Words of Green

Official website for author Tammy Green

Christian

The Book Is Here!

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Living Without Skin: Everything I Never Knew About Fierce Vulnerability is finally here! Click on Buy the Book in the banner above to get your copy today, or find it anywhere books are sold!

Feeling vulnerable is frightening.
Being fiercely vulnerable is phenomenal.

Most of us spend a lifetime trying to avoid pain and insecurity while overlooking the power we inherently possess. What would you do differently with your life if you knew you were failsafe at birth?

If you’ve ever felt vulnerable, weak, or like a complete failure, you can transform those feelings into fierce superpowers.

Life can leave you feeling raw, naked, and skinless. Learning to live without skin can turn you into the superhero of your dreams!

Prepare for an extraordinary and sometimes humorous journey that begins with a child’s imagination and ends with an ordinary adult’s transformation on unexpected paths.

You’ll discover how embracing vulnerability can help you:
– Learn how to find and wear the skin you were created for.
– Uncover the core of your individual insecurities, and transform them into strength.
– Connect internally and externally to humanity-defining power in a personal and public environment.
– Heal from trauma so it isn’t passed to the next generation as culture.

Step out of your old skin. Be your own fierce hero.

A Little More Haphazard Blogging

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It seems as good a time as any to check back in here, especially since my last post was in November, 2020. I feel pretty confident that none of us were sad to see THAT year go. As we came through the beginning of 2021, it appears many of us were just trying to find stable ground again – emotionally, spiritually, and physically. I certainly was.

I have finished writing the book, Living Without Skin. I decided to shoot for the moon when asking for endorsements, and I sent requests to Brené Brown, Glennon Doyle, and Elizabeth Gilbert. I assume we’ll be “talk-on-the-phone” friends by next year anyway, so I wanted to get a jump on building our relationships. Of course, I didn’t get a response from most. However, Brené Brown’s team actually did respond – with a PERSONAL response vs just a canned “No”. So, clearly the first signed copy will go to Brené (who will likely never know how close she came to being famous by endorsing my book).

“Hmmmm…I’ve always wanted to write a book.” Are you thinking that? Do you have a great story? Dreaming of having a different career? Thinking that writing a book must be glamorous and an ideal job? Um, no. It’s a J-O-B! Writing, in and of itself, is a lesson in slicing open your heart and bleeding all over the paper. And, unless you’re famous and you have a publishing company doing all the legwork, putting that book together and actually publishing it is WORK! So, it’s been a labor of love, and definitely a check mark on the bucket list. I am unequivocally proud of it, and of my truth that I managed to tell.

Stay tuned for more information on ordering your copy starting August 1, 2021. We’re halfway through 2021 with many of us gratefully recovering from 2020. Let’s make the last half of this year amazing! Onward.

Rip

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The year of ripping, of goodbye, death, of the word “cruel” and being able to say “you are not who I thought you were”, the year of sickness, when the whole world stopped. The year I broke open, and my guts spilled out onto the paper, into the earth, when I learned that spirit is larger than body, and bodies are fragile. Everyone this year tells me ‘your words resonate with me’, and minds are twisted – the veil between good and evil is opened. The year that slammed me into humanity/humility, stillness, laughter, softness in the corners found underneath the shadows and the swords. Skinless and raw, with scabs that have somehow become scars, and scars that have become beautiful mosaic tattoos on my soul. The year of feeling someone else’s pain, sitting with it, holding a hand, wiping a brow, cupping a face while a hurricane boils inside me. The year of drowning in powerlessness and worry while flowers bloom, the ozone clears, the air is cleaner and fresher than ever before in my lifetime, sadness and joy weave and wind throughout soul and heart like serpents and doves. The year of evolution, revolution, mixed with flour and butter and honey-the best birthday cake ever made for the earth, and I learned through loss what love really means. The year I found my place, and I belong.

Community

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It’s a word typically used to describe a characteristic of a group of living beings. It’s been used in many different, and quite varied, settings. “Homeless community”. “Church community”. It’s a way that people categorize themselves, identify themselves, and label themselves and others, good and bad. Some communities carry a negative connotation. Some make people appear more esteemed than what’s warranted in reality. A very simplified definition of the word “community” is a group of living things sharing the same environment. At the most simplified interpretation of that definition, it implies that every living being is in a community with another living being. We are all in. We all belong. Yet, we don’t. As humans, we instinctively try to find a pecking order where someone appears to exist at a higher tier than another, for whatever reason. A rich person feels superior to a poor person. Someone with a roof over their head is superior to a homeless person. Someone with a lighter skin color is considered by some to be superior to someone with a darker skin color.
Why? Why do we use the very thing, community, that brings us all together to separate and debase other living beings? I make up that we – all of us – are insecure about our own place in community. I submit that we have an inherent fear of not belonging, not being included, not being seen. I believe that many of us greatly curb and scale back our own individuality in order to fit into expectations and perceptions of a specific community. We are conditioned from birth to conform, fit in, modify behavior, believe so that we can belong. We teach our children to do this because it’s what we were taught. And the cycle continues.
“Be quiet.” “Use your inside voice.” “Don’t speak to me in that tone.” These are all things I personally heard during my childhood. However, it’s taken me 51 years to love the fact that my loudness walks into a room before I do. I was reminiscing with family a few days ago about the time when I was five years old on a routine Friday night sleepover at my grandfather’s home. I was already in bed, as was he, when I asked for a glass of water. Exasperated, he told me no, that it was time to go to sleep. I responded, “All I want are my rights.” Who could have known what a prophecy that would become? It’s my earliest memory of randomly pissing off family members with my words and actions. 46 years later, it’s evolved into an art form. I’ve managed to alienate a mother, a sister-in-law, a brother, innumerable aunts and uncles, and cousins by simply being loud, opinionated, and unapologetically living my truest, most authentic life. And that’s just my kinfolk. Just imagine how quickly I can piss off people who aren’t related to me.
That has most assuredly impacted my space in community. Some have thrown me away. Some have taken me in. Here’s what I’ve learned along the way about community.

