My Chains Are Gone

The song "Amazing Grace" never used to bring tears to my eyes, but I don't think I'll ever hear it again and not cry. You see, my mom specifically asked my three children to sing the old hymn at her funeral; and true to form for Mom, she had a funny way of asking them. "I want you boys to play them guitars of yours and all three of you to sing 'Amazin' Grace' for Granny when she's gone. Lord knows the three of you can sing like mockingbirds and you're pretty good at strummin' them guitars, too. Will you do that for Granny?" And my three children did indeed "play them guitars" and "sing like mockingbirds" for Mom at her funeral ... and there wasn't a dry eye in the place as Mom's youngest grandchildren honored her request.

I've been thinking a lot about grace over the last couple of weeks ... a whole lot, in fact. I've been thinking about the avenue that God chose to extend His limitless grace to me, the sacrifice of His only Son. I wonder if God contemplated other ways to accomplish His plan to offer salvation to the world before sending His Son. I can't help but think ... salvation is God's gift to me, and it costs me nothing to accept it. And yet, it cost Him dearly ... it cost Him His Son. As a parent, I can't imagine sacrificing one of my three children, not for anything or anyone. In fact, I would much rather die in their place so that they could live than to sacrifice one of them. And in those thoughts, I realize even more how amazing God's grace really is ... demonstrated initially in the gift of salvation, and then throughout my life as He forgives my transgressions again and again.

As happens so often when God starts my mind churning on a certain subject, He takes me down a path that leads to a lesson He has for me to learn, a truth He has for me to glean, a new way of thinking He wishes me to adopt. So it wasn't far into my contemplation of God's grace that I began to think of how I extend (or don't extend, as the case may be) grace to others. Though I am called to imitate Christ in my life ... to sacrifice, to love, to forgive, to heal, to encourage ... do I? Do I extend grace to the weary, the broken, the needy, the sick, the lonely? Do I? Do I? Do I really? I have a young friend who teaches me more about extending grace than any adult I know. She is always happy to see me. She calls me when I'm not at church to make sure I'm OK. She refuses to let me dwell alone in my land of hermitude. She asks me to go to movies or come to her activities. She makes me talk, and she causes me to smile. I think it is far, far from coincidence that my young friend's name is Grace. Her heart for others is pure and true, and I am beyond certain that God has big things ahead for that sweet little girl.

A few years ago, a famous Christian artist took the old hymn that was Mom's favorite and revamped it a bit, adding some additional lyrics and making it more contemporary. I've been listening to that updated rendition of "Amazing Grace" off and on for the last couple of weeks, and there is one line in particular that keeps pounding in my head. "My chains are gone, I've been set free. My God, my Savior has ransomed me. And like a flood, His mercy rains; unending love, amazing grace."

Take my chains, Lord, and set me free. Teach me to receive Your grace, God ... and to extend it to others. Grace, Lord ... Your unending love ... Your amazing grace.

Under the Cover

"You can't judge a book by its cover." We've all heard that quip, I'm sure. But any successful author will tell you that good or bad, whether or not they like to admit it, the cover of a book is as important as the ideas and thoughts and words that reside upon its pages. An engaging cover ... engaging, not necessarily pretty or beautiful ... an engaging cover is often what causes a book to be lifted from the shelf and perused (or skimmed on the Internet) and eventually purchased. I recently heard an interview with a famous writer who said, "The cover has to grab the attention first, and once people start reading your book (providing it is a good read), they will be hooked by the information or the story within. But you've got to get them to pick up the book first and then hope what they find inside will prove worthy of their reading."

While a book cover may or may not be the basis for judging what's on the inside of a book, it seems to me that we often look at our fellowman based on their "covers" ... covers of weight or hair or speech or political leaning or clothing or financial status or religious affiliation or a multitude of other covers. How many times have I seen someone and sized them up based on what they were wearing or what kind of car they were driving? How many times have I shied away from someone because they were homeless or sick or old or between jobs? How many times have I gone out of my way to avoid someone because I heard something about them that made me uncomfortable? Yep, I'm guilty of all of those actions ... every single one of them at one time or another in my life. And I think if many of you are truly honest with yourselves, you'll admit to the same behavior. And ... many of us can also admit that we've been on the receiving end of being judged by our own covers.

