38 years ago today I met Scotty Terrell at a wedding. Scott was the wedding photographer and I was the singer.Here’s our how-we-met story:
…our heroine made a list of qualities that she wanted to find in someone: She wanted to meet a man of compassion and integrity; If this man was going to be a part of her life he’d also need a sense of humor, believe me; And he’d have to love the mountains, of course; and she’d really like him to have some kind of a creative, stimulating occupation; And, as a last whimsical thing, she decided that he’d come from either California, Colorado, or Connecticut. She’d gone out with short men, tall men, blond, dark, wiry, and sturdy – and they’d all been attractive to her. But an image of The One came to mind: He’d be about six feet tall, lanky, have brown hair, and glasses
……She spotted him as soon as she got there. The wedding was an informal affair held in a living room, and this man with a camera – the wedding photographer, she guessed – was weaving his way through the people who were seated and waiting for the wedding. Everywhere he stopped to chat, people would start chuckling. She surmised he must have a sense of humor. And he had a great smile – the full-faced, crinkly-eyed kind.She found herself instantly attracted to him.
The wedding began, the ceremony proceeded, she sang her song (a little nervously), and kept her eyes on the man with the camera.After the ceremony she, who had until now always been the pursued rather than the pursuer, walked up to him and introduced herself. He blinked behind his glasses, probably surprised at her directness, and grinned down at her. “Scott,” he said, shaking her hand.
At the reception, held in a local community hall, they talked and got to know each other better. She asked him if he liked the mountains. He said yes. She asked him if he’d ever climbed any. Yes, he said, Mt. Baker. She mentally put a check by the “loves mountains” on the list of qualities she was looking for in a man. Their conversation continued. She learned he was a newspaper photographer and checked off the requirement for “stimulating, creative job.” She saw how he opened the kitchen door to help an elderly woman with her hands full. “Compassionate” was checked off her list. He asked her if he could fetch her something to drink. She told him she’d really just like some water. He nodded his head. “Wadduh, it is,” he said. “Wadduh?” she asked. “Are you from the east coast?”“Connecticut,” he answered, grinning… – excerpt from Blessings: Adventures of a Madcap Christian Scientist by Karen Molenaar Terrell
T’was two weeks afore Christmas and all through Eff Bee not a creature was stirring – not a they, he, or she We were frozen in place – old traditions wiped out – finding it hard to remember what it all was about
There’d be no parties this year; no off-line celebrations (some of us contemplated months-long hibernations) Some of us would be zooming, others face-timing (those of us without working mics would be doing some miming)
There were still cookies to bake and gifts to send out but this year we’d be masked-up as we moved about Gone were the handshakes, the hugs, and side kisses – replaced with tapping elbows as we went about our business
And as we forged on – made what we could of twenty-twenty – we began to unfreeze and realize there was still plenty of beauty all around us – joy and peace and kindness We saw that gratitude brings us Christmas and Love it is that binds us -Karen Molenaar Terrell
I came upon two earthworms on the sidewalk today – their noses suspended in the air, frozen by the heat of the sun – dried out and stiff and I reached down and plucked up the first and carried him to the dirt. I dug a little hole for him and covered him with earth – a grave to bring him back to life. Gently I used my fingers as tweezers and pulled the second worm from the sidewalk and lifted him to the moist soil, laid him down, and covered him with a wet leaf. Fare thee well, my new friends – May you revive and spend the rest of your days happily leaving a trail of rich earth in your wake
I am also the author of The Madcap Christian Scientist series. The first book in the series, Blessings: Adventures of a Madcap Christian Scientist, has 33 reviews and 4.7 stars! Here’s the beginning: : Years ago an old boyfriend said to me, “I can’t see that Christian Science has made you any better than anyone else.”
“I know!” I said, nodding my head in complete and happy agreement, “But can you imagine what I’d be like without it?!”
He raised his eyebrows and laughed. What could he say? He was looking at a self-centered, moralistic, stubborn idealist who saw everything in terms of black and white. But I could have been worse. I believe without Christian Science I would have been worse.
Let’s get one thing clear from the start: I am not the best example of a Christian Scientist. I’m not as disciplined as I could be. I have fears and worries and doubts. I’m a little neurotic. I am the Lucy Ricardo of Christian Scientists…
At the age of 51 I went insane. I did not like it so much. But I learned a lot from it…
If somebody had tried to talk to me about mental illness before I’d had this experience, I wouldn’t have had a clue what they were going on about. Mental illness was something that happened to “other” people. Mental illness was not something a madcap Christian Scientist would ever know anything about, right?