  • I’ve always had a voice. I had to learn how to use it effectively, and become indifferent to how others expected me to use it.
  • I exist to pull others into community, even while I am discarded from it.
  • I don’t have to agree with others to love them, and I have the capacity to love them even while they are hurting me.
  • Family is not blood. They are relatives. Family is who stands beside you through the good, the bad, and everything in between. Pay attention to who those people are and appreciate them.
  • My pain always has a purpose.

I’ve paid close attention the last few years to the community around me. I’ve become selective about what I allow into my life. I exist in several communities today. I am part of a recovery community, activist community, female community, gay community, family community, animal parent community, empathy community, empty nester community, real estate community, medical community, writing community, and spiritual community. Not a single one of these communities defines who I am. I used to be part of a relative community, church community, soccer mom community, single parent community, student community, corporate community. Not one of those communities ever defined who I am. Most importantly, I’m hyper aware of the simplified community to which I belong.
Humans are such funny creatures. We need to belong. We need it like the very air we breathe. We seek it out in the oddest of places such as gangs, drugs, bars, recovery rooms, and other places when we are discarded from one where we thought we belonged. And we find it. Whether or not we survive it is a different story. We always find it.
I’m grateful today for community, a group of living things sharing the same environment. I’m even more grateful for those who gift it freely to others. I aspire to be someone who creates community. If you are non-residenced, non-Caucasian, non-Christian, non-affluent, non-gender identified, non-female, non-male, non-straight, non-gay, non-married, or any other thing that makes you feel like you are separate, you belong here. I encourage you to stop being “non”.
Find your voice.
Include everyone.
Love regardless.
Pay attention.
Use your pain.
Be who you are, and know that you are valued. You belong. You are my community, and you have a place here.

Who inspires you to be a better human?

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Who inspires you to be a better human? Is it your pastor? Your partner? A relative? Superhero? Your mom?
It’s not an easy thing to find in today’s culture in America. Inspiration? Hope? Every where we look, we see polarity. Arguments. Bullying. People who profit from and support the suffering of others. How deeply do we have to dig to find something that reminds us of the goodness of humanity in our everyday lives?
Let me tell you a story of inspiration. The story photo shown is actually a wall of canvas prints of animals. Dogs, specifically, and spirits now. They are memorialized by two people that I am privileged to know and love. I am privileged because I get to love them, and I get to learn from them each day what real love, values, morals, caring, and action looks like. All the things that most of us would like to attribute to our own religion or spirituality, these people just live every day.
The dogs include Wesley, the old man with bangs, and Patsy, the boxer with cancer, and Tater, whose back legs and hips wouldn’t let him move very far without help. There is Pops, whose tongue is perpetually dry because the lower half of his jaw is gone, and Gus Gus, whose heart wasn’t expected to function for very long. Not pictured are some of the current crew consisting of Kevin, the five legged pittie whose ears were cut too short by someone more interested in his fighting skills instead of his health, and Poo, the blind and deaf poodle dropped off because he required too much care. Also not pictured are the fur kids adopted throughout the years. There’s Jake, black lab extraordinaire; Kaya, dope on a rope who enjoys a good bag of mulch occasionally; Pepper, the gazelle disguised as a dog; Nola, the soul mate adopted during a rescue during Hurricane Katrina; Biscuit, the dog training cat; Butter, the cat who morphs into whatever you need at the moment, and countless other ferrets, snakes, mice, and rabbits.
Deb and Dave provide hospice care to elderly, sick animals that need a soft place to land on their way out of this world. For some, these people are the only soft place ever known to these animals. For all of these animals, these people give generously and lovingly from their hearts and their bank accounts. How unselfish does one have to be to fully fund, without assistance, expensive medications, food, and medical care for animals who have been thrown away essentially? How loving does one have to be to offer a home, a heart, and time to another living creature unable to fend for itself? At any given time, they nurture a minimum of three hospice animals in addition to their brood.
In addition to this, what they consider to be their life’s work, they volunteer weekly at the Humane Society loving animals that don’t have a soft place to land. They regularly transport animals from not so great situations to homes where they have a chance to be loved and cared for. Deb volunteers regularly for rescue missions with organizations, and sees situations that would break most people and render them catatonic. People like me.
I love animals. Many of us have pets that we consider family members. Our own Cora Belle, Rumi, and Bit are the family that brings constant joy to our lives on a daily basis. I know how to care for animals. I am filled with compassion, and a desire to end pain for any living creature.
But I can’t do what my better humans do. I do not have what it takes to witness the outcome of human cruelty with my own eyes, and not let it break me. I do not have what it takes to quietly take on the suffering of multiple living creatures, and emerge whole. Maybe they don’t either. Maybe they each give pieces of life from themselves to every life they touch. You won’t find a person alive who has met them, worked alongside them, or volunteered with them who doesn’t love them. There are many more out there who do what they do, quietly, willingly, without us ever knowing the cost to them. What about the people who can’t do what they do? The people like me, who just can’t. Maybe our job is to say “thank you”. Maybe our job is to hug them, and love them, and cry with them, and lift them up. Maybe we can pour into them a tiny portion of the love that they so freely give to the ones that we can’t.
Who inspires you to be a better human? Find them and say “thank you”.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW SHITTY THIS IS?”

