My Pishing and Poshing Friend

Unless you're a total newbie to my blog, you know that I'm a word person through and through. I read them all day, and I write them most evenings. Heck, I've even been known to speak a few of them from time to time. My infatuation with words is more than being able to catch misspellings or notice poor grammar in the copy I read each day at work. It's more than being able to string together my often rambling thoughts into some semblance of cohesiveness when I write. It's also more than being able to stand before a group and speak about things like faith or hope or perseverance. My love for words is about so much more than any of those things ... my love for words is about the emotions they reveal ... about the meaning that is contained within them ... about the tremendous power they possess, both for good and for evil as well.

I pay attention to words now more than I used to ... the words I read, the words I write, the words I speak. But most of all, I pay much more attention than I ever have in my life to the words I hear ... the words that others speak or write. And perhaps I do so because in recent months I've come to appreciate those very real and raw emotions that can be conveyed through the words of others. I've learned some big lessons through the words that other people have spoken or written to me ... lessons about love, lessons about laughter, lessons about life. I've also learned something else ... some words can take on a life and a depth of meaning all their own, especially when they are spoken or written by a true friend. Words like ... pish posh. Yep ... pish posh, I say.

In my whole life, I think I've only known one person who says pish posh ... I mean seriously, do you know anyone who says pish posh? But I will also admit that saying pish posh most definitely fits my friend, and she says it with such style and flair, too. I can't remember the context in which she first said, "Pish posh!" to me, but I do remember that she said it with a definite purpose in mind ... she said, "Pish posh!" to make me smile. When I first began to think about this post, I went back and read some of the email exchanges that took place between the two of us and I began to notice a pattern. Most of the times my friend said, "Pish posh!" were times when I was struggling in a big way or I was so very, very sad. In fact, in one email following her "Pish posh!" she said, "And if pish posh doesn't make you smile, I may have to flu-slap you." Not only did I smile, friends, I laughed out loud.

This morning at work, my friend and I were talking in the kitchen ... actually, I've sort of turned the kitchen into my office. No, I'm serious. I often take my work and go to the kitchen and sit at one of the tables near the large windows ... there's lots of natural light and for the most part, it's very quiet. My friend and I had been discussing something that was a touch on the serious side, something that she knows isn't one of my favorite things to talk about. As our conversation drew to a close, I made a comment that caused her to pick up on the trace of sadness in my voice. She didn't miss a beat in tossing out a quick "Pish posh!" as she turned to head back to her desk. And guess what I did? Yep ... I laughed out loud. For as long as I live, I will never again hear the words pish posh without thinking of my friend. But so much more, I will never again hear the words pish posh without stopping what I'm doing and breathing a prayer of thanks for my friend who makes me smile, who points me to God, who tells me when I'm wrong and applauds me when I'm right ... a friend who knows when nothing else but a hearty "Pish posh!" will do the trick to lift my drooping spirits.

So this one's for you, my pishing and poshing friend ... thanks for being such a loyal, caring and fun part of my "village." Cheers!  

Death by Wiener Dog

Every morning, the first thing I do when I wake up is go to the bathroom, and then I let Julie and Ollie go outside to potty as well. After they do their business, Julie and Ollie come inside and I feed them and hop into the shower. Then I fix my breakfast (three eggs over-easy, cream cheese and a glass of almond milk with protein powder), sit down on the couch and eat, pack my lunch, get dressed, take the dogs out again, grab a couple of Milk Bones for them, put Ollie in his kennel, gather my things and climb in the car to drive to work. Every single morning, Monday through Friday, that's my routine. It varies a little on the weekends because I don't have to pack my lunch or go to work, but during the week, I do the same thing every single day. Until today anyway.

It only took a few seconds this morning after I let Julie and Ollie out the back door into the yard until I heard a noise ... a screeching noise. At first, I thought it was coming from my neighbor's yard, and it was still pretty dark outside, so it took a minute or so for my eyes to adjust and for me to realize where the screeching was really coming from ... at the back of my yard near the fence. And almost as soon as I realized where the noise had originated, it stopped. Then ... I ... saw ... Ollie. The minute I saw him, and what he was doing, I knew what the noise was. I'm sure my sleeping neighbors weren't too happy about me taking off across the yard in my undies and a t-shirt as I yelled, "Oliver, NO, NO, NO! Drop it, Oliver, drop it!!!" Nope ... Oliver wasn't listening to me ... nope, nope, nope, he wasn't. By the time I got to him, Julie's attention had shifted from pooping to what Oliver had in his mouth, and she began to trot toward him. My neighbors were probably even more pleased when I started shrieking, "Julie, NO, NO, NO! You stay!!" Thankfully, as Julie has aged, she's learned to be a better listener, and she stopped in her tracks as I grabbed Ollie's collar and lifted him off the ground by his neck ... him and the rabbit in his mouth. The rabbit that was almost as big as him.

