the story is life. The story is getting up every morning ... breathing ... living ... the story is life. 

"Maybe it's not about the happy ending. Maybe it's about the story."

Maybe it is about the story ... maybe it is indeed.

Yabba Dabba Do!

Ready for me to confess another deep, dark secret? Of course you are. But ... I'm warning you, you might want to grab a glass of wine or a beer before you continue reading because this confession is a biggie ... huge ... enormous ... gigantic even. Ready? Settled in with your beverage of choice in your nice comfy recliner? Alrighty then ... here it is ... wait ... I'm not sure I can reveal something so personal to the entire world. What if people hate me? What if I get a deluge of emails and messages bashing me? What if some of you stop reading if I admit the truth? Oh, yeah ... been there, done that already and lived to wear the t-shirt and tell the story, too. And we all know that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger, right? I know that some of you will never again view me in the same way ... that my confession may well cause you to question my sanity or doubt my intelligence ... that I am opening myself up to judgment and criticism. But if I haven't learned anything over the last year and a half, I've learned this ... there are times in life when I just have to pull up my big girl panties and be brave and courageous. So here goes ... I totally and completely love the old television animated series The Flintstones. Wow ... I guess confession really is good for the soul because I feel like I've had a weight lifted from my shoulders ... wow, wow, wow.

For many years, I could quite literally quote entire episodes of The Flintstones show ... not so much now, but for way more years than I will ever admit, I had memorized the lines of not one, not two, but every single character in the show. And ... okay, this is really going out on a limb ... I went through a phase when I constantly uttered the words "Yabba Dabba Do!" I said, "Yabba Dabba Do!" with a lilt in my voice when everything was going well or something great happened, and I said, "No Yabba, no Dabba, no Do," when life sucked or something lousy occurred. Yep ... I managed to work the words into almost every conversation I had and to express every emotion you can possible imagine. The words "Yabba Dabba Do!" just spoke to me for some reason, not the least of which is that they sound so stinking cool as they roll off my tongue. I even dressed up as a Flintstones character for Halloween a couple of years ... okay, okay, maybe it was more than just a couple of years. I have nothing to offer up in defense of my deeply rooted affinity for the odd cartoon series ... not one single, solitary piece of legitimate evidence ... except to say that I flipping love all things Flintstone. 

I'm sure you're wondering why I feel the need this evening to fess up about my obviously unrequited love for Fred and Wilma and Barney and Betty, so please allow me to explain. It was a recent conversation with my life-saving head doctor that brought my old pals back to mind ... a conversation about right vs. wrong, good vs. evil, acceptance vs. condemnation, truth vs. falsehood. In answering a question the good doctor posed to me concerning her belief that I have some ... ahem ... unresolved anger toward God, I told her I often feel like Fred Flintstone. Again ... please allow me to explain. Fred was generally a pretty good guy, but sometimes he, like me and quite possibly you as well, had an internal battle going on within his heart and mind. To portray Fred's internal struggle, the writers of the show created scenes in which an angel would appear on one of Fred's shoulders while a devil appeared on the other. And as Fred's heart and mind battle raged within him, both the angel and the devil chattered in his ears as they each tried to convince him they were correct in their assessment of the matter at hand.

The truth is I feel like my old buddy Fred most of the time ... like I've got an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. And maybe the truth is that we all feel that way at certain times in our lives. Times when we are torn between believing or not believing, trusting or not trusting, listening or not listening, accepting or not accepting, speaking or not speaking, loving or not loving ... yep, that list could go on and on and on and on and on and on. If indeed we all feel as though we have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, it seems to reason that means that we ... in the ways that matter anyway ... are all the same. If we all have an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other, we are all equal in our struggles, equal in our triumphs, equal in our attempts to understand who we are and why we are here.

The good doctor left me with something to ponder and try to comprehend ... she told me that perhaps I need to consider that instead of having an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other,  I have only angels. Angels ... to help me on my journey, to encourage me to accomplish the task that has been set before me and to make me a better person through the process. I decided today that If ever a thought deserves a "Yabba Dabba Do!" friends, it's that one ... it is that one indeed.

Come on and say it with me ... you know you want to ..."Yabba flipping Dabba flipping Do!"