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That was the question written on his sign as he stood on the side of the road at the exit ramp. The temperature was a frigid 28 degrees. In the South, anything below 40 degrees is freezing. He was in his mid-thirties, age wise, with dark hair and a beard. His waist-length jacket covered as much as he could shrink into it, and his toboggan hat didn’t do much to hide the dirt on his face. His four-legged, furry companion sat stoically next to him wearing his own strategically ripped sweater, one size too small. 

 

I never knew his name, but he stuck with me in my mind for the rest of the day. I made up stories in my head about the path that led him to that exit ramp. How does it happen? Maybe he lost a job where he was only one paycheck away from being broke. Maybe his wife and children left him to move in with her parents. Maybe he was an addict and drugs took over his life. Maybe he tried as hard as he could, and it wasn’t enough. 

 

Could he turn it around now? How would he manage to interview for a job with no clean clothes and no transportation? How could he think about interviewing for a job when the greatest challenge ahead of him today is surviving hunger and freezing temperatures? How could he sustain a job with no place to sleep, shower, or clean his clothes? A million scenarios flutter past my eyes, but I can only feel the pain of my own experiences. Could I even imagine his? 

 

Although I don’t carry cash, I always have an assorted compilation of random things in my car. I have things like wool socks that I’ve picked up at a store, running gloves from a running expo, the occasional toboggan hat on sale, or random coats or shoes awaiting a goodwill drop off. 

 

I smiled and looked him in the eye as I rolled my window down. “Hey, Mister, are you interested in some warm socks?” 

 

He moved quickly to my car as his pup watched keenly without moving. “Yes, ma’am, I sure am.”

 

As I handed him four pair of wool socks, he smiled back at me and said, “Thank you so much. God bless you, ma’am.” 

 

The light turned green. I rolled up my window and adjusted the heat in my car. It was hard to see the road for a few minutes as my heart leaked out of my eyes. I’ve been to the place where I tried as hard as I could, and it wasn’t enough.  I’ve felt the hopelessness that comes with not having a safety net.  I made a mental note to carry one extra granola bar in my car all the time, more than one pair of running gloves, a few extra pair of wool socks, and some $5 gift cards for fast food. These are such small things, but they are strings in someone else’s safety net. Such small acts that say to another human being “I see you.” 

 

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW SHITTY THIS IS?”

 

No, sir, I don’t, but I don’t want you to know it alone.

What’s The Number?

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What’s the number?
How much does integrity cost?
Jesus loves the little children.
What number does the GDP reflect when it becomes acceptable to mock a disabled human publicly?
The insidious implication that protectors of a nation are suspicious.
The blatant introduction of national enemies into infrastructure.
All the children of the world.
Boys will be boys, #metoo, school shootings, fake news.
Politics masquerading as Religion. Power wearing a God costume.
What decreased percentage does the national unemployment rate hit when a large crowd of people and a leader publicly humiliate and laugh at another woman’s trauma?
The celebration of clique and hierarchy among humans.
Red, brown, yellow, black, and white.
What kind of trade deficit is appropriate when we just overlook a self-proclaimed evangelical’s famous quote “grabbed her by the pussy”?
What’s the bottom line for deregulation when the selling off of our national parks and public lands get a thumbs up?
Is there a 1:1 exchange ratio for the number of dead Syrian children to each dollar increase in the S&P500?
They are precious in His sight.
Kids in cages in exchange for good growth on those retirement accounts?
The manipulation of a nation to discredit what one can see with their eyes, and to ignore what one can hear with their ears.
A daily insertion of a dystopian environment into a great nation, creating doubts of who is good and who is evil.
Worst of all, the division of a nation. The slow rot from the inside, the disintegration of families, the infectious disease of people against people.
The obliteration of human compassion, the death of respect for humankind, the elimination of kindness.
Jesus loves the little children of the world.
What’s the price tag exactly for it to become acceptable for a human being to be inhumane?
What’s the number?