Tonight's Distinguished Guest Blogger

When I think about my dad, I think about his gentle and easy smile ... his work-worn hands ... the ever-present twinkle in his dark brown eyes. When I think about my dad, I think about the stories he would tell me as I sat tucked inside his strong arms on lazy Sunday afternoons in Tennessee ... the tunes he would whistle as he tilled the ground in his beloved vegetable garden ... the hymns he would sing as he worked in the small room that held his vast array of tools. When I think about my dad, I think about the times he placed cool cloths on my head when I was sick ... the basketball goal he crafted for me from metal and wood ... the countless late-night softball games he attended after he had worked all day at the railroad. When I think about my dad, I think about love ... unconditional, total, complete, pure, fathomless love. When I think about my dad, I think about how very blessed and lucky I was to have been raised by a man of such honor and integrity ... a man of such wisdom and kindness ... a man of such patience and love. Not everyone has that kind of dad, you know ... not everyone has that kind of dad at all.

The post that follows this evening was written by a gentleman I had the distinct honor of meeting last spring ... a gentleman whose courage and bravery is truly humbling to me ... a gentleman who possesses an inner strength that can only come from overcoming extreme adversity ... a gentleman whose heart beats with a pure and steadfast desire to tear down the walls of hate and discrimination and build in their place pillars of love and acceptance for all people. He is kind and gentle and humble and caring and compassionate and honorable and loyal and trustworthy ... and he is my friend. He inspires me to be a better person ... encourages me to persevere through the darkest nights ... sees the me I hope to one day become. In some ways, he and I are very different, but in other ways, we are so very much the same. Some of you may not like or agree with the words of my friend tonight, and that's okay. Some of you will stand and cheer because his words ring true within your hearts as well, and that's okay, too. We don't all have to be alike or agree on all the issues ... we can be different and we can disagree. When all is said and done, what's most important is that we love and respect each other ... different or alike, in agreement or not, tall or short, rich or poor, gay or straight, black or white, chubby or skinny ... what's most important is that we love and respect each other.

My dear friend Nate Phelps gave his permission for me to publish his name this evening, and many of you are familiar with his father, Fred ... Fred Phelps ... the preacher from Topeka whose hatred for people like me has garnered international attention down through the years. Nate left home when he was 18, and he now travels the world speaking for the cause of gay rights ... that's right, Nate speaks on behalf of the very people he was taught from birth to hate. I am honored to share his words with you this evening ... words from the heart of a man who walked through the fire of hate and learned what it really means to love. 

"This is Jaymi"

"She was born last May 15^th at the Peter Laughheed Hospital in Calgary, Alberta Canada. She was a tiny little thing, 5 lbs. 11ozs. I’ve spent a lot of time with her these past seven months. No real schedule. There have been times when we had her nearby constantly for months then she would be gone for a few weeks or days. But I know Jaymi and that precious, heart-melting smile she gives me tells me she knows her G-Paw too.

I’m an atheist. That is to say that I don’t think change will ever come from outside this world so I think in terms of how I can change it here and now. Better comes from us. Period.

I imagine a similar photo from 54 years ago. A scruffy man looking down with a bit of discomfort, sadness and awe in his eyes at a small boy sleeping in his arms. Fast forward through those 54 years. Discovering life, violence, religion, isolation, hatred, shame…

…pausing in 8^th grade. A video is released to the school system (Black History: Lost, Stolen or Strayed) to teach us how we treated black people in America now that we’re determined not to treat them that way anymore. Learning that we held ideas in our heads for centuries that somehow these people were different. Seeing the images of man’s ability for cruelty toward one another, bodies broken in the most horrific ways for the most meaningless reasons. Feelings of sadness and shame. Wanting to stand up and apologize. Wondering where Ham or Canaan fit into this whole business.

Fast forward again. Hope, escape, starting over, searching, new life, questioning, permission, letting go, redefining, simplifying, finding out for myself, painful choices.

Deep breath.

Painful choices.