I've never liked dealing with dead animals in the yard ... birds, frogs, rabbits, mice ... never ever. I always made my sons do the removal on the rare occasions that a critter bit the dust in my domain. But I don't have sons at home anymore, and it was 6 a.m. and I had a wiener dog with the biggest rabbit in the universe clamped tightly between his teeth. For all my yelling at Ollie to drop the rabbit, he just wagged his tail and held on, very proud of his extreme hunting skill. I finally had to place Ollie and the giant rabbit on the ground and pry my little dog's jaws apart from around the poor rabbit's neck. And yes, I'll say it for you ... disgustingly gross. As the rabbit thudded to the ground when Ollie's jaws separated, I scooped Ollie into my arms and grabbed Julie by the collar and quickly took the dogs into the house. I turned Ollie around so that I could scold him and instantly thought I was going to hurl when I saw fur hanging out of his mouth and blood on the end of his nose. Yes, I'll say it for you again ... disgustingly gross. I picked the fur out of my wiener dog's mouth, put him in the tub and washed him, and then brushed his teeth. What a way to start the day, eh?

After I finished getting ready for work, I grabbed a couple of trash bags and a shovel, and headed out to the spot where Ollie had ended poor Mr. or Mrs. Bunny's life. Since most of you already think I'm crazy, I might as well tell you what I did next and cement that truth. I stood over the rabbit for a good 10 minutes saying, "Hey rabbit! You're not really dead, are you? You're just wounded ... go on and get up and hop away so I don't have to pick you up with the shovel. Rabbit? Rabbit? Rabbit? Are you listening? Are you really dead?" Yeah, yeah, yeah ... I know. When I finally determined that Mr. or Mrs. Bunny's lifeless eyes were indeed ... well ... lifeless, I began the process of trying to get him or her onto the shovel and into the trash bag and not puke while I was doing it. Then I spent another 20 minutes or so trying to decide what I should do with the recently deceased rabbit. My trash pickup was yesterday, and I knew that if I put the body in my trash can, it would be there for a week ... and it would smell. I thought about taking it across the street and placing it under a tree by the creek, but I was afraid a policeman would drive by and arrest me for the unlawful disposal of a rabbit body. I thought about putting it in the trunk of my car and taking it to the dumpster at my office, but I was afraid if he or she wasn't really dead, he or she might start thumping around as I was driving and I would most definitely wreck my car because I would be so freaked out. Tonight, Mr. or Mrs. Bunny is in my trash can with a couple of car air fresheners and a good dose of Lysol spray.

All day, I couldn't get the wiener dog vs. rabbit ordeal out of my mind, and it was late this afternoon when I realized that there was a huge lesson for me in what happened this morning. Here's the thing ... I was so angry with Ollie ... so, so, so angry. And the more I told him, "Bad dog, Oliver, bad, bad dog. We aren't killers in this house, buddy, no sir. Bad, bad, bad dog to kill the rabbit," the harder he wagged his little tail and the more he puffed out his chest with pride over what he had done. I was sitting at my desk when it hit me ... Ollie only did what was natural to him ... he was following his instincts and doing what was natural for him to do. Wiener dogs were originally bred as hunter dogs ... Oliver was doing what he was born and bred to do ... hunt. He didn't wake up this morning and choose to kill a rabbit; he woke up this morning and did what came naturally to him ... there was a rabbit in his yard, and he is a hunter. 

The more I thought about Ollie and the rabbit, the more I wondered if the scene this morning was meant to remind me about sacrifice ... if the bunny's life was sacrificed in order to teach me a giant lesson ... to make me think about being who God created me to be ... about doing what he preordained for me to do ... about recognizing how short life can be. Mr. or Mrs. Bunny didn't know when he or she woke this morning and hopped into my yard that its life was about to end. Oliver didn't know when he woke this morning and went outside to pee that he would fulfill his calling to be a hunter. I didn't know when I woke this morning and began my normal routine that I would learn so very much from a wiener dog and a rabbit ... I surely didn't.