Two years ago I would never have been able to guess where I’d be today, what I’d be doing, and what new people I would be calling my friends and colleagues. Two years ago my youngest son was close to graduating from high school, my 20-year career as a public school teacher was winding down, and I was looking for a new job and a new purpose to fill my days. Two years ago I was starting over.
It was scary. It was exhilarating. It was absolutely awesome! *** To find any of these books you can go to my Amazon Author Page.
The fourth Thanksgiving without Moz at our table, the first without Dad and the first without a turkey – we went vegan this year. We forged ahead, making it up as we went – creating new traditions: a yellow and red pepper dish; a bowl of mushrooms sauteed in olive oil – which we used as our gravy on the mashed potatoes; Broccoli steamed to a brilliant green; and orange squash made for a colorful plate. I was yearning for something old to bring to the feast – something from the past – and remembered Aunt Junie’s dishes with the blue flowers around the outside. Scott reached up and pulled them from the top shelf for me and put them on the table. Much looks different this year. But this hasn’t changed: Love is still here. -Karen Molenaar Terrell
Up before dawn, enveloped in the dark, in the bubble of my car, as I drive over country roads, listening to Mindy Jostyn sing “Morning Song”and I feel God with me. Not as a corporeal being. Not as a Matter-being. Not just as Moz or Dad – but as the power and presence of all the collective Love of the Cosmos. Loving me. Wishing me into a new day.
Christmas Eve, 1988. I was in a funk. I couldn’t see that I was making much progress in my life. My teaching career seemed to be frozen, and I was beginning to think my husband and I would never own our own home or have children. The world seemed a very bleak and unhappy place to me. No matter how many batches of fudge I whipped up or how many times I heard Bing Crosby sing White Christmas, I couldn’t seem to find the Christmas spirit.
I was washing the breakfast dishes, thinking my unhappy thoughts, when I heard gunshots coming from the pasture behind our house. I thought it was the neighbor boys shooting at the seagulls again and, all full of teacherly harrumph, decided to take it upon myself to go out and “have a word with them.”
But after I’d marched outside I realized that it wasn’t the neighbor boys at all. John, the dairy farmer who lived on the adjoining property, was walking away with a rifle, and an animal (a calf, I thought) was struggling to get up in the field behind our house. Every time it would push up on its legs it would immediately collapse back to the ground.
I wondered if maybe John had made a mistake and accidentally shot the animal, so I ran out to investigate and found that the animal was a dog. She had foam and blood around her muzzle. She was vulnerable and helpless – had just been shot, after all – but instead of lashing out at me or growling as I’d expect an injured animal to do, she was looking up at me with an expression of trust and seemed to be expecting me to take care of her.
“John!” I yelled, running after the farmer. He turned around, surprised to see me. “John, what happened?” I asked, pointing back towards the dog.A look of remorse came into his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry you saw that, Karen. The dog is a stray and it’s been chasing my cows. I had to kill it.”
“But John, it’s not dead yet.”
John looked back at the dog and grimaced. “Oh man,” he said. “I’m really sorry. I’ll go finish the job. Put it out of its misery.”
By this time another dog had joined the dog that had been shot. It was running around its friend, barking encouragement, trying to get its buddy to rise up and escape. The sight of the one dog trying to help his comrade broke my heart. I made a quick decision. “Let my husband and me take care of it.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded and he agreed to let me do what I could for the animal.
Unbeknownst to me, as soon as I ran out of the house my husband, knowing that something was wrong, had gotten out his binoculars and was watching my progress in the field. He saw the look on my face as I ran back. By the time I reached our house he was ready to do whatever he needed to do to help me. I explained the situation to him, we put together a box full of towels, and he called the vet.
As we drove his truck around to where the dog lay in the field, I noticed that, while the dog’s canine companion had finally left the scene (never to be seen again), John had gone to the dog and was kneeling down next to her. He was petting her, using soothing words to comfort her, and the dog was looking up at John with that look of trust she’d given me. John helped my husband load her in the back of the truck and we began our drive to the vet’s.
I rode in the back of the truck with the dog as my husband drove, and sang hymns to her. As I sang words from one of my favorite hymns from the Christian Science Hymnal – “Everlasting arms of Love are beneathe, around, above” – the dog leaned against my shoulder and looked up at me with an expression of pure love in her blue eyes.
Once we reached the animal clinic, the veterinarian came out to take a look at her. After checking her over he told us that apparently the bullet had gone through her head, that he’d take care of her over the holiday weekend – keep her warm and hydrated – but that he wasn’t going to give her any medical treatment. I got the distinct impression that he didn’t think the dog was going to make it.