Last week, I was introduced to someone I had never met before with these words: "This is Terrie. She has diabetes. If she gets really grumpy and starts to shake, it means her blood sugar is low." Honestly ... that's how the person I was with introduced me. And that introduction has haunted me ever since. It's true that I have diabetes. It's also true that I sometimes get grumpy and shake and have low blood sugar (as at times, I might add, do most people who have diabetes). But I am also a Christian, a mom, a sister, an editor, a friend. I am so much more than just a person with diabetes ... for those who care to look beyond the cover and read what's inside.

A few posts back, I wrote about a new Dolly Parton CD that I downloaded. On that CD is a song titled "Backwoods Barbie," and I've listened to it a ton over the last few days. I'm going to close once again with some Dolly lyrics, but I've got one more thing to add ... I'm so very thankful that Jesus truly reads the inside of my book and doesn't judge me by my cover. My prayer is that He will one day introduce me to His Father with these words: "Hey, Dad, this is Terrie. She's a pretty good book ... look, Dad ... she's covered by My blood."

"I grew up poor and ragged, just a simple country girl.
I wanted to be pretty more than anything in the world.
From rags to wishes in my dreams, I could have it all.
Don't let these false eyelashes lead you to believe that
I'm as shallow as I look 'cause I run true and deep.

I've always been misunderstood because of how I look.
Don't judge me by the cover 'cause I'm a real good book.
So read into it what you will, but see me as I am.
The way I look is just a country girl's idea of glam.
 
And I'm all dolled up and hopin' for a chance to prove my worth,
And even backwoods Barbies get their feelings hurt.
Yes, I can see where I could be misjudged upon first glance;
But even backwoods Barbies deserve a second chance."

Rebel Without a Cause

This blog seems to be my avenue at times for sharing things that a lot of folks don't know about me ... some of them serious and gut-wrenching admissions, such as when I opened up and revealed that I had been diagnosed with diabetes and depression ... some of them funny and lighthearted, such as when I talked about my itchy armpits or my obsession with my Cool Whip always being scooped from the side rather than the middle (though I still maintain that the whole Cool Whip thing is perfectly normal). So tonight's post contains another confession ... there are times in my life when I rebel and refuse to do what I'm either told to do or what I know is best for me to do. There are times when I tire of doing the right thing ... times when I just don't want to be "good." There ... I've said it ... sometimes, I simply have a plain old rebellious heart.

I've been seeing my general practice doctor for over 10 years; in fact, she is the one who discovered that I have diabetes. She's seen me through some tough things during those years, both physically and emotionally. She really is a great doctor ... she cares, she listens, she talks ... but perhaps most important of all, she knows me ... really knows me. And because she knows me, she knows when to be firm with me and insist that I follow her directions precisely and immediately, and when to give me some space to think over what she's told me I need to do and hope that I eventually follow her instructions.

All the doctors whom I've seen over the last couple of years (and believe me, there have been plenty) have praised me for being so diligent in tackling diabetes head-on and changing my lifestyle so drastically. Within the first year after my diagnosis, the changes I had made along with the medication I take each day had effectively lowered all the levels that were so dangerously high to well within normal range. For those of you familiar with diabetes, my A1C dropped from 14.8 to 5.5 ... and for those of you who don't know what that means, suffice it to say that the drop in that one test is a really big deal.

And then in May, I decided that other than dealing with my aching shoulder, I wasn't going back to the doctors for a while. Even though I've been watching my blood sugar climb for the last couple of months and was beginning to experience the return of some of the symptoms I had before I was diagnosed, I didn't answer or return my doctor's phone calls asking me to get in to see her. I knew what the shift in my numbers and the returning symptoms meant ... diabetes is a progressive disease that will mean changes in medication for as long as I'm alive to keep it under control. My plan to just ignore the doctor, my climbing numbers and my symptoms was going along just fine, until I got a rash on my leg that wouldn't go away, started to spread and itched like crazy. Nothing I put on it was helping, so I had to cave in today and go to the doctor.