So About Last Night ...

A couple of weeks ago, I baked a bunch of cookies and took them to work for my co-workers to enjoy. I sent an email to let them know the cookies were in the kitchen, and in that email I said that they benefit when I miss my kids. It made me chuckle when one of the young men came to my desk and said, "I don't mean this to sound selfish, Terrie, but I sort of like it when you miss your kids. These cookies are awesome!" As I'm sure many of you empty nest parents will agree, there are certain times of the year and certain events that cause me to miss my kids a whole, whole, whole lot. Such was the case yesterday as I readied myself for a certain television event that would be taking place in the evening. Yesterday, I missed my movie-making son in a big way ... so much so that my friends at work got to chow down on homemade butterscotch and chocolate fudge today.

Watching the Academy Awards has always been a big deal for my Bradley, even when he was pretty young. He would stretch out on the floor with his chin in his hands and watch with wide eyes as award after award was given out. I can remember more than a few times when he would fall asleep under the glow of the television and I would carry him upstairs to his room, tuck the covers around his sleeping little body and kiss him good night. I also remember how mad he would be at himself the next morning because he fell asleep. It's funny how the tables turned ... when Brad was a teenager, I was the one who would fall asleep as we watched the Oscars and he would wake me when the show was over and tell me to go to bed. Many, many years Brad and I watched the Academy Awards together, and last night as I sat on my couch watching the show with my canine companions, Julie and Ollie, I missed Brad ... I missed him a whole, whole, whole lot.

I must say that I thought last night's Academy Awards show was one of the best I've seen in several years ... come on ... Ellen as the host will always score big in my book. And if Ellen weren't enough, Pink sang "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and Bette Midler ... yep, the divine Miss M herself ... sang "Wind Beneath My Wings." Seriously ... Ellen and Pink and Bette ... it just doesn't get any better than that. I was deeply moved by the appearance of Sidney Poitier, just as I also was by the participation of so many older generation actors. Perhaps it's due in part to the loss of two well-loved actors in recent months, Paul Walker and Philip Seymour Hoffman, but the show had a different tone to it this year in my opinion. It was almost as if there was an unstated sense of awareness and respect as to how brief life can be ... death eventually claims each one of us, both the common man and the super famous as well.

It seems fitting to close tonight's post with some words from what I considered to be one of the best acceptance speeches of all time. After winning the award for Best Actor in a Supporting Role, Jerad Leto spoke some words that touched not only my heart, but the hearts of millions around the world as well. Well done, Mr. Leto, well done.

"In 1971, Bossier City, Louisiana, there was a teenage girl who was pregnant with her second child. She was a high school dropout and a single mom, but somehow she managed to make a better life for herself and her children. She encouraged her kids to be creative, to work hard and to do something special. That girl is my mother and she’s here tonight. And I just want to say, I love you, Mom. Thank you for teaching me to dream.

"And this for the 36 million people who have lost the battle to AIDS and to those of you out there who have ever felt injustice because of who you are or who you love, tonight I stand here in front of the world with you and for you. Thank you so much and goodnight."

Dream On

“What hath night to do with sleep?” 
― John Milton, Paradise Lost

Up until roughly seven or eight months ago, I dreamed almost every night while I was sleeping. Not only did I dream a lot, I also remembered most of my dreams ... in fact, I even remember dreams I had years ago (and no, I don't mean the wolf dream I have when I'm running a fever ... everyone knows that my wolf fever dreams belong in a category to themselves). When all of a sudden for no apparent reason I stopped dreaming, it freaked me out just a bit ... okay, okay, it freaked me out a lot. Completely convinced that I must have some sort of rare "no more dreaming for you" type of disease, I did what I always do when I'm completely convinced that I must have some sort of rare disease ... I used the Google. You can only imagine my relief when I determined after many hours of research that my lack of sleepytime dreaming was most likely a side effect resulting from a change in the dosage of one of my medications. I also learned that in most people, the side effect wasn't permanent and in time they began dreaming again. Whew ... talk about putting my mind at ease. Gosh ... what's a life without dreams, eh? Proving that self-diagnosing via the Internet is always a smart idea, about a month ago my dreams did indeed return ... boy, did they ever.