Starting over…so tired of starting over…

Painful choices. Helping others, finding a voice, trying to understand…

Pause again. We need a new video released to America (Gay History: Denied, Forbidden or Prayed Away) to teach us how we treated gay people in America now that we’re determined not to treat them that way anymore.

This is Jaymi. It’s likely she will have a photo taken of her one day looking down at a tiny child with a bit of discomfort, sadness and awe on her face. Perhaps, in that photo, she will be taking a moment remembering her life to that point. We can’t say for sure what her passions will have been, what she focused her hopes and dreams on, but because we stared god in the face today, we know it won’t be the tortured struggle of homosexuality any longer.

I love you Jaymi."

Easier to Live

Two weeks ago, I was trying to pull myself up off of a snowy, ice-laden street in Canada following my execution of a perfect full-body crash in the middle of a busy intersection. My daughter-in-law was pushing my granddaughter in her stroller and had cautioned me only a few seconds earlier that the road was very slick. And before I could speak the words that were on the tip of my tongue, "It's fine ... I'm being really careful," my feet went out from under me and I went down like a brick tossed into the ocean. I fell so quickly and landed so hard on the what felt like steel surface beneath me that it took a couple of minutes for me to figure out what had happened. Becca asked if I was okay as I rolled over and worked my way onto my knees, trying to decide how best to get up. "I'm fine," I replied, noticing the look of concern on her face. "I'm fine ... just let me grab the handle on the stroller so I can get back on my feet." Though it took me a while, I managed to gain a secure enough footing to stand up and get out of the street so the cars that were waiting could travel on through the intersection. Becca asked again if I was okay, and I assured her I was fine and that the only injury I had suffered was the one to my pride. Turns out it was a little more than my pride that got smacked that day ... I'm still sporting a large nasty bruise and golfball-sized knot on my upper thigh, along with achy shoulder and arm muscles. But ... but ... but ... I know my fast and hard fall that day could have had far worse consequences ... I could have broken my hip or my neck or hit my head and been rendered unconscious. While I'm still feeling the effects of losing my footing and slamming onto the ice and probably will for a while to come, I'm so very grateful I was able to pull myself up off the hard frozen road, stand on my own two feet and walk (albeit slowly and tentatively with a stabbing pain in my leg) the remainder of the journey.

Last year on this day, I spent a great deal of time pacing back and forth in my little house, worrying and fretting and panicking and freaking out about the blog entry I planned to post that evening. I knew that the minute I tapped the publish button, my life would never be the same again. My heart was so heavy that day ... the ache in my soul was so deep ... the fear that encompassed my mind was so overwhelming. And yet I knew, more than I had ever known anything, that I had to tell the truth once and for all ... I knew I had to be honest about who I am ... completely and totally honest once and for all. I had written the post several weeks prior ... I had known for a long while that the day would come when I could no longer bear the burden of the lie I was living, the day when hiding even one more minute would have surely sucked the very life from me. I made the decision to post "Easier to Die" on the first day of 2013 for many reasons, most of them deeply personal ones I've deliberately chosen not to share. Posting the words "I am gay" and knowing they would be read by scores of people ... knowing my life was about to change in ways I couldn't begin to foresee ... was the hardest thing I've ever done, times about a gazillion. And yet I knew ... more than I had ever known anything ... that I had to tell the truth once and for all.

Almost every day, I receive messages from people I will never meet ... messages sharing stories of despair, grief, pain, guilt, rejection and sadness that break my heart as I read them. I receive messages sharing stories of overcoming, triumph, honesty, loyalty, freedom and unconditional love that encourage me to stay the course and follow the calling to help others that I believe God has placed before me. I receive messages from young people and old people and middle-aged people. I receive messages from straight people and gay people. I receive messages from Christian people and atheist people. I receive messages from single people and married people. I received messages from sick people and healthy people. I receive messages from high school dropout people and Ph.D. people. I receive messages from tall people and short people. I receive messages from people ... people like me and people like you ... who are looking for someone to care ... that's all ... just someone to care whether or not they will choose to live another day.