I knew that it probably wouldn't be a pleasant visit, and I steeled myself to be chewed out as I sat in the examination room waiting for my doctor to come in. And she eventually did fuss at me a great deal but when she first entered the room, she hugged me tightly and said, "I've been worried about you ... I'm glad to know you're still alive." She then talked to me about my medications, my blood sugar and my state of mind, and gave me some ointment for my leg. She instructed me to double my nightly diabetes meds and insisted that I come in for fasting blood work within the next week or so. She was adamant that someone drive me for the test, saying that the dosage change of my meds would cause my blood sugar to be too low after a nightlong fast for me to chance driving myself. And by the way, I argued heartily with her on that count until she threatened to take my keys away and call someone to come and get me should I show up alone for the test.

She concluded our visit by checking my shoulder, and in doing so saw my new tattoo on my upper arm. Tears filled her eyes when she looked at my newest inking ... J.R.'s pawprint and his name ... and she reminded me that I often used to say, "I don't understand why that little dog has gotten under my skin the way he has." After inspecting it to make sure that it was healing properly, she said, "I think it's wonderful, Terrie ... now he's under your skin forever." I stood to leave and she hugged me again and said, "You need to look at that tattoo every day and tell yourself that J.R. spent his final days rescuing the only human he ever truly loved ... he helped you get your second chance at life. Make the little guy's journey worth what he endured to save you, Terrie ... honor his memory, and make his journey worth it."

I've thought a lot about her words today, and I've thought a lot about J.R. today. I've thought a lot about God today and how He sent that little dog to me at just the right time ... just the right time ... Just Right indeed.

Taking Flight

It has been hot in Kansas City. Really, really hot. And humid. As it should be, I suppose in the summer months out here in the middle of the country. But Monday ... Monday was gorgeous. Blue skies. Cooler temps. Low humidity. Light breeze. A perfect day weatherwise. Those kinds of days don't come along very often in July in Kansas, so when they do, us Great Plains dwellers relish them in a big way. We do yard work and don't feel like we will faint. We go for long walks and don't carry five gallons of water with us. We grill out and don't marinate the meat with the sweat dripping from our brows. We lay in our hammocks under a tree and don't wish it would rain to cool us off.

Several years ago, my children gave me a hammock stand and a rope hammock for Mother's Day. Funny thing is that the kiddos used that hammock far more than I did when they still lived under my roof ... maybe I just had more to get accomplished in a day back then and didn't have time to lounge around in the hammock. At any rate, eventually the rope hammock deteriorated from the sun and rain, and I bought another one. I always thought the rope hammock was uncomfortable, so when I spied a padded cloth one on sale for one-fourth of its original price, I bought it. I've had it for a few years now, and it's still in great shape. It's big enough that two people can fit into it easily, and it sits under a large tree in my back yard. I've spent more time in the hammock this year than I ever have, perhaps because I'm home more than I've ever been before. Guess I shouldn't be surprised that having an inactive social life translates into more hammock time.

After three hours of yard work Monday morning and enjoying some delicious burgers and veggies off the grill for lunch, my friend said she needed a nap and went upstairs to snooze for a bit. I grabbed my laptop, my pillow and my hounds, and headed out to the hammock to read for a while, answer some emails and pen a blog. I had no more than settled into the soft, swaying, suspended bed until I was joined by Ollie and Julie, both of them snuggling in close to me and promptly going to sleep. Deciding that the hounds and my friend had the right idea about napping, I put my laptop and my book down and gazed at the clear blue sky above me through the branches of the tree. Just as my eyes began to grow heavy, I saw something against the blueness that caught my attention. Floating effortlessly along above me were two large birds ... hawks, I think (remember, I'm not much of a bird person, so I'm not certain).

