I Almost Missed Her

If you've been reading my blog for more than a day or two, you've probably picked up on my deep love for my children and my granddaughter Coraline (or as I generally refer to her in my posts, C.J.). I write often about my kiddos and even more often about Coraline ... sorry, kids, but she is my only grandchild. Well, for a few more days anyway ... we're all on baby watch in a big way as we await the impending arrival of Coraline's new sister. In fact, in a few minutes, I'll be Skyping with C.J. ... just in case the baby comes this weekend ... you see, if I don't get to Skype with her every week, I am not a happy Ghee.

Waiting for my newest granddaughter to be born has made me think an awful lot about the days and weeks leading up to Coraline's birth ... days that were anything but happy ones for me. You see, the announcement that my oldest son and daughter-in-law were expecting their first child threw a wrench into my plan to take my life ... I couldn't do that to my son when he was so overjoyed to become a father. Just further proof of the depth of my depression and irrational thinking back then ... a parent should never ever be able to do that to her children under any circumstances ... never, never ever. I sobbed like crazy the night they told our family they were pregnant ... but my tears were far, far, far from being tears of joy.

I spent the months leading up to Coraline's birth making videos for her ... for her birthdays, graduation, first date, wedding day, the birth of her own children, days when she was sad, days when she was frightened, days when she was sick. More than anything, I wanted her to know that I loved her and that I was sorry I wouldn't be part of her life as she grew up. I wanted her to know that I waited until I could meet her before I checked out. As the day drew closer for her to be born, I finalized my plans and got my affairs in order. And then I waited.

I went to see C.J. the day after she was born ... I cried the entire way there and back in the car, and most of the time I was at the hospital meeting my granddaughter for the first time. I whispered in her perfect little ear and told her I loved her ... I told her how beautiful she was ... I told her how sorry I was ... I told her I hoped she wouldn't believe all the bad things she would hear about me. When it was time to leave, I kissed my sweet Coraline gently on her soft little cheek and said goodbye ... only she and I knew I was saying goodbye forever.

There have been a million thoughts coursing through my mind for the last few days ... memories of that day and the days that followed ... sitting at my kitchen table with the pills in my hand ... being interrupted ... seeing my doctor ... agreeing to take the antidepressants ... going to the head doctor for the first time. But the thought that has overwhelmingly settled within me ... the thought that has taken up residence deep in my mind ... the thought that has seared itself into the deepest part of my heart and soul ... I ... almost ... missed ... her. I almost missed her laughter ... I almost missed her hugs ... I almost missed her "Hi, Ghee, hi!" and her "I wuv you, Ghee!" ... I almost missed seeing her crawl ... I almost missed the videos of her first steps, her first words, her first Christmas ... I almost missed the light in her eyes when she saw me at the airport ... I ... almost ... missed ... her.

My phone just rang ... and I heard the sweetest little voice ... "Ghee, you ready a Skype now?" I sure am, baby girl ... I sure, sure am.

House Rules

For those of you who are keeping track, my second granddaughter is due to arrive any day now. Well, technically her official due date is July 24, but all of us who are parents know that babies are born when babies are ready to be born ... dates really mean very little to them when they decide it's time to make their entrance into the world. When my daughter-in-law called Monday to let me know the results of her sonogram, she said, "There's a chubby, squished little girl in there!" When I asked what my granddaughter C.J. thinks about the baby and if she's asking a lot of questions about her new sibling's upcoming arrival, Becca said, "She has pretend conversations with her ... she likes to tell her about the house rules a lot. Guess she wants to make sure her baby sister knows what's what before she gets here." I closed my eyes and pictured my little Boo in her room with her dolls and stuffed animals saying, "OK, baby sister, et's talk about da house rules and you need a be a good wistener." Gosh ... I miss that kiddo so, so, so much.

As Becca talked about the various house rules that C.J. is "play telling" her soon-to-arrive baby sister, I was struck by the overwhelming recognition that the rules according to my sweet granddaughter are a great reminder of what should be some of the very basic rules of my own house. Not my little house with the Goldilocks deck that sits upon a corner lot in Kansas rules, but my house of life rules ... C.J.'s house rules translate so very well into what should be my rules for how I live each day.

Like going to bed on time ... 