I thought a long time about what to title tonight's entry, and I kept coming back to "Easier to Live." It seemed right to me to begin my first post for the new year with words that express how much my life has changed since this day one year ago. I've slipped on the ice and fallen hard on the unforgiving surface of life more times than I can count over the last year, and I know there will be days ahead when I'll slip and fall again. But ... each time I fell last year, I managed to pull myself up, get back on my feet again and walk, even though each step may have been ever so slow, ever so tentative and ever so painful to take. I've learned a ton of things since this day one year ago, not the least of which is to fully appreciate the journey and to deeply treasure the people who have chosen to stay on the road with me. For a long, long time, I believed it would be easier to die than to tell the truth ... I believed it would be easier to die than to face what might happen if I revealed who I truly am ... I believed it would be easier to die than to risk hurting the people I love so dearly. I believed it would be easier to die than it would be to live ... I was so wrong ... I was so very wrong.

Perhaps the secret to wanting to live instead of wanting to die is in the living itself ... maybe the secret is to be who you are instead of who you think everyone wants you to be. Maybe the secret is to trust the hand of kindness and compassion that's extended to you. Maybe the secret is to open your heart and believe in the power of unconditional love and fathomless grace. Maybe the secret to wanting to live instead of wanting to die is in the living itself ... the journey ... the beautiful, wonder-filled, living journey of life itself. Easier to live? You bet it is, friends ... you bet it is indeed.

"As the Little House settled down on her new foundation, she smiled happily. Once again she could watch the sun and moon and stars. Once again she could watch Spring and Summer and Fall and Winter come and go. Once again she was lived in and taken care of." --- Virginia Lee Burton

The Grand Finale

A little over a week ago, I was riding in the back seat of my son and daughter-in-law's Toyota Prius with my granddaughter in Canada as we traveled to the little mountain town of Banff. It was a 4-hour drive, and if you've ever had kids, you know that's a long time for an almost 2-year-old to be strapped into a child safety seat. C.J. did great on the lengthy rides to and from the mountains for the most part, only getting restless near the end of both trips. It was during those times that I began telling her stories ... not traditional stories, mind you, because I can't remember those classic kid nursery rhymes, but stories I made up as the miles clipped by. My stories would not have been considered brilliant works of art by any means to any polished literary critic, but to the only person in the world who mattered ... my precious granddaughter ... they ranked right up there with the best of the best. I know that to be true because each time I finished telling her a story, C.J. said, "More 'tories, Ghee ... more 'tories," and she listened intently to every word I said. Let me say that again ... my granddaughter listened intently to every word I said.

I've struggled for more than a month with what I wanted to say in tonight's post ... my final post for 2013 ... a truly life-changing year for me. I spent some time this morning reading back through several of this year's posts ... holy, holy, holy crap ... I've done a lot of confessing in my blog this year. Some of those confessions were small ones, like admitting I drink almond milk straight from the carton or that I sometimes vacuum in the summer wearing only my underwear, and some of those confessions were ... well ... a bit bigger and way more life-altering to say the least. I've had some incredible guest bloggers throughout the year, with my first-ever guest blogger penning her post on this day one year ago. Her kind and humbling words set the stage for my post that followed on New Year's Day ... the post that quite literally changed my life forever. The year 2013 has without question been one of the most difficult in my 54 years of life ... but ... but ... but ... it's also been the year when I have learned more, trusted more, loved more, believed more, accepted more, listened more and grown more than I ever have before. 