My husband and I went to my parents’ home for the Christmas weekend, both of us praying that the dog would still be alive when we returned. For me, praying for her really meant trying to see the dog as God sees her. I tried to realize the wholeness and completeness of her as an expression of God, an idea of God. I reasoned that all the dog could experience was the goodness of God – all she could feel is what Love feels, all she could know is what Truth knows, all she could be is the perfect reflection of God. I tried to recognize the reality of these things for me, too, and for all of God’s creation.
She made it through the weekend, but when we went to pick her up the vet told us that she wasn’t “out of the woods, yet.” He told us that if she couldn’t eat, drink, or walk on her own in the next few days, we’d need to bring her back and he’d need to put her to sleep.
We brought her home and put her in a big box in our living room, with a bowl of water and soft dog food by her side. I continued to pray. In the middle of the night I got up and went out to where she lay in her box. Impulsively, I bent down and scooped some water from the dish into her mouth. She swallowed it, and then leaned over and drank a little from the bowl. I was elated! Inspired by her reaction to the water, I bent over and grabbed a glob of dog food and threw a little onto her tongue. She smacked her mouth together, swallowed the food, and leaned over to eat a bit more. Now I was beyond elated! She’d accomplished two of the three requirements the vet had made for her!
The next day I took her out for a walk. She’d take a few steps and then lean against me. Then she’d take a few more steps and lean. But she was walking! We would not be taking her back to the veterinarian.
In the next two weeks her progress was amazing. By the end of that period she was not only walking, but running and jumping and chasing balls. Her appetite was healthy. She was having no problems drinking or eating.
But one of the most amazing parts of this whole Christmas blessing was the relationship that developed between this dog and the man who had shot her. They became good friends. The dog, in fact, became the neighborhood mascot. (And she never again chased anyone’s cows.)
What the dog brought to me, who had, if you recall, been in a deep funk when she entered our lives, was a sense of the true spirit of Christmas – the Christly spirit of forgiveness, hope, faith, love. She brought me the recognition that nothing, absolutely nothing, is impossible to God.
We named our new dog Christmas because that is what she brought us that year.
Within a few years all those things that I had wondered if I would ever have as part of my life came to me – a teaching job, children, and a home of our own. It is my belief that our Christmas Dog prepared my heart to be ready for all of those things to enter my life. -Karen Molenaar Terrell
I published this one in 2016 – shortly after Moz and Dad (Dee Molenaar) moved to La Conner to be closer to me. They were very brave during this time – leaving their home of 48 years, moving to a retirement community in Tacoma, and then to an assisted living place in La Conner – leaving their community and friends to be near me. I am in awe of them.
Here’s an excerpt from the book: I learned a lot of lessons from the folks on my visit this weekend, but there’s one moment I’d especially like to share. To be honest, I debated whether I should share this one or not. It seems almost silly for me to share it, in a way – because it SHOULD be just a matter-of-fact thing – a “no big deal” thing, really – but… after some other news I’ve heard tonight, I feel impelled to share this moment.
So I’d helped my dad out of the car, and was helping my mom out, when I heard Dad say, “Thank you!” to someone. I looked to see what was going on back there and saw that these two young Black men with Seahawks hoodies were holding the door for Dad so he could maneuver his walker into the building. Dad nodded to the young men, and smiled, and thanked them again as I watched him go through the doors, and the young men smiled back and said, “You’re welcome!” and then went on their way.
A small, insignificant moment, really. But… and I can’t even explain why… I find myself getting teary-eyed as I sit here recalling that simple, unremarkable, sweet exchange between a 97 year-old White man, and those two young men in the hoodies.
There are a lot of really good people in this world who want to do right by each other.
Can’t reason with delusion; can’t reason with error Can’t reason with illusion; can’t reason with terror Just love, love, love We’ve all of us been there; we’ve ALL been insane This time it’s OUR turn to heal someone ELSE’s pain Just love, love, love The battle’s already won – that’s the deal No need to respond to a lie as if it’s real Just love, love, love Don’t respond with hate, or anger or fear Give nothing for the rage to bounce off of – ‘cept a cushy wall of kindness and cheer Just love, love, love – Karen Molenaar Terrell
This is the last hymn I sang to Moz before she passed. This song came into my thoughts, again, this morning when I learned two loved ones in my circle had passed. My love to their families and friends. ❤
(If you make it to the end you’ll see a cameo by the backyard birds.)
(Words to the hymn are by Anna L. Waring, 1823-1910.)
God bless our country. God bless the whole world. No matter who wins this election we still have a long road of healing ahead of us. May God, Love, help us all – each and every Republican, Democrat, Libertarian, Green Party, Black, Brown, White, polka dotted, atheist, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Jewish, gun-toting, unarmed, flag-waving, anthem-kneeling, F and M and LGBTQ one of us. Amen. -Karen Molenaar Terrell
Adventures of the Madcap Christian Scientist 