When I'm exhausted physically, it makes it a heck of a lot shorter walk to emotional and mental exhaustion as well. Problems or tasks that seem impossible to overcome or accomplish are multiplied by a billion when I'm tired. I've gotten into the bad habit of staying up too late ... I'm not sure why, but my "aloneness" seems to rise to a whole new level when it's time to go to bed ... maybe because that's when the stillness of my house seems super extra still and the quietness becomes deafening. I need to go to bed on time ... I need to rest my body, my mind and my spirit. 

Like being a good listener ... 

Being a good listener means something different to me than to my granddaughter ... for C.J., being a good listener is more about following instructions while for me, it's more about following my heart. It's easy to get caught up in the busyness of life and fail to take the time to listen when someone needs to talk. I need to listen more to the sadness in people's eyes or the droop of their shoulders or even their silence ... because being a good listener means so much more than listening to the words people say. Being a good listener means paying extra close attention to all the unspoken words ... because more often than not, those are the words that matter most of all. 

Like not kicking dogs or biting people ...

This rule is the one that really, really, really struck me ... in a big, huge, gigantically enormous way. I know I don't ever physically kick my dogs .. gosh, I would never do that ... but this rule made me think about the times I tell my dogs to get back or quit licking or get down or move over or stop pawing me. It made me think about how the harshness or impatience in my voice probably makes my sweet hounds feel as though they've been kicked in the gut. And while I've never bitten anyone with my teeth, I've certainly chewed plenty of people up with my words of criticism or anger or bitterness.

I could go on and on with my list of C.J.'s deeply meaningful house rules ... maybe I'll pen a House Rules, Part 2 post one of these days. Here's the thing about rules ... whether they are for toddlers like C.J. or Ghees like me, rules are ultimately about respect. A few days ago, someone called me out for being disrespectful toward someone for whom I actually have the utmost respect ... and it made me stop in my tracks and think long and hard about a lot of stuff. About who I am ... about who other people think I am ... about who I want to be.

It seems fitting to end this post with one more house rule from my way wiser than me granddaughter ... when I do something wrong, say I'm sorry. I'm sorry ... and if you give me another chance (though I totally don't deserve it), I promise I will never be disrespectful again ... never, never ever again.

P.S. Looks like her baby sister may be getting ready to join C.J. before long ... Becca had lots of contractions last night. 

The Art of Loving Well

There are some things in life I will never understand no matter how hard I try. Things I can't make any sense out of, that I can find no reason for, that beg the resounding question of "Why?" Like war or famine or disease or hate ... or the death of a child.

This afternoon, I attended a Celebration of Life memorial service for a little girl ... a beautiful, smart, caring little 9-year-old girl. When I used to help out with the kids in Awana on Wednesday nights at church, the little girl was one of my favorites. Every week, she would give me a hug and ask me if she could say her Bible verses to me, and eyes would beam as she recited the passages. I've thought about her and all those kids from church so very many times over the last year and a half since I left. I've wished so many times that I would have had the guts to go back one more time and tell all those kiddos goodbye ... to tell them how much they meant to me ... to tell them I loved them.

The large auditorium was filled to overflowing with those who came to honor the little girl and stand in support and encouragement for her devastated and grieving family. The service was truly a tribute to the young girl and her passion for living life to the fullest every single day. Her favorite songs, movies she had made, slide shows ... she had such an infectious spirit and a wisdom far beyond her years. I don't think there was a dry eye in the building when her dad walked onto the stage and began to speak at the end of the service ... I can't imagine the courage it took for him to stand before all those people and allow them to see his wounded and grieving heart. 

From the moment I heard the news about the little girl's death, I knew I wanted to attend her memorial service. I wrestled over the last few days with whether or not I should go, knowing I would most likely see people from my former church ... some of whom I knew would think I shouldn't be there. But in my heart, I knew it was the right thing to do ... it was right for me to go and honor the little girl who blessed me over and over again. Some of my former church mates immediately embraced me when they saw me and said they miss me. Some spoke to me only if I spoke to them first. Some ignored me and some even turned away from me. But I didn't go for any of them ... I went to pay my respects to a sweet girl and her family ... and I'm glad I went ... I'm very glad I went.