It's quite interesting to me that one of the questions I am asked most frequently remains the same a whole year after "the" post ... "If you could do it over, would you still tell the truth about who you are?" The short answer to that question is yes, but the longer answer ... the answer that truly matters ... is that I know beyond the shadow of even the smallest doubt I couldn't pretend or hide or lie any longer. At least I couldn't keep hiding the truth about myself and stay alive anyway. That question ... "If you could do it over, would you still tell the truth about who you are?" ... that question could and should be asked of every single one of us. In my mind, that question shouldn't be about a person's sexuality ... in my mind, that question should be about a person's character and integrity and honesty. That question should be about being honest about who I am as a person ... nothing more and nothing less. The truth is that the world would be a much better place if we could all be honest about who we are ... if we all could say, "No more pretending, no more hiding, no more lying." 

Yes, 2013 was the year I publicly came out, and it hasn't been the easiest year of my life for sure. You know that because you've walked along the path with me through the words of this blog ... you've walked with me through the pain, the hurt, the guilt, the questioning and the shame. Yep, 2013 was the year I flung open the door to my closet and let you see the real me. But it was also the year I traveled to Canada ... twice ... on an airplane. It was the year I helped create the Ears Wide Open? video and have been blessed to see it help thousands of people. It was the year my granddaughter first called me Ghee. It was the year I got pulled over by a policeman who could have written me three tickets but instead showed me grace. It was the year I wore a tie and suspenders to work every day for a whole week. It was the year I knew ... really, really, really knew ... how very much I love my children and how very much they love me. It was the year I changed my head doctor's moniker from "stupid" to "life-saving." It was the year I learned who my real friends are. It was the year I met Gary and Elizabeth and many others like them. It was the year I became acquainted with the term "flu-slap" and came to understand and appreciate the importance of accountability on a whole new level. It was the year I found my faith again. It was the year Ollie the wiener dog became a serial rabbit killer. It was the year I celebrated a most important anniversary ... a most important anniversary indeed.

I know 2013 has been a difficult year for many of you and you feel like there's no way out of the darkness that surrounds you ... but there is. If you don't remember anything else from tonight's post, remember this ... not that long ago, I didn't want to live anymore and a little over a week ago, I was in the back seat of my son and daughter-in-law's Toyota Prius in Canada listening to my granddaughter say, "More 'tories, Ghee ... more 'tories." I know there will be days in the new year that will be tough ... I know because I know how much I still struggle with being who I am. But I also know there will be days that will be remarkable ... I know because I know there are more stories to be told, more stories to be written, more stories to be lived. 

It seems only fitting to close tonight's post with words that were penned on New Year's Eve last year by my guest blogger ... words each one of us should take to heart ... words each one of us should remember ... words each one of us should strive to live out every single day. Here's to a happy new year, friends ... a happy, open, honest, real and transparent new year.

"Just be you. Awesome you."

Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

Each one of my three children is musically talented, and they certainly didn't inherit that talent from me or their father ... not at all. All three of them can sing and play an instrument ... Meg plays the piano, and Matt and Brad play guitar. Sometimes when I'm alone in my house, I think about the days when my home was filled with the music of my children. When Matt was in high school, he recruited some of his friends and established the first-ever youth praise team at our church. He was the lead singer and guitar player for the team, and I remember like it was yesterday the music floating down from his room upstairs as he practiced worship songs over and over until they flowed perfectly from his lips and his guitar. I often wish that the walls of my house still held that music and that I could push a magic button and have it fill my home once again.

It's been many, many years since I heard Matt play his guitar and sing, and several times when we were Skyping I thought about asking him if he still played but I never did. In fact, I didn't even ask him when I first arrived in Canada, even though I noticed his guitar on its stand. But then on Christmas, Matt got out his guitar and played and sang to his sweet daughter ... in her room, with the curtains drawn and the lights turned off, her "Unca Bad and Selby ladybug" Christmas gift projecting stars and the moon on the ceiling of her room. Tears filled my eyes as I watched C.J. listen to Matt play the guitar, her crystal blue eyes shining with adoration as her daddy sang to her. The scene that unfolded before me as I sat in C.J.'s little closet was so very precious ... my son serenading his little girl ... one of those memories I'd like to sear into my brain forever.