I'm sure you've heard the phrase, "Be careful what you wish for," countless times ... as have I. And after months of wishing I would start dreaming again, I can most definitely, without a shadow of even a tiny bit of doubt, from the depths of my soul tell you to be careful what you wish for ... really ... be careful what you wish for. While I've had my share of weird or frightening dreams down through the years, I can't remember having a stretch of time when every single dream I had was strange ... until now. Please, allow me to explain. Last night I dreamed I lost my car ... not so crazy, right? Except that everyone I asked to help me find it told me I had to climb a marshmallow mountain, walk through hot lava, do 50 push-ups while wearing suspenders and a tie, and appear before the king of Candy Land and persuade him to tell me where my car was. And after I did all that, the knights of the Round Table pulled out their swords and tried to kill me. No, there's nothing at all weird or crazy about that dream ... not at all. Oh, but wait ...

The night before, I dreamed I was on an airplane ... again, not so weird ... frightening maybe, but not off-the-wall weird. Until I realized the plane was about to crash and I grabbed a rope and jumped out the back of the plane and landed safely on the ground ... where I was met by an army of soldiers who told me I was a traitor for leaving my fellow passengers to save my own skin. I woke up when I was crawling to the group of injured people from the plane after one of the soldiers conked me in the head with a giant ceramic teddy bear. And the night before that, I dreamed that some woman I had never met was holding my obviously severely wounded and bleeding Ollie the wiener dog up toward heaven like some sort of sacrifice as I tried desperately to break through the force field that separated me from him ... while I was eating string cheese and trying to buy a bottle of water from a street vendor pushing a silver cart with a live monkey riding on top. Nope, nothing bizarre or terrifying about those dreams ... nothing at all.

I'm sure all you dream interpreters are already hard at word deciphering the deep psychological meaning within my dreams, so here's a touch more info for you as you attempt to analyze the insanity of my mind. Many of my dreams now involve violent behavior of some sort ... violent behavior directed toward me or someone I love. I'm never violent myself in my dreams, by the way ... it's the other people doing all the stabbing, beating and shooting. I dream a ton about losing things or about being lost myself, and I also dream a lot about falling off of tall buildings or mountains. I still dream good, sweet dreams about my granddaughter and my children now and again, but a huge chunk of my dreams these days are dark and haunting ... so much so that if I could figure out a way to not sleep and still function, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

While I don't much care for waking up in the middle of the night, jumping out of bed, turning on the light and searching for Oliver the wiener dog under the covers to make sure he's OK or feeling the overwhelming need to check my garage throughout the day to make sure my car is there, I'm learning that even bad dreams can teach me some pretty important lessons about life. Lessons about valuing the moments I'm given each day ... moments to be kind ... moments to be loving ... moments to be understanding ... moments to be compassionate ... moments to be unafraid ... moments to be brave ... moments to be helpful ... moments to be honest ... moments to be sincere ... moments to be friendly ... moments to be courageous. Lessons about chasing my dreams ... lessons about never giving up ... lessons about dreaming bigger than I ever have before.

I'm tired, cold and yawning ... guess that means it's time to go to sleep and see where the land of dreams takes me tonight. Bring it, Mr. Dreammaker ... I'm ready to learn ... I'm ready to learn all the things you have to teach me. 

Dream on, friends ... dream on.





  

Sometimes You Think You Know Someone

Some people would say I'm getting sappier as I age ... yes, I said "sappier" not "scrappier," though there are probably one or two folks who would argue that I'm getting scrappier as well. I never used to cry much; in fact, my mom used to tell me I was hard-hearted because I wasn't a crier. That's one thing Mom was wrong about, by the way ... just because someone doesn't cry easily or often doesn't mean they don't have a super tender and caring heart. Hmmm ... perhaps I need to pen a post titled "Things Us Moms Are Wrong About" ... Lord knows I've been wrong about a ton of things myself as a mom. But I digress ... back to me being more sappy than I used to be.