I walked out of the church this afternoon with one overriding thought ... that little girl taught more people than she ever realized about what real love is, and she'll continue to teach people she will never meet this side of heaven. You see, that little kiddo understood what so many of us never comprehend ... that what matters most in this life, no matter how short or long it may be, is that we love one another. That precious little girl mastered it in just nine years, you know ... she mastered the art of loving well, and we would all do well to learn from her.

Rest in peace, little one ... rest in sweet, sweet peace ... you touched my heart and the hearts of everyone who knew you.

Putting Myself in Time-out

Before I get into my post for this evening, I'd like to thank all of you who contributed to our Kickstarter campaign for "Not My Father's Son." Unfortunately, we didn't meet our goal of $55,000 so now we're moving on to Plan B ... we don't exactly know what Plan B is just yet, but we know we have a Plan B because we KNOW we WILL make this film. For those of you who haven't followed the campaign, we raised a little more than $20,000 in 35 days. But again, unfortunately, the way Kickstarter works is if you don't reach your goal amount, you get nothing. The second thing I need to let you know before I move on to my subject for tonight is that I'm exhausted ... physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted. While the last 35 days have been incredibly fun and rewarding on many levels, some of those days have been pretty stressful as well. But you know what? That's just the way life is ... some days are awesomely fun and you want to run dancing through the streets, and some days make you just want to crawl under a rock and hide. So having said thank you and informed you that I'm pooped, on to the heart of my post.

Last night when I was Skyping with my granddaughter, she had to spend a few minutes in time-out ... hard to believe she could ever misbehave, I know. But alas, she was playing a wee bit too rough with her dad and managed to conk him on the head with a bucket and plant her teeth pretty firmly on his arm. I'm relatively certain that both instances must have been accidental in nature ... she is perfect after all ... but her dad didn't exactly see it that way. I think that's the hardest part of being a grandparent, by the way ... hearing them wail and seeing them shed real tears when they get punished for their actions. But ... I know beyond the shadow of any doubt that Matt and Becca adore my precious granddaughter, and they are wonderful parents ... parents who love their daughter enough to teach her how to behave appropriately. What I'm sure was only a matter of minutes each time little miss C.J. got scooped up into Matt's arms and hauled into the house for time-out seemed like hours as I waited for her to return and continue Skyping with me.

This morning, Brad and I spent an hour or so with some amazing folks at a local radio station ... I'm sure many of you who live in the Kansas City area are familiar with Afentra, Danny and Mark from 96.5 The Buzz. We had participated in a phone interview with Afentra when we first launched our Kickstarter campaign, and she invited us to join her in the studio today in a final push to try to reach our goal. I had never met Afentra or her team in person, and to be honest, I was more than a little nervous as I paced in the lobby waiting for Brad to arrive. My fears were immediately put to rest when we walked into the studio ... Afentra greeted us with hugs, and Danny and Mark let us know right from the start that they are completely behind us all the way. At some point during the interview, Afentra commented that many people have become desensitized to the trademark signs and the vitriolic hatred that defines Westboro Baptist Church. I surprised myself when I spoke up and said that for me personally, each time I see the signs, the words emblazoned upon them cut me like a knife.

I've been pretty down in the dumps today ... okay, for the last couple of days ... and I decided on my way home from work this evening that I need to put myself in a time-out. I'm not putting myself in time-out because I've misbehaved, mind you ... though I'm abundantly aware there are many people who think my very existence is the very worst form of misbehaving ... but because ... well ... just because sometimes a gal just needs a short time-out from all the ... well ... suffice it to say that I'm putting myself in time-out for a few days. To those of you who worry when I don't blog ... please don't ... I just need to take a break and recharge my batteries.

You know ... both times last night when Coraline returned after her time-outs, she was smiling and happy. Even though she left in tears, she came back smiling. Sometimes, friends ... sometimes a time-out is just exactly what we need.

Dear Westboro Baptist Church

My name is Terrie Johnson, and I am one of the co-directors of the documentary "Not My Father's Son" ... you know ... the film that tells Nate's story. I know you're aware of the documentary because you were kind enough to tweet about it last night. Please bear with me as I have a few things I'd like to say this evening.