It only took a couple of days after I got here for me to learn that my granddaughter loves the song Twinkle Twinkle Little Star ... she asked me at least a thousand times as we drove to and from the mountains to find the song on her Violet the dog electronic music thingie. And she was so darned cute when she asked me that of course I complied with her request every time, feeling so special because my only granddaughter needed my help in selecting her favorite song ... until her mom and dad informed me that she knows how to find the song by herself and was totally playing me. See? I told you she is a genius, and her getting me to push a button on a furry music-playing dog for hours and hours is simply proof of her extreme intelligence. And I couldn't help but smile as she said the same words to her daddy that she had said to me ... "More little star, peas ... more little star." Suffice it to say that she has her daddy wrapped pretty tightly around her finger as well, because I lost count of how many times he played and sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to his precious baby girl.

Early tomorrow morning I will board a plane and head back to Kansas City, though everything in me would love to stay here and love on my little C.J. a while longer. This afternoon, I sat on the end of the couch while Matt was stretched out on the other end with C.J. snuggled on his chest ... and memories of my own blonde-haired, blue-eyed little one snuggling with me almost 30 years ago were coursing through my mind. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes as they formed and I realized how very much I needed this time with my son and his family ... how very much little C.J. is a soothing balm for my lonely heart. My brain knows that I have to go home ... that I have to go back to the real world ... but my heart wants to stay here ... my heart wants to stay here and just be Ghee. See that's the thing ... all I am to C.J. is Ghee, nothing more, nothing less. I'm Ghee who loves her and wrestles with her on the floor and lets her eat my food and tells her stories and giggles with her and hugs her and gets in trouble with her for being too loud or laughing too hard. I don't have to keep my guard up when I'm with her or worry about what I wear or how my hair is cut or what other people think about me. All I am to my precious granddaughter is her Ghee ... nothing more, nothing less, just her Ghee.

My time here in Canada with Matt, Becca and C.J. has been incredible, and we've made a stack of memories together ... memories that will remain in my heart forever. It was super hard to tell C.J. that I wouldn't be here when she wakes up tomorrow, and I'm sure that saying goodbye to Matt at the airport in the morning will be emotional for me as well. But ... I'm still here to cry those tears, friends ... I'm still here to cry them, and I'm so glad I am.

"More little star, peas ... more little star."

My New Boss

I've had a lot of jobs in my lifetime, and I've had a lot of bosses. For the most part, I've been lucky in the boss department ... I only remember one boss who wasn't ... well ... who wasn't a very nice person. If I haven't learned anything else over the course of my career, I know beyond the shadow of any doubt that a supervisor can make all the difference in the world as to how an employee feels about his or her job. A caring, compassionate, encouraging boss inspires loyalty and dedication while a demanding, critical, condescending supervisor tears down a person's spirit and saps their passion for their job. I've been blessed ... really, really, really blessed in the boss department for sure.

Tonight my son and daughter-in-law went out to dinner ... without their almost 2-year-old daughter ... and I had the distinct honor of babysitting while they were gone. Matt and Becca don't get the opportunity to go out alone very often because babysitters up here in Canada are expensive, so I gladly volunteered to stay with C.J. while I'm here visiting so they could have some much-needed adult time together. I decided something this evening during the trying to get my way too smart for her britches granddaughter to go to sleep portion of our evening together ... she's got me wrapped around her finger, and she knows how to play me in a big way. And ... I ... love ... it.

Little Miss C.J. managed to get me to provide her with an abundance of drinks of milk and water, turn on her Violet to play more music and put her blanket back in her bed more than a couple of times. I don't know whether it was during the milk and water requests or the blanket throwing time or when I turned my back to start her music, but at some point that little rascal was even jumping in her bed while she laughed and giggled at me as I tried to firmly tell her it was time to go to sleep. When she finally did go to sleep, I peeked in on her a couple of times to make sure she was okay ... of course I did. Looking down on her sweet little face with her rosy cheeks and blonde hair made me think of times when I did the same thing with her daddy when he was a baby ... it's true that some things never ever change. 