I've written previously about how I often peruse YouTube videos when I can't sleep at night, and that much of that perusing involves watching clips from The Ellen Show. (And so you know, I still want to be on her show someday in case any of you might have a plan of some sort to help me get there ... just sayin'.) While most of my late-night YouTube watching involved Ellen's show, every now and again I get distracted by some of the other suggested videos that pop up to the right of my screen. That's when I find myself hopping right on down the bunny trail from one video to another until I end up far, far, far away from where my YouTube adventure first began. And sometimes ... well, sometimes what I stumble upon touches me, and I sit on my couch and cry as I watch them. Some of the videos that make me weepy are just plain old sappy in nature ... like a mama pig nursing motherless kittens or an orangutan who becomes best buds with a hound dog or an old lady who sings to the single mom and her kids who live next door to her ... you know the type of clips I'm talking about, just sappy, tug at your heartstrings sappy. But then ... then are the videos that tell the story of some person or some event that is truly amazing ... those are the videos that make me bawl my eyes out and create a burning desire within me to be a better person.

A couple of nights ago, I watched a video about a 70-year-old calculus teacher in California ... a self-proclaimed and student agreed-upon tough, no-nonsense, "I'm not here to make school fun for you" kind of guy. That's the man the students encountered each day in class ... that's the man the students assumed their teacher was outside the walls of the classroom as well. You see, those students thought they knew their teacher ... the key words there being "thought they knew." It wasn't until one of the students volunteered to help out with a blood drive and attended a meeting at the local children's hospital that the students discovered there was a lot more to their calculus teacher than they new. You can only imagine the students' surprise when they learned that their tough, no-nonsense teacher regularly donates blood ... so much blood, in fact, that his name appears on a plague in the hospital. And that surprise quickly turned to amazement when the students learned what else their teacher does in his spare time ... for the last 20 years, he has volunteered to hold, rock, feed and comfort sick babies in the hospital.

I've thought a lot about the lessons contained within the story of the calculus teacher, and there are plenty of them ... lessons about sacrifice, selflessness and service. But the lesson that strikes me most, that touches me the most deeply, is one I can relate to on a personal level in a big old huge way. As the students talked about their teacher, one young man said something ... words I've heard and read countless times ... words I now understand on a whole new level at this point in my journey of life.

"Sometimes you think you know someone, and then you find out you don't really know them at all."

When I heard the young man say those words, I realized that, more often than not, I interpret those words to mean something negative about someone rather than something positive. You know ... like when you think the little old lady who lives around the corner is just a sweet, innocent old lady and then you find out she's a drug dealer or a money launderer for the mob. OK, that's an extreme example ... but I'd bet every single person reading this post has known or currently knows someone whom they believed was kind and honest and loyal and compassionate only to find out the person is a lying, backstabbing, hurtful, selfish jerk. As I listened to the young man's words, I began to think about the people in my own life who have surprised me ... people who have surprised me in a positive way. There are people whom I thought were tough, no-nonsense, life isn't about having fun, get it done folks who have surprised me with their kindness, acceptance, encouragement and love ... people I thought I knew until I found out firsthand I didn't really know them at all.

I'd like to close tonight by tossing out a challenge to all of you ... a call to action of sorts. You see, I know what it feels like to have people think they know me when they don't really know me at all, and that's not a fun place to be, friends ... not a fun place to be at all. How about we all spend more time looking for the good in people ... digging deeper, listening longer, loving louder. I think we may just be surprised by just how many calculus teachers there really are ... I think we may just be surprised indeed.

Always The Bridesmaid

Tonight's post is one of those that needs a disclaimer right up front ... it's going to be one of those gut honest posts ... one that's been swirling around in my brain for the last couple of weeks ... one that I've gone back and forth over whether or not to write it. But here's the thing ... I've learned that those kinds of posts are the very ones that I need to write, because those posts are generally the ones that help the most people, myself included. 

Weddings ... weddings are big life events, whether it's your own wedding or the wedding of someone who is special to you. Me being who I am, when I think about weddings, one of the first things I think of is fancy clothes ... of course I do, right? But I think about a lot more than just the fancy duds ... I think about love and commitment and promises and hope for the future. Weddings are one of those times in life when troubles seem to disappear and all becomes well with the world. Weddings bring people together ... weddings bring people together to celebrate the incredible miracle that is love.