I'm not sure how long the large winged creatures circled and floated and soared on the wind, and I'm not sure how long I laid in my hammock weeping as I watched them. I couldn't help but wonder if they were part of the hawk family that I and so many others have been watching on the walking path. I couldn't help but wonder if they were the parent birds out for an afternoon of flight together or if they were the youngsters spreading their wings and flying on their own. I couldn't help but think about my own three children who are flying on their own now. I couldn't help but think about how often I want to take flight and soar on the wind once again.

Give me wings to fly again, Lord ... help me to take flight, to walk in faith, to serve in love ... give me wings, Lord ... give me wings.

Better Get to Livin'

There are times in life when days seem like years, dragging by at a snail's pace, seeming like they will never end. Days when I'm sick or exhausted or stressed or sad or hurt or overworked. And then there are days that fly by as quickly as a bird on the wind, seeming like they are over almost as quickly as they began. Days when I'm happy or having fun or laying in my hammock or grilling or speaking or writing ... or days when my family or friends come to visit me; those days rush by like water tumbling over the rocks in a mountain stream. And then there are days when I simply know that God is trying to get my attention, that He's got something He wants me to hear and believe and soak in.

When my friend from Tennessee called to tell me she was coming to my house for the weekend, I made up my mind that I would put on my happy face and not let her see the sadness that has wrapped its tentacles around my heart over the last months. I told myself I would summon every ounce of willpower I had within me to pretend that I was the same happy-go-lucky gal I used to be. Funny ... people who know you ... or who have known you in the past ... have a way of seeing past a pretend smile or hearing past a shadowed "I'm fine."

Yesterday morning when I returned from my solitary walk at dawn, my friend was in the kitchen cooking breakfast. After eating out on my deck, she suggested that we watch a movie since it was too early to mow the lawn or weedeat, which I had told her the night before I had to do. I agreed and said that she could choose the movie. She smiled and said, "I already have," and turned on the television and DVD player. We then spent the next two and a half hours watching The Shawshank Redemption ... a wonderful movie and one of my son Brad's favorites. While the whole film is great, there was one scene in particular that my friend wanted to be sure I paid attention to, backing up the DVD and making me watch it several times. Andy and Red are talking about getting out of prison, and Red says that he could never make it on the outside because he's spent most of his life incarcerated. And then Andy delivers one of the most famous lines in movie history ... "I guess it comes down to a simple choice really ... get busy living or get busy dying."

When the movie was over, we headed outside to work in the yard and as I reached for my iPod so that I could listen to music while I did the weedeating, my friend insisted that I use hers instead, saying that there was a song she wanted me to hear. I was surprised when I instantly recognized the singer as Dolly Parton ... I cut my teeth hearing Dolly sing with Porter on the Grand Ole Opry because my dad watched it every single week. The song was Better Get to Livin', and true to Dolly form, it's got a lot of lyrics. I'm going to close this post with only part of them, but first ... think about what I said in the first paragraph of this post. Some days, God is simply trying to get my attention ... some days He's got something He wants me to hear and believe and soak in. Think about it. Oh, and I downloaded Dolly's Backwoods Barbie CD to my iPod this afternoon ... I'm just sayin'.

"I said you'd better get to livin', givin'
Be willing and forgivin'
Cause all healing has to start with you
You better stop whining, pining
Get your dreams in line
And then just shine, design, refine
Until they come true
And you better get to livin'.

You better get to livin', givin'
A little more thought about bein'
A little more willin' to make a better way
Don't sweat the small stuff
Keep your chin up
Just hang tough
And if it gets too rough
Fall on your knees and pray
And do that everyday
Then you'll get to livin'.

The day we're born we start to die
Don't waste one minute of this life
Get to livin'
Share your dreams and share your laughter
Make some points for the great hereafter."