I've got a new boss alright ... a boss for whom I'll do everything I possibly can. Her name is Coraline, and she can boss me around all she wants, friends. 

A Night to Remember

Today is my 54th birthday ... a day that began with a rousing rendition of the happy birthday song from my daughter, son-in-law, niece and great niece via Skype followed by an amazing egg creation by my daughter-in-law for breakfast. My sweet little C.J. told me "Happy birday, Ghee!" several times throughout the day, and Brad and Shelby sent me their own special style of birthday glee. I received a ton of happy birthday messages on Facebook and in emails, and I got an extra-special birthday call from a dear friend who lives in Calgary.

Today is also Boxing Day in Canada, a day of super sales in many of the stores in Canada ... think Black Friday in the U.S. and multiply the frenzy by about a gazillion. Matt, Becca, C.J. and I ventured out this afternoon to do a little shopping, and it took us almost an hour just to get out of the parking lot at the mall. Matt and I had planned to go to a movie together tonight to celebrate my birthday, but we both heartily agreed that the last thing we wanted to do was fight the traffic again. So we did something else ... something absolutely wonderful ... something I will never ever forget. 

After dinner and bedtime stories for C.J., Matt and I donned our coats, hats and gloves and ventured out for a long walk down the main street near where they live. Our steps were careful and deliberate because the sidewalks are "slippy" as C.J. would say, and I'm more than a little cautious following my "Ghee fall down" ice crash the day after I got here. The street was quieter than usual, and many of the shops had already closed for the day. Matt took me in a vintage shop, and I told him stories about my childhood days as certain items in the store would spark memories for me. We stopped at a resale bookstore, and I listened as Matt talked about how many books he reads and the ones he loves most. I told him how proud I am of him ... of the father and husband he is ... of the son he is ... of the man he is. 

As we made our way back to his home, Matt offered his arm for me to hold so that I could steady myself as we walked. The Christmas lights in the trees along the street glistened against the snow-covered buildings ... it looked and felt almost like a magical scene from a movie. We walked along slowly, my hand tucked safely inside my son's arm, talking about so many different things ... and it was without question one of the sweetest times I've ever had with my son. A night to remember, friends ... a very special birthday night to forever remember ... a night to remember indeed. 

At Tree's End

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned that I've gotten to do a bunch of things during my time over the last week as a temporary Canadian that I've never done before, creating memories for me that will last a lifetime. All of the new adventures have been awesome, but not one of them can compare to two firsts from today ... nope, not a single one of those incredibly awesome experiences can even come close. Seeing my granddaughter's eyes when she awakened and discovered that Santa had visited her house while she was "seeping" was ... well, words can't begin to describe how precious and sweet this morning was ... watching her as she opened her presents while she kept saying over and over, "Santa come Boo's house." Nope, words can't begin to do justice to the way I felt as I watched her this morning, nor can they begin to describe the emotion that swirled deep within my heart as I watched my son play his guitar and sing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star to his adoring daughter ... that was without question one of the sweetest moments of my entire life. 

One of the gifts Matt and Becca gave me this morning was a handmade ornament ... I've long said that the best gifts are the ones made from the hands of someone who loves me, and this morning's gift proved that premise once again to be true. It was a small, flat piece of wood with some very special words written on it ... words that touched my soul when I read them ... words that I instantly knew would stay with me for the rest of my life ... words that reminded me once again that it's the little things in life that mean so very, very, very much. That small piece of wood will be a forever reminder to me that the people who truly love me ... the people who love me without definition or parameter or condition ... will always love me just the way I am. 

I was weary when I arrived in Canada one week ago ... weary to the core of my being, physically, emotionally and mentally. Though I hate to fly, I felt compelled to make this trip for many reasons, and for once in my life, I'm so glad I followed my heart and overcame one of my irrational fears and got on a plane and traveled here to spend Christmas with Matt, Becca and Coraline. I desperately needed some time away ... I needed a break from my routine ... I needed to just be Ghee for a while ... to just be Mom for a while ... to just be me for a while.