Over the last year or so, I've read volumes of information regarding your church and your former pastor Fred Phelps, and I offer my sincere condolences to each of you following his passing. I first learned about Westboro after I moved to Kansas, and more specifically, it was when you folks protested at Matthew Shepard's funeral. I grew up in the deep South in a pretty conservative faith myself, but you guys make some of the most virulent hell, fire and brimstone preachers and churches I've ever known seem like fluffy cotton candy on a hot summer day. In fact, I can't think of any other church in the country that is as outspoken and determined as you guys are. I guess I sort of thought (or desperately hoped) that perhaps when Fred passed, maybe you guys would soften up a little, but instead it seems as though you're stepping up your game.

I'm assuming that many of you have read what my son Brad wrote on the Kickstarter page about why we want to tell Nate's story, which means you know I'm one of those people you believe God hates and that I'm headed straight for hell. The purpose of my letter isn't to engage in a theological debate, as I'm certain that would not prove to be beneficial for anyone. I'm writing because I hope you'll get at least a small glimpse into the heart of one of the people you condemn. 

I was 10 years old when I realized that I was different from other girls, and I spent the next four decades of my life trying not to be. I spent hours and hours and hours on my knees begging God to change me, to fix me, to make me be attracted to guys rather than girls. I worked tirelessly in the church, believing that my involvement in the Lord's work would cure me. It wasn't until I came within minutes of taking my own life that I began the journey toward becoming the woman God really created me to be. I am the daughter of two strong and loving Christian parents. I am the blessed and cherished mother of three incredibly gifted, talented and caring young adult children. I am the adoring and doting grandmother of a precious little girl, as I will also be to her sister on the way. I am a devoted and loving sister to my two older siblings. I am a loyal and steadfast friend to many, both young and old alike. I know that God loves me and that He created me ... just as He loves you and just as He created you. Just as He loves and created every single person who has ever lived.

My favorite story in the Bible is found in John 8:1-11, the story of the woman caught in the act of adultery. There are lots of reasons why I love this story, not the least of which is the overwhelming and immense love Jesus demonstrated toward the woman whom the religious leaders wanted to stone to death. I often think of the woman's story when I see photos of your church as you protest various events ... when I see your signs, I can't help but think of the stones the men held as they tossed the woman onto the ground before Jesus. I can't help but think about how Jesus responded ... about how he urged those among the men without sin to cast the first stone ... about how when confronted with their own sin, they ran away ... about how He assured the woman she would receive no condemnation from Him.

This morning, I sat on my couch and wept as I looked through hundreds of photos of your children carrying signs bearing the trademark slogans of Westboro Baptist Church ... your innocent little children ... your children holding the signs in their small hands ... signs that look and feel a whole lot like stones. From my heart to yours, Westboro folks ... it's time to lay down the signs and drop the stones ... it's way past time to lay down the signs and drop the stones.  

"But when they persisted in asking Him, He straightened up, and said to them, 'He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her. Again He stooped down and wrote on the ground. When they heard it, they began to go out one by one, beginning with the older ones, and He was left alone, and the woman, where she was, in the center of the court. Straightening up, Jesus said to her, 'Woman, where are they? Did no one condemn you?' She said, 'No one, Lord.' And Jesus said, 'I don't condemn you either. Go. From now on sin no more.'" John 8:7-11

Turkey Legs, Tater Blossoms and Diet Root Beer

It's been a long time since I've experienced small-town USA ... but today, I did just that, and it was awesome. I sat under a towering tree and watched a parade. I ate a gigantic turkey leg and watched my daughter and son-in-law eat a deep-fried tater blossom. I drank two gigantic mugs of the best diet root beer I've ever tasted. I listened to two guys play guitars and sing songs I remember from my high school years. I talked to a real live horse whisperer who invited me to come ride one of his horses in the fall. It was a good day ... a really, really good day filled with laughter and love and fun.

Happy 4th of July!

No Strings Attached

Every once in a while, a memory from my childhood comes crashing into my brain seemingly from nowhere ... nothing really happens to spark the memory, and yet all of a sudden there it is. And it seems that those "no rhyme or reason" memories are often the ones that carry the biggest lessons for me ... almost as if they've been locked away in some secret vault until it's time for me to learn what they have to teach me. Take yesterday, for example ... I was sitting at my desk editing some animal health print ads when a certain Sunday evening memory from when I was a kid came rushing into my mind.