I've been blessed to have been asked to be in a few weddings in my day, to don a fancy dress ... yep, I said dress ... and be a member of the wedding party. Some of those weddings took place before I walked down the aisle for my own wedding, and some occurred after I was married. And as I've been mulling over this post, I've been thinking about how different my feelings were when I stood at the front of the church as an unmarried bridesmaid as compared to how I felt when I filled the same role as a married bridesmaid. I distinctly remember one wedding when an old lady I didn't even know said to me, "Oh, honey child ... you're just always the bridesmaid and never the bride, aren't you? Don't worry, I'm sure someday someone will come along who wants to marry you." For the record, don't ever say those words to a single bridesmaid ... never never never ever say those words to a single bridesmaid who quite possibly is already wondering if she will ever be the bride.

When I get sad like I was for the last couple of weeks, people invariably ask me what happened to make me sad ... a whole lot of people ask me what happened to make me sad. The truth is that sometimes nothing happens to trigger my sadness ... sometimes I just wake up one day and I'm sad. At other times, I can trace the root of my sadness back to a certain event that occurred or a specific conversation that took place. Though it frustrates me terribly when I wake up sad for no real reason, I've come to understand that there's absolutely nothing I can do about that kind of sadness other than wait it out. When my sadness is the result of a tangible event or conversation, that's a bit trickier and involves my need to set boundaries or stand my ground ... sometimes I'm not so good at either of those, by the way. I'm learning to deal with both of those kinds of sadness ... learning being the key word there because I'm certainly not there yet. 

There's another kind of sadness, however, that terrifies me ... the sadness that causes me to quake in my boots ... it's what I call the "smoldering sadness," and it's a beast ... trust me, it's a real beast to overcome. My most recent round of sadness was sort of a combo ... a difficult conversation that caused the smoldering sadness to burst into flames in a big, huge way. It's funny how that works, you know, how one of the other kinds of sadness can spark the smoldering sadness and turn it into a huge bonfire before I even realize what's happening. And when the smoldering sadness starts burning, it's really, really, really hard to put out the flames.

I think we all have at least a few embers of smoldering sadness within us, some more than others. For me, my smoldering sadness is about always being a bridesmaid and never the bride. You see, I'm the person other people talk to about what's going on in their lives ... and please don't misunderstand me ... I'm so very glad I can be that person. I'm the person who listens without judgment, and people know their secrets are safe with me. And again, please don't misunderstand me ... I'm honored and humbled that people feel comfortable enough with me to share their secret struggles and joys and everything in between, and I hope they always will. I'm happy I'm the person people confide in and ask advice of and vent to ... very happy ... very, very, very happy. I am also, however, the person who listens to people talk about their plans with friends for the weekend or where they are lunching together that day or whom they're inviting to their house for a dinner party or which store they will choose for their shopping excursion of the week, along with a plethora of other group or friends-related activities. It's quite rare that I'm invited to participate in any of those events these days, and that's not so much happy for me, friends ... not so much happy at all. That's my smoldering sadness ... feeling like I don't fit ... like I'm not wanted ... like I don't belong. Yep, when those flames start burning, they can turn into a mighty, mighty big fire before I can snap my fingers.

Lest you finish reading this post with the words "oh, poor Terrie" on your lips, please allow me to close by assuring you that's neither the reason nor the point of my penning this entry ... not at all. What I want you to take away from tonight's post is quite simple ... there are a ton of people out there who are always the bridesmaids and never the brides. Bridesmaids who gladly and willingly stand every single day in support of people they love and care about ... but bridesmaids who also carry within them the smoldering sadness of being unseen or unappreciated or unloved or unwanted or unheard or unnecessary. My reason tonight? My point tonight? My prayer tonight? One and only one ... that you'll take the time and make the effort to look for the bridesmaids in your own lives ... that you'll not only look for them but that you'll invite them to be the bride now and again. You might just be surprised at how much good it does ... not just for them, but for you as well.

The Mightiest of the Ducks

When we first moved to Florida, Matt was four, Brad was one and Meghann ... well, Meghann came along about nine months after we moved. We lived in a one-level quadruplex at the end of a cul-de-sac ... our apartment was one of 250 units that made up the subdivision. The area was beautifully landscaped with tropical flowers and exotic fauna of all kinds, glistening ponds where children and parents would fish, and towering palm trees that brushed the blue of the south Florida sky. Yep, it was a beautiful place for sure.