Oh, and the ornament? It was a piece of wood that Matt cut from the bottom of their first real Christmas tree ... a symbol of life ... a symbol of family ... a symbol of love.

Bleep, Bleep, Bleep ... Where's the Tylenol?

When all my kiddos lived at home, we had one particular Christmas tradition we observed for many years. As much as I'd like to tell you that it was a tradition that was steeped with deep meaning or filled with huge life lessons, to do so would be so far from the truth that I'm pretty sure a bolt of lightning from the heavens would strike me dead as I type. Nope ... my little family's ever-present Christmas tradition wasn't lofty or intellectual or even spiritual ... not in the least. But it was a tradition that accomplished what I believe traditions should accomplish ... it created a memory for my three children they will always and forever remember. So what was it, you ask? Every year at Christmas, we watched the classic movie Christmas Vacation as we decorated our tree. And tonight, my heart swelled with emotion as my eldest child put his own spin on our old tradition ... we watched Christmas Vacation as he and my daughter-in-law made sure everything was prepared and ready for Santa's arrival sometime during the night.

If you would have told me that I would one day be sitting in my son's house in Canada sharing Christmas Eve dinner with a lovely family from Scotland, I wouldn't have believed you. And yet, that's exactly what I did this evening ... a wonderfully kind and loving husband and wife, along with their adorable 19-month-old little girl. I loved listening to them speak ... their heavy Scottish accents make their words sound almost musical. As we all sat at the table eating and laughing, I found myself thinking about the conversation Matt and I had last night when we went out to run a few errands. It was a conversation about the quality of life he and Becca and Coraline have here ... they have a good life ... a great life, actually. They left everything they had ever known and all of their family behind to set out on a tremendous adventure when they moved to Canada a year and a half ago, and they have built a truly wonderful life for themselves. And for as much as I didn't want them to move, now I understand why they did ... and even more ... now I know why they will stay here.

It's Christmas ... tomorrow morning, I will watch my only granddaughter open her gifts as she experiences the magic of Christmas. Tomorrow morning, I will watch my all-grown-up little boy be the amazing father and husband he is as he revels in the love he has for his wife and daughter. Tomorrow morning, I will watch love.

Merry Christmas from Canada, friends ... may yours be a blessed day of celebration. May yours be a blessed day of celebration free from pain or loneliness or strife ... may yours be a blessed day filled to overflowing with love.

Hot Springs Spring Eternal

One of my biggest problems is turning off my brain. No, really ... it's very difficult for me to turn off my brain ... to relax ... to rest ... to unwind. I'm constantly thinking or worrying or pondering or creating or wishing or a plethora of other "ings" as well. It doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing or where I'm going, my brain never stops churning. Sometimes that's a good thing, I suppose, because it makes me write and write and write, but other times, it's a curse because it keeps me from sleeping and causes me to overthink everything. But ... since I arrived in Canada last Wednesday, something has happened to my nonstop brain ... I've been able to turn it off from time to time ... to not think about anything other than the moments I'm living in ... to soak in every precious second I have with Matt, Becca and Coraline. It's different this time ... I'm different this time ... they are different this time. I can't really put it into words, but it's almost as if there's some sort of unspoken understanding between us ... an all-new appreciation for the importance of our time together ... a deep-seated knowledge that this time is special.

I've been surrounded by the breathtaking beauty of the Canadian Rockies for the last couple of days ... trust me, words can't even begin to describe the magnificent grandeur of the mountains here in Canada. They are very different from the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, more rough and jagged, the type of mountains where it seems like people would go if they wanted to run away and never return. There's a peacefulness that comes with being in the mountains, a soothing, healing, quiet peacefulness that bids me to leave all my troubles behind and rest ... to turn off my brain, breathe in the cold mountain air and let my tired and weary heart find solace and peace in the rough and jagged mountains of Canada. I haven't had much of that for the last couple of years, peace, that is. Maybe that's part of why I felt so compelled to make this trip ... compelled to the point of getting on an airplane by myself and coming here. Perhaps I was meant to come here because this is where I will find some of the peace that has eluded me for so very, very long.