Rest in peace, Mr. or Mrs. Bunny ... rest in peace. 

 

 
  

A Friend Like Him

Yes, I know I've posted these lyrics before, more than once actually. But tonight, I need to read them again and maybe, just maybe, I'm not the only one. Tonight, I need to get on my knees before I go to bed and ask God to give me a heart of love, of compassion, of understanding ... a heart like His ... and maybe, just maybe, I'm not the only one.

"Jesus friend of sinners, we have strayed so far away
We cut down people in Your name, but the sword was never ours to swing
Jesus friend of sinners, the truth's become so hard to see
The world is on their way to You, but they're tripping over me
Always looking around but never looking up I'm so double-minded
A plank-eyed saint with dirty hands and a heart divided 

Oh Jesus friend of sinners
Open our eyes to world at the end of our pointing fingers
Let our hearts be led by mercy
Help us reach with open hearts and open doors
Oh Jesus friend of sinners, break our hearts for what breaks Yours 

Jesus friend of sinners, the One who's writing in the sand
Made the righteous turn away and the stones fall from their hands
Help us to remember we are all the least of these
Let the memory of Your mercy bring Your people to their knees
Nobody knows what we're for only what we're against when we judge the wounded
What if we put down our signs, crossed over the lines and loved like You did? 

Oh Jesus friend of sinners
Open our eyes to the world at the end of our pointing fingers
Let our hearts be led by mercy
Help us reach with open hearts and open doors
Oh Jesus friend of sinners, break our hearts for what breaks Yours 

You love every lost cause, You reach for the outcast
For the leper and the lame, they're the reason that You came
Lord, I was that lost cause, and I was the outcast
But you died for sinners just like me, a grateful leper at Your feet 

'Cause You are good, You are good And Your love endures forever
You are good, You are good and Your love endures forever
You are good, You are good and Your love endures forever
You are good, You are good and Your love endures forever 

Oh Jesus friend of sinners
Open our eyes to the world at the end of our pointing fingers
Let our hearts be led by mercy
Help us reach with open hearts and open doors
Oh Jesus friend of sinners, break our hearts for what breaks Yours 

And I was the lost cause, and I was the outcast
You died for sinners just like me, a grateful leper at Your feet" --- Casting Crowns

Crosses, Airplanes and Closets

First things first tonight ... I am now a seasoned flyer, yep, yep, I am. Over the last week or so, I traveled on four different airplanes as I made my way to Canada and then back to Kansas. And yesterday, I decided at the last minute as Brad and I waited in the Edmonton airport to board the plane for the first leg of our flight that I was not going to take the medication for anxiety. Yes, you read that correctly ... I got on an airplane yesterday without the help of drugs, two planes actually, because I didn't need to take the medication for the second flight either. The second flight, I might add, that was aboard the smallest of all four of the planes we traveled on. And listen to this ... the second flight yesterday was only about half full, so Brad sat across the aisle from me. Yes, you read that correctly ... Brad wasn't sitting right next to me on the second flight; in fact, I even scooted over to the window seat as we flew into Kansas City last night so that I could see the lights of the city on the ground. And ... and ... and ... I was so relaxed on both of the flights that I read a book, well, two-thirds of a book, but you can bet I'll be finishing it this week. Yes, you read that correctly, too ... I read two-thirds of a flipping book on the airplanes yesterday. I did experience some intense ear pain during the descent and landing on the first plane but other than that and a teensy tiny bit of agitation when we hit some turbulence, I was golden. The only words that seem to be even remotely appropriate to express how I feel about my flying experience yesterday are, "Booyah! Booyah! Booyah! eh?" Now that you have a deep appreciation for my air travel prowess, on with my post for tonight.

A while ago, someone gave me a book and told me I should read it ... that's typically why someone gives you a book, eh? (yes, I'm still digging the Canadian "eh?"). The book was written by Timothy Kurek, and it's titled "The Cross in the Closet." My curiosity was sparked when I read the quote from Brian McLaren that is printed on the front cover ... "A one-of-a-kind book with unforgettable moral impact." I've tried to sit down and read the book several times, but I've been incredibly busy for the last couple of months so I never got farther than the first 20 pages or so. My inability to read the book had nothing to do with the book itself; in fact, I was hooked after reading the foreward page ... especially the last line of that page that said, "This could be your year of living and loving dangerously. Just like Timothy did. Just like Jesus did." The minute I read those words, I thought about the words of a friend typed to me back on the first day of January ... "A whole new year, T. A whole new year for you to live."