It didn't take long for my boys to discover that there were ducks living in the pond just to the right of our apartment, and every day Matt, Brad and I would take an afternoon walk so they could feed the ducks. It also didn't take long for those ducks to learn that if they followed us and quacked loudly enough, we would come back outside and give them more bread. My sons looked forward to duck time every day, and I looked forward to seeing my two little guys having so much fun. Duck time was great ... until ... until the day the ducks scared the daylights out of Matt.

We had noticed that two of the ducks hadn't been around for a couple of weeks, and the day they returned, they returned with like a million baby ducks. No, really ... they came back with a ton of baby ducks. Matt and Brad were mesmerized by the young ducklings, and I must admit, they were pretty darn cute ... both the baby ducks and my little boys, especially when the ducklings lined up and followed us home. I'm not sure who was begging harder ... the baby ducks for more food or Matt and Brad for more food to give them. Since I didn't have any more bread, I grabbed a box of Cheerios and we headed back outside.

The ducklings were congregated on the sidewalk, so I tossed some of the cereal just beyond them so they would move and then handed the box to Matt and told him he could feed the rest to the duckies. I had no idea that ducks love Cheerios so much ... so much so that before Matt could get to the end of the sidewalk, all those baby ducks (along with their parents, who had just arrived on the scene) descended upon my son. The ducks were pecking at Matt's shoes, biting at his clothes and trying with all their might to get to the Cheerios. The more tightly my terrified ... and by then screaming little boy ... clutched the cereal box, the more aggressive the squawking gaggle became. It wasn't until I swooped Matt into my arms and attempted to shoo away the ducks that Matt dumped all the Cheerios on the ground just beneath my feet, causing me to scream right along with Mattie as I tried to get away from the mighty, ferocious duck brigade.

Yesterday as I was channel surfing, I was happy when I stumbled upon Mighty Ducks II. I'm sure some of you remember those movies ... the story about a hockey team composed of misfit boys who eventually become champs under the leadership of a coach who had lost his way in life as well. In the second Ducks movie, the coach allows the success of making it to the Goodwill Games go to his head, becoming more concerned about securing corporate sponsors than the boys themselves. The film contains some great life lessons about being true to who you are, about what it means to be part of a team, about what strong leadership really means. But as I watched the movie yesterday, I was struck with one lesson in particular ... one really powerful lesson.

The more the coach succumbed to the glory of fame and the temptation of power, the farther apart he grew from the team of boys he cared so much about. The more he tried to make the boys look and act like what other people were telling him Team USA should look and act like, the more the team fell apart. It wasn't until an old friend confronted him and encouraged him to remember who he was and where he came from ... it wasn't until his friend told him to be the coach he was born to be ... it wasn't until he searched his heart and found himself again that he was able to lead the boys to victory. And you know what? It wasn't the fancy Team USA that won the championship ... it was the Mighty Ducks. It was when the coach and the boys quit trying to be the team everyone told them they should be and started being the team they were meant to be that they won. The boys were a miserable mess as Team USA, but as Mighty Ducks ... as Mighty Ducks, they were champions. 

As the movie ended, I couldn't help but think about something I said in the conference room the day I fell apart and told my friend the truth about who I am. "You can put a snake in a sheepskin, and it's still a snake." Just like Ducks trying to be Team USA, a snake trying to look like, act like or be a sheep is a miserable mess, too. 

Quack ... quack ... quack, friends ... quack ... quack ... quack.

Guess What I Heard?

One of the things I've been responsible for at my job for the last few years has been to conduct what we call "new employee orientation." In a nutshell, that means I help the new kids on the block fill out the perfunctory paperwork that accompanies a new job and introduce them to the way we do things in our office. A lot of what I say during the time I spend with a new employee is nuts and bolts kinds of stuff like how to fill out withholding statements or how to set the alarm for the building or where the coffee cups are kept ... important stuff for sure, and I always take great care to make sure I impart all the information the new employee needs to know. But there's something else I do during a new person's orientation time ... I try my very best to instill in them the unique spirit that makes our company so incredibly special. I always spend some time telling our new folks that we are a family at SHS ... that we look out for each other ... that we help each other ... that we care about each other ... that we're a family.