Over the last few days, I've done several things I've never done before, things I never would have imagined I would ever get the chance to do. I soaked in an outdoor hot springs pool on the side of a mountain in Canada with my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter, and yes, the steaming hot water and the minerals it contained did wonders for my crashing on the ice battle wounds. I saw the world-renowned Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel that has been host to countless dignitaries and celebrities for many years. I rode in a gondola with my very excited granddaughter to the top of one mountain and then climbed a wooden staircase to the top of another to take in a view like nothing I've ever seen. I saw sculptors creating ice statues, and I walked into a cave and across a frozen river. And in a few short days, I will see the wonder of Christmas morning through the beautiful blue eyes of my only granddaughter.

Matt is a brilliant young man, so I wasn't surprised when he filled me in on all the history of the places we have visited. In fact, I couldn't help but smile as he was especially excited to tell me about the natural hot springs ... his favorite activity by a landslide thus far. As we soaked in the water, I was struck by that history ... the history of the hot springs ... I was struck by the fact that the discovery of the springs was the reason the town of Banff was established. I think there's a lesson in the hot springs for me ... a lesson about not losing hope or giving up ... about stepping far outside my comfort zone ... about taking the time I need to heal and grow and learn and become the person God created me to be. 

Hot springs spring eternal, friends ... maybe we all need to soak in them a while. 

Bring on the Mountains!

It’s more than a bit interesting to me that I’ve traveled more miles in the last year and gone to more distant places than I ever have before … way more than a bit interesting to me for more reasons than I could ever possibly list. I’ve never really been much of a traveler, other than my jaunts to Colorado with my kiddos when they were young and an occasional trip to the beach in my college years. I used to dream a lot about traveling the world, but that’s all it ever was for me, nothing more than the carefree, unencumbered daydreaming of youth. But this year I’ve covered a whole lot of important miles … really important and life-changing miles … physical miles and emotional miles … hard miles and easy miles … happy miles and sad miles … miles that seemed to never end and miles that flew by faster than I could blink. Even as I type those words I’m reminded anew that life … every single moment of life … is a journey best appreciated one solitary step at a time.

I’m beginning the writing of today’s post while I’m riding in the back seat of Matt and Becca’s car as Matt drives us to the mountain town of Banff where we will be spending the next couple of days. There’s a sweet almost two-year-old little girl snoozing peacefully in her car seat by my side … soft blonde hair swirled under her cute little stocking cap, yellow blanket draped across her lap, pink bear nestled next to her rosy cheek. I’m finding it difficult to take my eyes off of her … she is such a precious little person. She’s learned to say, “I’m Ghee’s buddy,” since I arrived on Wednesday, and I must say those three words are like medicine to my soul. This visit is extra special to me, and I feel an overwhelming need to make the most of every second I have with my eldest child and his little family. Perhaps it’s because Christmas is just around the corner and I’m feeling especially sentimental and nostalgic this year, but something deep within me tells me that this time I have with Matt, Becca and C.J. carries with it a significant and important meaning and purpose.

I’m finishing the writing of today’s post while I’m stretched out on a bed in an upstairs loft bedroom at a quaint mountain condo on the outskirts of Banff. Matt, Becca and Coraline are sound asleep in a bedroom downstairs, and the quiet of the night surrounds me like a soft warm blanket. Earlier in the evening, I went with Matt to the grocery store to buy milk and bread, and then on to pick up dinner because we all agreed that C.J. had been in the car long enough and needed time to just run around the condo and play before bedtime. Sitting at the table watching Matt drink a beer as we talked, I felt what I’ve felt several times since I arrived … love … my son loves me … he always has and he always will. And at the end of the day, friends, that's what matters ... that's what truly, truly, truly matters more than anything ... love.