Terri’s Journey

I have found if you want to laugh, just listen to kid’s conversations. They do say some amazing things.  So in honor of all the kids who have been set free for the summer, here’s  some of my favorites.  Exclamations from one of my Special Needs Students: “Quick! Take a picture! We’re twins!” She sticks out her little hand and waits for me to take the picture.  Conversation between two kindergartners: Boy 1. “I had communion at church yesterday.  Boy 2. “Did you drink any blood?” Boy 1. “Yep!” Boy 2. “What did it tast like?” Boy 1. “Grape Juice. Ms Terri, am I a vampire now?” Correction by one of my kids with Autism. Me: “Agggh!” Boy: “Are you mad Ms Terri?” Me: “No. Just frustrated.” Boy: “You know frustrated is just another way to say angry.” Sigh. He’s right.  Conversation between three sixth grade boys.  Arguing from first row.  Boy 1: “I have the best locker.” Boy 2: “Mine is cleaner that yours!” Boy 3: “You both are crazy. I clean mine out ev...

As a five year old in 1968, I was my momma’s little helper.  When she hung clothes up on the clothesline outside, I handed her the clothespins.   When she was folding clothes, I got to fold the washcloths.  But my favorite chore...drying the plastic dishes as she washed them.  I would pull up a chair to the counter and momma would hand me one of her white dish towels. She would fill the sink with water, and suds would bubble up with the help of Joy Dishwashing soap. As she washed and rinsed, I would impatiently wait for the plastic stuff and the small pans. She put all of her glassware on the kitchen towel to her right.  One day as I stood waiting for the next dish, Ipeered out the window that had looked out over our large backyard. And then my gaze looked over the cinder block fence surrounding our land to the mountains beyond.  In the distance, I could see Van Horn Mountain. It had the giant, rock “V” on it that our high school freshman would paint every ...

My mom says I used to eat dirt. I know my cousin and my brother both used to. They would take a spoon to a corner of our grandmother’s house and dig at the adobe bricks.  Yes. Adobe. As in bricks made from mud and straw and then sun baked.  If you wanted to see my grandmother annoyed, definitely smiling at her with dirt on your teeth would do it.  But never me. Nope.  I liked the feel of cold dirt between my toes or with my hands making fists in mud. Until I didn’t. Then I was either running for the water hose or the bathroom sink.  If you wanted to see my mom annoyed, just track mud inside on her newly mopped floors. I was usually the culprit because mud pies were my specialty. And somehow the mud would get everywhere. Including mom’s floors.  There’s few things that will take me back to being a kid like digging in dirt. The feel of it. The look of it. The wonderful, rich loamy smell of it. Maybe it’s why I enjoy gardening.  So why dirt? Because somet...

You know, sometimes I feel whiny and whimpy. I mean there are just those days that are tough. And then there are the phenomenal days where I get stuff done. The little projects I want to accomplish...getting out with my husband...laughing with friends. The good news is that the good days are more often than the bad ones now. I’m so glad. So here’s what’s going on. I ended up in the ER on Wednesday morning. Went to my primary care physician...he checked me over and sent me to the ER. The suspicion was appendix problems. The good news is my appendix is just fine. The colon it’s in isn’t and that’s what was causing pain. Evidently the colon wall is thickening due to portal hypertension. The solution...pain management clinic. I haven’t made an appointment yet. I just don’t want to go there yet. Yesterday I had an appointment with Interventional Radiology. My transplant team has decided that it would be better for me to have the tumor treated than to go through a full transplant. So on ...

Can I let you in on a secret. Some of you know. For those who don’t... I dislike shopping.  I really do. Something inside me rises up and all of a sudden I feel jittery and want to run. Almost a panic attack. My breathing gets stuck and I’m looking for the door.  I will shop when necessary. I will go and buy clothes...but reluctantly. Even online I sweat it out and sometimes close an app quickly.  But to intentionally shop for fun. No way. Unless it’s Hobby Lobby or HomeGoods Store. But even then. When I’m ready to go, I’m moving fast whether there’s stuff in the basket or not. Doug has learned that when I get that look in my eye, it’s better to send me to the car and he will finish checking out. He knows me.  So that’s where this story begins. In a shopping mall. In fact, a very large mall in Frankenmuth Michigan. The last place I ever wanted to be.  We had just spent five wonderful days at a state retreat and were on our way home. Mel, a friend of ours, caught...

It’s amazing the number of people you can meet if you listen to the music.  Take Pastor Abraham. I met him one afternoon at our churches’ district office. He was dropping off resumes and I was there looking at resumes.  (This is obviously before internet...just saying.) He was humming a favorite hymn. I decided to humm along with him in harmony. We looked at each other, grinned, and sang the first verse together.  We started talking and I listened as he told his story, his testimony actually, of growing up in a small village in west Africa and the missionaries who had made a difference in his life. Now he was here and was hoping to reach some of his people in the city as a mission Pastor.  As we realized the time, I asked if I could pray for him. And I did.  ‘Amen` was said, hugs and handshakes exchanged, and we realized with sadness that today was a chance meeting. A moment in time of blessing.  I said, “I sing Alto. What part is your favorite?” He replied...

Dear Daughter,   From the very first moment I knew I was pregnant with you…till the moment I finally got to meet you face to face, you have had my heart.   Time has moved by too quickly.   I’m left with a montage of memories. Brief moments that show off your strength. Your absolute drive. Your will to thrive. Your fearlessness.   There’s the day we forgot to put you in the car. You were two. You waited patiently on the sidewalk. Arms crossed. Lips pouting and eyebrows drawn. With one foot propped up on a rock. Waiting.   I’m glad I always counted faces before we drove off.   Then there’s the first day of kindergarten. All the other kids were a full head taller than you. You were so tiny. And so bold. You walked up to the line of kids with your enormous backpack on. Dad and I stood and waited for you to go inside. And as the line started forward with us right behind you, you turned around, you put your little hand up and said ...