It was one of those Sunday evenings when I was really sick ... sick enough that my dad let me stay home from church. I had to have a temperature of like 150 degrees or be puking my guts out for Daddy to let me miss church. The rule in our house was if the church doors were open for any type of service or event, I was expected to be in attendance. While I can't recall what ailed me that Sunday evening, I do recall in vivid detail the movie I watched on the Wonderful World of Disney ... Pinocchio ... and I remember even more clearly the puppet nightmares that haunted my dreams for a very, very long time afterwards. In fact, I'm still more than a little creeped out when I see a marionette ... yep, you can add that to my list of irrational fears ... I'm afraid of marionette puppets.

I have no idea what caused the memory of my decades ago Sunday night encounter with Pinocchio to pop into my head yesterday, but it's certainly made me do a lot of thinking about a lot of different things. Like how we get all tangled up in the strings of life and end up in a crumpled, worthless heap on the floor. Like how sometimes we try to control each other. Like how some of us are marionettes and some of us are puppeteers. Like love. I've thought a whole, whole, whole lot about love ... unconditional love ... love with no strings attached.

This afternoon, I was reminded once again of the brevity of life as several people messaged me to tell me of the death of one of our high school classmates ... a brave and courageous woman who lost her fight against pancreatic cancer. Life is so very, very short, friends ... whether we live but a few moments or 100 years ... life is so very short and so very precious. It's time ... it's way past time ... that we cut the strings, that we do away with the buts and ifs when it comes to loving each other. Love should never have qualifications or parameters or conditions ... love should never be contingent on skin color or religious beliefs or sexuality. The words "I love you," should never be followed by the words "but" or "if" ... love should be love ... nothing more, nothing less ... love should be love with no strings attached.

My classmate's maiden name was Love ... the name we all knew her by when we were in school ... her maiden name was Love. We should all be so blessed, my friends ... we should all be so blessed to have our names be Love.

Sink or Swim

Because I practically lived at the pool when I was young, it's always been puzzling to me why someone would be afraid of water and hence never learn to swim. Lest some of you feel the need to write and remind me of a few of my own irrational fears, let me assure you that I understand the irrational fear part of the whole not swimming concept quite, quite well ... it's the being afraid of water and not learning to swim that I have a hard time comprehending. My own mom was a non-swimmer; in fact, she was so afraid of water that she would put only the least amount necessary in the tub to take a bath. I've read that fear of water is often caused by some sort of traumatic event, but if that was true in Mom's case, I don't remember her ever telling me about it. I do, however, remember that when she moved to the apartment complex just down the street from me, I took her to see the pool and told her I was going to teach her how to swim. Mom's answer was true blue Mom ... "Lord, help, Terrie ... you know you ain't puttin' me in no dern swimmin' pool!" Mom knew exactly what the phrase "sink or swim" meant to her, and trust me, no one on earth could have convinced her that she might indeed be able to swim rather than sink if she only would have tried.

Ollie and I have met a lot of people while we're out on our evening walks on the trail, and we've met a lot of dogs as well, including another little wiener dog named Daisy. I've written previously about the bond between Ollie and Daisy ... Ollie flipping loves Daisy, and much to his delight, he seems to have finally won her heart. They are so stinking cute when they see one another approaching on the trail ... their little tails wag like crazy and they do this little high-pitched whine thing, and when they finally reach each other, Ollie licks Daisy's nose and she licks his neck. I'm telling you, it's seriously stinking cute to see the two of them greet one another ... seriously stinking cute. Daisy and her owner Jeanne live just a couple of streets over from me, and recently we've been meeting up most evenings and walking together. Ollie and Daisy love the time together, and it's nice to have someone to walk with for a change.

I was rather quiet a few nights ago when Ollie and I met up with Jeanne and Daisy to walk ... I had a lot on my mind and was feeling sort of blue ... and we were about midway through our walk when Jeanne asked me if I was okay. After I assured her that I was indeed okay, she told me that it worries her when I get quiet ... or when I shuffle my feet when we walk ... or when I pull my cap down low on my forehead to hide my eyes. To which I replied, "I hate that, you know ... I hate that when I have a bad day now, everyone worries that I'm going to off myself. I never should have told anyone about my plan, you know ... I hate it that people worry about me like that. Everybody has a bad day now and then ... it doesn't mean I'm going to do myself in." 