Be Still My Heart

Both of my sons are hopeless romantics, and the women in their lives would quickly tell you they love, love, love that trait in my boys. They do and have done over the years some incredibly romantic things ... like when Matt filled a jar with 365 hearts that he cut from red, pink and white construction paper and wrote on each one something he loved about Becca. For a whole year, she would reach into the jar and read a love note from Matt. I know ... what a guy, right? Brad has more than once taken his guitar and stood under a gal's window and sang to her, and he is the king of roses ... he loves to send roses to the girl he is dating. I know ... how sweet, right? I'm telling you, my boys are romantics to the core, and I could fill this post with examples of ways they have declared their love to their girls over the years.

It amazes me sometimes that my sons somewhere along the path of growing up in a single parent home learned the importance of romance. Their father and I divorced when they were very young, and I rarely dated as they were growing up. And yet, somehow the two of them learned to treat the women they love with respect and honor and more than just a bit of candlelight and flowers. I've told my boys many times over how proud I am of the men they have become, and my daughter-in-law Becca has thanked me again and again for teaching Matt to treat her so well. My response to her is always the same ... I can't take credit for Matt's romantic side, that's simply the way his sweet little heart beats.

On a long meandering walk last night with my friend from Tennessee and my dogs, we began to talk about growing older and being alone and how frightening that can be at times. We talked about relationships and how complicated they can become ... about the pain that can accompany the dissolution of a marriage ... about the emotion that washes over you when you watch your children become young adults and begin their own lives ... about whether or not I would ever fall in love again ... about retiring to someplace warm and sunny. We walked and talked for almost two hours ... stopping and sitting by the creek for a while to let Ollie rest and let Julie play in the water.

This morning, I left my friend and the doggies snoozing and went for a walk at sunrise ... a silent walk ... I intentionally left my iPod at home so that I could concentrate on being alone with God rather than singing along to music. As I walked along enjoying the coolness of the morning air, my mind kept returning to the conversation of the previous night. I wonder, I thought ... I wonder if I will spend the remainder of my life alone ... if I will ever fall in love again ... if I could ever fall in love again. Tears pooled in my eyes as I walked ... alone in the cool morning air.

As I came upon the final bridge across the creek on my way home, I made a snap decision to make a detour into the woods and go sit for a while on the rocks by the bubbling water. I took off my shoes and socks and placed my feet into the cold water, and the minute I did, God began to speak to me as clearly as if He were sitting on the rocks next to me. "I've got your heart, Terrie, I've got it. You're not alone, and you never will be. Let your heart rest ... let it be still and rest in my love."

Be still my heart ... be still.

 

Passion Unleashed

When I was a little kid, I was passionate about eating ice cream. When I was a teenager, I was passionate about playing tennis. When I was in college, I was passionate about partying with my friends. When I got married, I was passionate about being a wife. When I had children, I was passionate about being a mom. When I accepted Christ, I was passionate about my faith. When I was a professor, I was passionate about teaching my students to read and write. When I was a photographer, I was passionate about taking pictures. When I was ... when I was ... when I was ... I was passionate.

I've always been the type of person who throws myself into tasks or hobbies or jobs or sports with gusto ... I have a thing about doing my best and giving my all. I think that part of my personality is due in large part to my dad; he used to always tell me to "give it all I had, do my very best, love what I was doing, and to never ever give up." No matter where I've been in my life, I've somehow managed to hang on to those words from Daddy ... to keep my oomph, to maintain my passion, to never lose my zest for life.

Over the last months, more than one person has told me that I seem to have no passion for anything in life right now. I've gone from being an outgoing, fun-loving, life-enjoying gal to never leaving my house unless I have to. I go to work, and I come home. I slip in and out of church. I don't dream about traveling the world, writing best-selling books or becoming a missionary in a foreign land. I trudge through my job each day; I make myself mow the lawn or clean my house; I slog through walking each evening; I never ever get excited about food ... cooking it or eating it. I guess it's true ... I've really got little to no passion for anything right now. A friend told me last weekend that I needed to find something to live for, a reason to keep going, something to ignite some sort of passion in my heart again.