Since I brought in doughnuts for everyone at work when I shared the news almost three years ago that Matt and Becca were expecting their first child, I decided it was only fitting to do something special when I made the announcement that Johnson baby number two is due in late July. I'm sort of semi-famous around the office for my layered bean dip dish ... so semi-famous that one gal in the office requests it every year for her birthday celebration. Once I got the go-ahead from Matt and Becca to let other people know they're pregnant, I sent a meeting maker and asked everyone to join me in the kitchen ... a meeting maker that was quite intriguing to my co-workers. I simply requested their presence for a quick meeting and said that I would provide the chips, layered dip and reason for the meeting. Though I knew that people would be curious as to what I was going to tell them at the meeting, I certainly didn't anticipate that my elusiveness would cause such a flurry of chatter among my friends at work.

I had sent my meeting maker late in the evening the day before the meeting, and it wasn't long after I arrived at work the next morning that I realized the chatter about the reason for the meeting had already escalated at breakneck speed. The question "I wonder what Terrie's meeting is about?" had quickly morphed into "Guess what I heard?" as person after person attempted to pry information from me. The incorrect answers to the "Guess what I heard?" question pretty much covered every possibility known to mankind. Some were lighthearted in nature and caused me to laugh out loud ... "I heard Terrie's getting married" ... "I heard Terrie's moving to Canada and wants to telecommute" ... "I heard Terrie won the lottery" ... and my personal favorite ... "I heard Terrie is gay." Others had a more serious tone ... "I heard Terrie got another job and is resigning" ... "I heard Terrie is sick and going out on medical leave" ... "I heard Terrie is taking early retirement." (For the record, young pups, I'm nowhere near old enough to retire!) It was more than interesting to me, however, that, to my knowledge anyway, no one's "Guess what I heard?" answer involved me announcing I was going to be a grandma again.

As I wrote in my previous post, I've been a bit down lately ... hmmm ... that's probably not a totally accurate description. When I hide out at my desk with my headphones on, don't want to talk to anyone, have a difficult time looking people in the eye, feel like I don't fit or belong anywhere ... when I have to fight to not come home and go straight to bed, that's a little more than "a bit down." And for the record, I hate it when I feel this way ... I hate it, hate it, hate it ... I hate how it makes me feel, and I hate even more how it makes those around me feel. My heart ached yesterday when a friend at work said, "Everyone is happier when you're happy, and they're asking me if you're OK." And when the same friend said to me today, "People look to you, Terrie ... they look to you to set the tone here, and they worry when you're so sad," I seriously wanted to crawl under a rock and hide out until my smile returns.

My friend said a lot of things yesterday and today ... a whole, whole lot of things. But guess what she didn't say? Not once did she say the "Guess what I heard?" question had been floated by anyone in our office as to why I've been so sad. And you know why she didn't say anything about that particular question? Because it hasn't been asked. That question hasn't been asked because the folks I work with know me ... they know me, and they know the difference between me sending a somewhat mysterious meeting-maker invitation and me hiding out, being deathly quiet, staring at the floor, feeling like an outsider and being emotionally and mentally exhausted. And even more than knowing that difference is the fact that they respect the boundaries that accompany it. No, that's not correct ... it's not the difference nor its accompanying boundaries that my work friends respect ... it's me. They respect me enough and care about me enough to understand that I'm hurting. They respect me enough and love me enough to be patient when the sad washes through me like it has over the last week ... they respect and care about and love me enough to wait for the real me, the true me, the happy me to return. 

I wore my Love Thy Neighbor shirt today, thinking perhaps it would help to raise my spirits ... let's just say that plan didn't work as well as I had hoped it would. As I drove home this evening, I kept thinking about the phrase "desperate times call for desperate measures." And as I thought about those words, I heard the words of my friend today ... "People look to you, Terrie ... they look to you to set the tone here." I think Monday might need to be a suspenders and shiny shoes day for me ... I think it just might need to be. You know why? Of course you do. Because it's pretty darn close to impossible to be sad when you're wearing suspenders and shiny shoes ... geez ... even I know that, friends ... even I know that.