Jeanne's got a decade or so on me in physical age, but when it comes to wisdom, she's a lifetime farther along than I am ... she is one wise little lady for sure. Which is why what she said that evening has stuck with me ... it's why I can't get her words out of my head and more important, it's why I can't get them out of my heart. 

"You listen to me, Terrie ... don't you dare tell those of us who care about you not to worry when you are sad and don't you dare think for one second that it was bad that you told us how close you were to ending your life. You've worked long and hard to swim out of that pit and if we think you're sinking ... well, we're not about to let that happen. You don't have a choice anymore to sink or swim, friend ... you're going to swim and that's all there is to it. I'm happy as punch that there are people watching over you ... happy as punch! Tell me not to care will you now? I don't hardly think so!"

And with those words, Jeanne quite effectively put me in my place and left me speechless. That doesn't happen all that often you know ... someone leaving me completely speechless and unable to reply ... but that's exactly what my friend did that evening. Jeanne did something far more important that evening, however ... something far more important that rendering me speechless. She caused me to feel a sense of thankfulness ... an overwhelmingly deep sense of thankfulness and gratitude for the people in my life who care enough to look past the surface ... who recognize when the sadness is creeping in ... who call me out and force me to let them see where I am ... who jump into the pool and help me keep swimming ... who absolutely refuse to allow me to sink.

It's really hot outside today, friends ... what's say we all go for a swim together, eh? 

Hands Off My Cubs

When my son Matt was in 8th grade, he decided to run for student council president. Before I share the outcome of the election, there are a couple of things you should know about my eldest son. Matt was a good kid, a really good kid, in fact. From the time he was a little guy, he was just a good kid ... a pleaser ... the type of kid who rarely got into mischief, and on the rare occasion that he did misbehave, he was always instantly remorseful and quite often confessed before I even knew he had done something wrong. Matt was very smart ... and still is ... he's a professor at a university in Canada. Now that I've given you a little insight into my intelligent, well-behaved son, let's get back to his desire to become student council president.

One of the requirements for the students who were competing to be elected as president was to give a speech at a assembly for their fellow students, and Matt took that part of the process very seriously. He spent hours and hours writing and rewriting what he would say when it was his turn on the stage, and he submitted it to the teacher who was charged with reviewing the speeches. After receiving the thumbs-up, my sweet son hunkered down in his room each evening after school as he memorized the content word for word. When the day finally arrived for Matt to stand before his fellow classmates and tell them why he should be chosen as their next student council president, he was nervous and confident at the same time. When I dropped him off at school before I headed to work, I wished him good luck and told him how proud I was of him and he was all smiles as he got out of car and waved goodbye.

I had just glanced at my watch and thought to myself that Matt should be finished with his speech when my phone rang, and I was quite surprised when a man introduced himself as the principle of Matt's junior high school. My surprise quickly migrated to shock as Mr. Principle told me that he was suspending Matt for several days and that he would be excluded from the election. I thought surely I wasn't hearing him correctly when he said that he was taking those actions because of the content of Matt's speech, but when I asked him to repeat what he said, he told me again that the content of Matt's speech was inappropriate. I asked to speak to Matt and when Mr. Principle said that my son was "indisposed at the moment," I sucked in all the air in my office as I said, "Put Matt on the phone now." It only took me a moment to realize that Matt was more than "indisposed" ... Matt was devastated and embarrassed and crying his heart out. He had never gotten into trouble at school ... he made straight A's ... he was a stinking good kid.

I'll spare you the details of our evening, but suffice it to say that I was angry ... I wasn't the least bit angry with Matt, mind you, but I was livid because of the punishment Mr. Principle had levied upon my INNOCENT son. That's right ... INNOCENT ... Matt did not do one thing wrong and he did not say one inappropriate word in his speech ... AND his speech had been approved by a faculty member. The next morning, I did something I had never done before and I've never done since ... I walked into Mr. Principle's office and I let loose on him in a big way. Trust me when I say that every single ounce of my mother lion instincts were in full roar that morning ... you bet they were. While Mr. Principle wouldn't reinstate Matt's candidacy in the election, he did back down on the suspension and apologized for making Matt cry.