I've turned her words over in my mind a lot during the last week, and I've had a true plethora of emotions about her calling me out on where I am in my life. And I've thought a lot about needing a reminder ... a visual reminder that I can see every single day that screams to me that life is short and that every single moment should be treated as the gift it truly is. So many days now, I struggle to get from moment to moment, and quite honestly, often treat those moments as burdens rather than blessings. I was passionate about living when God gave me a second chance at life after I was diagnosed with diabetes, but that passion has ebbed away in recent months. And then a text message from my son on Thursday sparked a little glimmer deep within my soul ... a twinge of desire to live in the moment, to take some risks, to appreciate the chances, to be spontaneous like I used to be.

So this afternoon, I unleashed a little passion and I got a new tattoo. Those of you who read my journey through life in this blog may recall a post a while back called Ink Me Up where I talked about getting tattoos with each of my children. I often said that one day I would get another one, but couldn't decide on the design I wanted. And then when I knew what the tattoo would be, I had to wait until my doctors said I could get it safely. So today, I got inked for the last time in my life, and when the tattoo artist was finished and had me look at his work in the mirror ... tears filled my eyes as I looked at my permanent second chance reminder. I'm not going to pretend that I've instantly been healed of the depression that has engulfed me, but I think today was a step ... albeit maybe just a baby step ... in the right direction.

It's time to remove the bandage, wash my new inking and cover it with lotion. And as I do, my prayer is that while my arm is healing, God will heal my heart as well ... that He'll unleash an all-new passion deep within me for living, for loving, for serving Him.

P.S. Comment ... guess what the new tattoo is!

Yep, I Did

Woke up before the alarm went off. Dogs licked my face and feet. Prayed. Got up. Let the dogs go outside. Brought the dogs back inside. Fed the dogs. Checked my blood sugar. Ate some almond butter. Let Ollie go outside again. Drank some water. Took a shower. Shaved my legs. Dried my hair. Put on makeup. Put goop in my hair. Put ice on my shoulder. Read my Bible. Turned on my laptop. Let Ollie go outside again. Brought Ollie back in the house. Checked my email. Cooked breakfast. Made coffee. Ate breakfast. Took meds. Turned off my laptop. Talked on the phone. Got dressed. Let Ollie and Julie go outside. Brought Julie and Ollie inside. Gave the dogs a treat. Got in my car. Drove to work. Sang in the car. Prayed in the car. Walked to my desk. Turned on my computer. Checked my email. Went to a meeting. Edited some ads. Made some copies. Ate some blueberries. Edited some more ads. Did my time sheet. Talked to my boss. Edited another ad. Checked my email again. Turned off my computer. Office closed at noon. Got in my really hot black car. Talked to Brad on the phone. Drove to the tattoo place. Talked to the tattoo man. Went to the post office. Ate a protein bar. Went to the grocery store. Loaded the groceries into the car. Got back in my really hot black car. Drove home. Unloaded the groceries. Let the dogs go outside. Watched the dogs run and run and run. Brought the dogs inside. Ate lunch. Took meds. Put seasoning on the steak. Put the steak in the fridge. Sliced up yellow squash and zucchini. Put the squash in the fridge. Watched the dogs play with a sock. Drank some water. Put ice on my shoulder. Read my Bible. Fell asleep on the couch with the dogs. Woke up. Ate sugar-free pudding. Got another phone call. Let the dogs go outside. Watched the dogs chase a squirrel. Pulled some weeds. Got the mail. Brought the dogs back in. Called the tattoo man. Checked my blood sugar. Ate some more almond butter. Did some cleaning. Put ice on my shoulder. Turned on my laptop. Checked my email. Started writing this blog post. Waited on my friend from Tennessee to arrive. Watched the news. Jumped when the dogs barked at the doorbell. Got sad when it was a salesman. Waited on my friend. Tried to think of something profound to write. Came up with nothing. Put ice on my shoulder. Waited on my friend. Drank some tea. Appreciated air conditioning. Let the dogs go outside. Sat on the deck. Prayed. Got hot. Called the dogs and came inside. Wrote some more. Waited on my friend. Answered the phone. Turned on the gas for the grill. Lit the grill. Grilled the squash and steak. Opened the front door when the doorbell rang. Hugged my friend. Cried like a baby. Showed her where the bathroom is. Let the dogs go outside. Brought the dogs inside. Hugged my friend again. Ate dinner. Took meds. Watched my friend drink some wine. Talked to my friend. Cleaned up the dishes. Put ice on my shoulder. Talked some more. Changed clothes. Took my friend for a walk on my trail. Sweated. Cried. Smiled. Came home and drank a lot of water. Ate some sugar-free Jello and Cool Whip. Let the dogs go outside. Brought the dogs back in. Waited for my friend to get out of the shower. Wrote some more. Took another shower. Put on clean clothes. Got another hug from my friend. Watched her drink some more wine. Listened to my friend's southern accent. Smiled again. Checked my blood sugar. Ate some cheese. Put ice on my shoulder. Watched my friend eat some candy. Watched the dogs sleeping. Wished I could eat a piece of cheesecake. Talked about home. Reminisced about the old days. Cried. Watched my friend cry. Drank some more tea. Let the dogs go outside. Watched my friend play Frisbee with Julie. Came back inside. Appreciated air conditioning again. Talked about our parents. Cried some more. Got sleepy. Checked my blood sugar. Ate some more cheese. Said goodnight to my friend. Got another hug. Put on my pajamas. Climbed into bed. Read my Bible. Prayed. Finished this blog.