Timothy Kurek was raised in an ultra-conservative church in Nashville, Tennessee, and he was taught the gospel of separation from a very young age (his words, not mine). Upon graduating from high school, he attended Liberty University and was on the fast track to become a minister. Through a series of events that included witnessing the excommunication by the church and family of a close friend who confessed that she was gay, Timothy began to question the extreme doctrine of hate he had been taught. In his desire to truly empathize and understand his friend's anguish, Timothy decided he could only fully experience her pain if he walked in her shoes ... in the shoes of the very people he had been taught to condemn and shun. That decision became a year-long journey for Timothy, a journey in which he "came out" to his family, his friends and his church, and pretended to be gay. The book is controversial to say the least. But the book is also a heart-wrenchingly truthful recounting of one man's quest to find Jesus in the margins of life. As I read the book yesterday on the airplanes, more than once my eyes brimmed with tears as I read words that I well could have written myself ... words that resonated within the very core of my heart ... words that at times I read aloud to my son Brad ... words that spoke to me and made me feel less alone in my personal quest to find and follow Jesus in the margins of my own life.

Though there is so much I could say about the book, I've decided the best way to close tonight is by doing two things: quoting some paragraphs from the book, and encouraging you to read the book ... read it before you judge it. And then maybe read another book ... you know the One ... the One that has a whole, whole, whole lot to say about whom and how we are supposed to love.

From the chapter titled "coming out, into the closet"

"I never anticipated that coming out would feel this raw, this emotional, this terrifying. It isn't a fear that life won't go on; rather, that life won't resolve in some way. The questions and the stereotypes, and fear for all of the relationships I might lose, consume me. I don't want to lose my friends, and I don't want my family to hold me at arm's length. I do not want to be the black sheep of the family, or the different gay brother or son. I want to be me. But having been raised in a conservative religious home, I know these hopes aren't reasonable. Living in the culture of the 'Bible Belt' makes the prospect of feeling simultaneously normal and gay likely impossible. I cannot imagine what coming out would be like if I were really gay. One year may seem like a long time, but a lifetime ... that would be more than I could ever adjust to, more than I could ever live with.

"My heart breaks for those who have actually lost family and friends after coming out of the closet. I cannot imagine feeling this vulnerable only to be abandoned by the people who are supposed to be there no matter what. Anything that incites the kind of fear that I've felt this day requires courage to overcome. I had never believed coming out was an act of courage. Until today, coming out as gay has always represented cowardice and a sense of giving up. I believed it was an easy out for people who didn't want to overcome the perversion and sin in their lives. But if today has shown me anything, it is that the act of coming out itself and risking the life you have always known is a courageous thing, an act worthy of respect."

From the chapter titled "not in kansas"

"It is difficult to describe the range of emotions I have felt thus far, but loneliness is the most acute. My phone no longer rings with calls and texts like it did only a short time ago. I have been preparing myself for numerous conversations about my revelation, but so far most 'friends' seem to desire only distance. It is that distance, I think, that has pushed so many people over the edge, the excommunication from believers, friends, and loved ones who disagree and disengage. My news spread like a plague, but I was the only real casualty."  

From the chapter titled "the mirror"

"Experiencing the other side of prejudice is more painful than I anticipated. Worse, I feel as though I am constantly being faced with my own face in the mirror: the image of a Pharisee who has not thought to look past labels and orientations to see people for who they really are. Had I not gone through with this experiment, I probably would have always believed the lie that I really am better than the other, and my life would have been characterized by a shallower understanding of humanity. At least now I can see what I really look like, and, Lord willing, I may yet change the image staring back at me."

From the chapter titled "it's hard to be gay in spring"

"I always wondered what it would be like to suppress my attraction to such an extreme degree. As I attempt it, I realize I have to suppress more than just physical attraction. I have to suppress myself to live within the mentality of the closet. And the closet is so much more severe than its name would have you to believe. It is not even closet-like. It is a self-imposed exile from the reality of who you are. It is a roadblock to anyone trying to have any semblance of a normal life. Being in the heterosexual closet means I have to try to monitor every action and reaction before it becomes external, deciding whether it will give me away." 