I've learned a lot since that day in Mr. Principle's office all those years ago, not the least of which is that the mother lion instinct doesn't go away just because my kids are all adults now. When someone is unkind to them ... when they are treated unfairly ... when they are mistreated in any way, my mama lion heart is ready to jump into action and rip the meanies to shreds. But there's something else I've learned over the years as my children have aged ... they are adults who are more than capable of managing their own lives and they do a really, really, really good job of doing just that. Even when something happens to one of them that causes that mother lion roar to try its best to escape my lips, my job now is to stand squarely behind my kids and cheer them on as they do their own roaring ... my job now is to let them know I am always here for them ... my job now is to make sure they know how much I love them ... my job now is to stand back and watch them make their own way in the world and be ever so proud of each one of them.

Oh, and Matt's speech? It was about being responsible for your own actions ... about being the kind of person who takes his or her responsibilities seriously ... about recognizing that your actions always have consequences. And his inappropriate content? He closed his speech by advising his friends to consider the outcome before they peed into the wind ... yep, that's right ... my son was punished by the school for encouraging his classmates to think twice before they frivolously peed into the wind, lest they get covered in pee. All that hubbub because Matt said the word pee in his speech ... what a rebel ... what a delinquent ... what a great, great kid.

By the way, I agree with my son ... don't pee in the wind, friends ... take responsibility for your actions ... don't pee in the wind. 

As Long As You Don't Tell

I've been wanting to write tonight's post for a long time ... almost two years, in fact. The truth is I've started and stopped writing this post again and again over the last couple of years, and I've completely deleted this post far more times than I can count. I wish I could in good conscience come up with something way more profound as to why, but there's really only one reason ... I was afraid. I was afraid ... I was afraid of what some of you may think of me, sure, but even more, I was afraid of what I may think of myself. But ... I'm tired of being afraid ... really, really, really tired of being afraid. I'm tired of being short ... and I think maybe, just maybe, writing this post may be a step toward becoming tall. So hate me if you must, judge me if you so desire, stop reading if you feel the need to do so ... but I have some things to say tonight.

One of the most difficult things for me to come to terms with after I told the truth about my sexuality a year and a half ago was how many people in my life said, "Gosh, Terrie, I thought you were gay from the minute I met you." People who had known me for only a short time said it ... people who had known me for several years said it ... people who had known me since I was young said it. I'm not sure why that was so tough for me to handle, but it was ... maybe because I thought I had done such an excellent job of hiding, of pretending, of trying with all my might not to be gay. But what was so very much more difficult for me to comprehend ... what I still struggle to understand even today ... what was so devastatingly painful and gut-wrenching was how many of those same people followed up their "Oh, I knew you were gay," comments with various iterations of the following statement: "I was okay with you until you admitted it publicly ... as long as you didn't tell, in my mind you were still a good Christian woman and someone I could look up to and respect." 

I couldn't even begin to scratch the surface if I tried to tell you how deeply those words wounded me ... especially because more often than not, they were spoken or written to me by people who claimed to be Christ followers. Even though a ton of them already thought or believed me to be gay, it was totally acceptable for me to speak to their women's groups as long as I didn't tell ... it was completely okay for me to teach their kids at Awana or VBS as long as I didn't tell ... it was perfectly allowable for me to deserve their respect as a fellow human being as long as I didn't tell. I could list verse after verse after verse from the Bible about telling the truth ... I simply cannot wrap my mind around people who say they love God and live according to His commands telling me I should have kept on hiding the truth. By the way, one of those verses about truth from the Bible? "Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free." John 8:32.

Like I mentioned, I've been pondering this post for a very long time ... a very, very long time. But some events and some recent conversations have caused me to really consider the deep impact and far-reaching consequences of living by the "as long as you don't tell" standard. Not telling other people who I am almost cost me my life and had I not told, I would surely have died. Think about it ... not telling the truth about my sexuality didn't make me heterosexual ... not telling my family and friends I had diabetes didn't make me have normal blood sugar levels ... not telling my head doctor I wanted to die didn't make me want to live.

I've been sitting here for an hour writing and rewriting my closing tonight, and the truth is I don't really know what to say. Maybe I'll just say this ... closets are for clothes, not people. Put a person in a closet with a bunch of clothes for a while ... maybe even for lots and lots of years ... and he or she will still be a person. And when the person finally gets the courage to walk out of that closet ... let them be. That's all ... just let them be ... let them tell ... let them love ... let them grow ... let them learn ... just let them be.

"As long as you don't tell" ... oh, wait ... I already did ... and I'm glad.