Had a good day.

Intentional Sin

When I first began penning this blog way back in 2008 ... wow, has it really been that long ago? Anyway, I never anticipated when I began writing that people would actually read the words that God was placing on my heart. I saw this blog as an online journal, almost like a diary, I suppose ... a diary that not only doesn't have a lock and key, but a diary that is open to the whole world to read and comment upon. I didn't anticipate that some of these posts would generate as many emails and messages as they do, and I certainly didn't expect that people would ask me questions about faith or God or sin, not to mention the questions I receive about diabetes, weight loss and depression. I love reading your messages, and I deeply appreciate that so many of you pop in to read these posts every day (though many days, I scratch my head in wonder as to why you do).

I knew when I started this blog that it was supposed to be real and honest, even though at times that has meant that it's been an arduous task to write about certain issues ... issues in the world or in my own life. And though it's hard at times, I feel God telling me ... commanding me, actually ... to be open and real in this forum; I feel Him telling me that writing the often gut-wrenching confessions about areas in my life where He's dealing with me is what He wants ... demands, actually ... that I do. I'm not sure why God leads me this way, not sure at all. I wouldn't be surprised, however, if humbling me and stripping away my pride is part of His ultimate purpose and plan behind some of my more revealing posts. Recently, I've been thinking a great deal about a topic that I'm sure will stir some commentary, if not outright controversy, when I hit the "publish" button. But again, the more I've mulled the issue over in my head, the more I feel God saying, "Write it."

I've been thinking about sin ... I know, not a lighthearted topic by any means. I've been thinking about the times that I've kind of stumbled into sin. You know the kinds of times I'm talking about ... times when you have an unkind or impure thought race into your mind seemingly on its own; times when you didn't speak up for what was right because you were so outnumbered or even threatened by others; times when you were weak mentally or emotionally or physically and made the wrong choice. Not intentionally meaning to sin, but yet sinning still the same. For some reason, it seems to me that those sins are easier to condone or overlook ... I don't know why, but it sure seems that those are more quickly forgiven, both by God and by others.