Let me say again ... the book is controversial. But the book is also a truthful recounting of one man's quest to find Jesus in the margins of life. And you know what? It's the people who live in those margins that He came to save ... people like you and people like me.  

  

 



     

Homeward Bound

I wonder how many trips I've taken in my lifetime ... how many times I've gone away and then come back home. I've traveled quite a bit in the eastern United States, made quite a few trips to Colorado and a ton of trips throughout the Midwest for speaking engagements. I even went to Mexico for college classes many, many years ago. But, as those of you who read along with me know, this trip to Canada to see Matt, Becca and C.J. required me to get on an airplane for the first time in more than 20 years. I owe my son Bradley big time for traveling with me and helping me actually get on the plane. Actually, it's planes, plural ... two to come to Canada and now we are waiting in the airport to get on two more to fly us home.

Even though Matt and Becca spent a couple of days fighting the flu, we still had a great visit and I especially enjoyed my time with my granddaughter. We read together, giggled together, walked together, ate together, played together ... and she gave me a whole bunch of hugs ... hugs I've missed out on for the last 7 months since the kiddos moved to Canada. And I can assure you of one thing ... I will not wait another 7 months to see her again ... nope, nope, nope, I won't. 

Matt, Becca, Brad and I spent our last evening together playing a cutthroat game of Monopoly, which of course Becca won. Becca won most of the games we played this past week ... and Bec, I think your competitive spirit rivals that of any of my three children. This morning we walked to a quaint little cafe for breakfast, and I watched C.J. eat part of a cinnamon roll, huevos rancheros and bread. I tried my best not to get teary as we walked back to their house ... thank goodness for dark sunglasses and a coat with a big hood that I could pull down over my face, eh?

So it's about time to board the plane, which means it's time for me to pop a pill and hopefully go to sleep for this leg of the trip ... the 3-hour leg of the trip on a little plane ... hooray ... not. Thank you to Bradley for enduring the flights with me ... thank you to Matt and Becca for spending the week with us and for all you did to make us feel welcome ... and thank you to C.J. for letting me love you, for the hugs and kisses and all the sweetness.

Homeward bound ... homeward bound.    

Son Walking Revisited

Back in June of 2010, I wrote a post for this blog titled "Son Walking." In that post, I talked about an evening when Matt and I went for a walk ... a walk that was special to me for many reasons. You can go back and read the post if you'd like ... you'll find it in the archived posts. This afternoon, I went for another walk with my son, and ... well, let me just tell you about it.

Matt went to work this morning for the first time all week. He had planned to work Wednesday and Thursday, but he got sick on Tuesday afternoon and ended up being transported by ambulance to the hospital late that night. Then Becca got sick, too, and Matt still wasn't feeling great ... you get the picture ... Matt stayed home from work until today. He decided he was only going to work a half day, so Becca, Brad, C.J. and I walked over to his office so that he could show Brad and I where he worked and then we could all have lunch together. Matt was happy to see us when we arrived, and I could tell that he was excited for Brad and I to see his office and to give us a tour of the campus. It's quite a long walk from Matt and Becca's house to the university, and it was snowing and pretty cold today so after lunch and a quick stop at the student bookstore, we began the walk back home.

Brad was pushing C.J. in her stroller, and he and Becca were walking at a faster pace than Matt and I so they quickly pulled ahead, leaving Matt and I to walk together. Matt pointed to various buildings and landmarks as we made our way through the campus, and I could hear the happiness in his voice as he talked about his job and the people with whom he works. He told me about a paper he just submitted to the most prestigious journal in his field, and he talked about some of the projects on which he's currently working. And though it was cold outside, and the snow was falling around us, my heart was abundantly warm as I listened to my son ... as I walked with my son ... as I loved my son.

I've thought all afternoon and evening about my walk with Matt today, and about how hard it will be tomorrow to say goodbye to him. I've thought about how sick Matt was, how low his blood pressure dropped and how frightened we all were. I've noticed something about Matt during my visit ... there is something different in his eyes when he looks at me ... a new understanding perhaps is the best way to describe it. You see, Matt is a parent himself now ... now he fully understands the love a parent feels for their child. My son loves me now with not only a heart of love from a son for his mother, but with a heart of love from a father for his daughter ... now Matt fully understands the love of a parent for a child.

Remember in my last post when I talked about being grateful that I wasn't all done last year? I walked with my son in the snow today ... today, I walked with my son.