Here's the thing, though, the real heart of the thoughts that have been flooding my mind for the last few days on the subject of sin. What about the times when I intentionally sin? When I willingly put myself into situations where I know I'm going to fall? When I go in with my eyes wide open, knowing that my thoughts, words and deeds either are or will be sinful? What does that say about my walk with the Lord? What does that scream about my faith to those who know me? What does that do to my witness and my example to those watching me from afar? The logical and reasonable side of me says that premeditated, thought-out sin has got to be worse somehow than unplanned, caught-off-guard sin. Even our legal system has stiffer penalties for those who commit crimes in a deliberate, predetermined manner than those who break the law through crimes of instant rage or passion. But the emotional, heart side of me says that sin is sin is sin in God's eyes, and that He always forgives when I confess my sin to Him. But then the whole concept of repentance enters in ... wouldn't true repentance mean that once a person repents, they never return to that sin again?

Back to my original statements in the opening of this post ... to those of you who ask me deep, philosophical, spiritual questions, I don't know the answers to many of life's questions. I certainly don't know the answers to the concept of intentional vs. accidental sin ... or if there is even such a thing as sinning by accident. I don't know if there are some things in life that may be sin to one person and not to another. I do know that God loves me just as I am and that He has this issue on my heart for a reason ... there's something He wants me to learn ... some truth He wants me to absorb ... some change He wants to bring about in me ... He's got me thinking about it for a reason.

Now that I'm pondering it, maybe He simply wants to humble me, to cause me to admit that sometimes I struggle with following His will for me. And maybe ... maybe part of that reason is that one of you who's reading this post has the same issue on your heart as well. I don't have to know His reason ... I just have to know Him.

Tell Me a Story

I've wondered more than once just when my son Brad developed his penchant for storytelling, and I've thought from time to time that perhaps his love of stories began when I was pregnant with him. You see, I was a relentless reader to his older brother, Matt ... I was a stay-at-home mom when Matt was a little guy, and we read and read and read. And I'm not just talking children's stories ... I read Shakespeare to Matt; I read Walker Percy to Matt; I read J.D. Salinger to Matt. I'm telling you, I did some serious reading to my firstborn, and I can't help but think that some of that reading transferred itself to Bradley when he was in the womb.

Brad would tell you that his gift of telling stories came from the first women in his life ... his mom and his granny. When Brad was young, whenever my mom would come to visit, she would tell Brad story after story at bedtime. Often, she would fall asleep in the middle of a story, and Brad would wake her and say, "Granny, finish the story." Brad has heard me tell stories his entire life, and I've even been known to write a tale or two from time to time. Wherever it came from and whenever it started, Brad has a love and a gift for telling stories ... especially a story from the heart that he can capture on film.

Yesterday, Brad and two other young men drove to Joplin, Missouri, to meet a producer and director from a large company in Los Angeles ... Brad's mentor in film who lives here in Kansas City was contacted about a very special project in Joplin, and he immediately thought of Brad. The company was looking for a director of photography who could truly tell the story of the destruction the town experienced a few weeks ago when it was devastated by one of the most powerful tornadoes on record, and of the tremendous need that now exists there. The footage that Brad is filming will be made into two television commercials to promote a huge benefit concert for the people of Joplin that is scheduled to take place in Kansas City later this summer.

Brad called me last night after he had spent the day scouting locations and planning shots with the folks from L.A., and I could hear the emotion in his voice as he described what he had seen that day ... destroyed homes and businesses, people's lives torn apart, devastation on a scale that he has never seen in his young life. I could hear the weight of the responsibility he felt to tell the people's story. I could hear the desire of his heart to treat this project with honor and respect. I could hear my little boy in his grown-up voice saying, "I'm going to tell a story, Mom ... a story like I've never told before."

Tomorrow, Brad will film interviews with people who live in Joplin, people who survived ... some with nothing more than the clothes they had on their backs on that fateful Sunday afternoon. Tomorrow, Brad will listen to stories ... stories that I'm certain will touch him, stories that will hurt his heart, stories that quite possibly will change his view of life forever. Tomorrow, Brad will hold a camera in his hands and hear those stories through his lens ... tomorrow, his eyes will focus on the people of Joplin,  and his heart will beat to tell their story.

I have no doubt that I will weep when I see the finished result of Brad's three days in Joplin. I have no doubt that this mother's heart will thank God for the gift He's given my son. Honor those folks well, Bradley ... honor them well.