Book Review: "Safely Home"

Safely Home by Randy Alcorn

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


I don't know if I've ever said this about fiction before but I am not the same after reading this book. This book makes you want to research the persecution of Christians in China yourself and draws you to God in order to find out the answer to the question "how should I be responding to this."
Warning: Read this only if you do not mind that your conscience is pricked.



View all my reviews

A Run for Life

Guest post by Marilyn Morsch (my wonderful mother)


My life changing experience occurred on 9/11/01 while on a summer travel trip to the US Mid- Atlantic states in our trailer. All was going well until my husband and I were finishing up our sightseeing in Washington, DC. Early on that morning, we left in the dark to catch the subway to the first stop on our busy schedule for the day, the 9 AM tour of the Pentagon.
We arrived by Metro subway before 8 AM to allow time to go through heavy security. After showing a photo ID, we were given a numbered badge to wear. As always I scoped out an alternative exit and a bathroom. Being married to a fireman for 43 years has taught me to be prepared for anything.
At exactly 8:45 AM, a tall and distinguished US Army Honor Guard Tour Guide (in full dress uniform including white gloves) gave us our marching orders and had us place all bags, fanny packs and purses in a closet to be locked up securely until we returned. Then he had the 30 of us line up 2 by 2 to enter through the alarmed security doors. We were now on our way through their shopping mall into the hallowed halls of the Pentagon.
About 1/3 of the way through our tour, we heard a loud boom and felt strong movement. Folks in California might call it a 4.3 earthquake. It was now approximately 9:30 AM. Our tour guide yelled 3 pieces of information:
(our route) “FOLLOW ME”, (our destination) “TO THE METRO EXIT”,
(our procedure) “ON THE RUN!” We complied willingly for after having gone up ramps and down stairs, we had no idea where we were and no clue as how to exit this huge building safely.
While keeping my eyes focused on that tall tour guide in front of us, I listened to the people pouring out of offices offering guesses as to what had happened (a bomb in the courtyard, plane landing at Reagan airport in trouble and flew into the Pentagon, etc.) What I did know was that something serious had happened. This was not a practice run.
A few civilian employees were falling apart emotionally even though there was neither smoke nor fire where we were. Everyone was running the same direction, but I wasn’t sure about their knowledge of a Disaster Exit Plan or if there was one. I knew that our salvation from this experience depended upon following our tour guide’s instructions.
During the run down the hall my life did not flash before my eyes, but other thoughts were racing through my mind. One example was the fact that the paper work on our financial affairs had not been brought up to date before we left home. If Bill and I were to die at the same time, the kids would be searching for a needle in a haystack. In fact, if I died before Bill, he’d have the same problem. I told myself that I would take care of that business detail as soon as we returned home. Also without ID, the only thing people would know about me was that I was a grandma because the front of my tee shirt said so. I won’t bore you with any other crazy conversations I was having with myself.
There was a second Army officer tour guide with us. Because my husband has artificial hips and cannot run quickly this tour guide stayed with him the entire run constantly asking if he was all right. This one also assured me that the closet would be open so we could get our personal items. I wondered if that was a fact or a hope. Sure enough, after going the security doors, I swooped up my mini-disaster fanny pack out of the closet and quickly moved toward the exit. Just before we left the building, we passed by our tall tour guide standing against the wall. We gave him our numbered ID badges, the only identification we had throughout the entire experience and the only proof that we had made it out safely. We thanked him quickly and went out into the south parking lot. Adrenaline was abundant for flight, not to be wasted on fright.
We turned westward and saw billowing black smoke, but it wasn’t until I heard a car radio blaring the news that I learned what had happened in New York and to the Pentagon. We all were then told to move away from the building because there was a fourth plane heading towards Washington, DC. That was the one that went down in Pennsylvania. I turned eastward and saw in the distance the beautiful white Capitol. It had been spared but at such a price.
When the F-16 military planes roared overhead, we knew that protection for the city had arrived. They were certainly a welcomed sight. We watched the military set up triage and begin organizing their “troops” while they waited for fire department equipment and ambulances to arrive. Only one trip by the medivac helicopter could be made with the injured before all of the planes were grounded in the country.
Seeing that our training in CPR and first aid was not needed, our next challenge was to find a way back to our trailer in Maryland. We began a long trip around to the other side of the Pentagon where we saw flames, smoke and the gaping hole in its side. We were aware that with this kind of damage there had to be many injuries and even deaths. Sadly, we continued on and climbed a wall into Arlington Cemetery for the long, long walk to a working subway.
The Washington DC of Sunday, September 9th with wall-to-wall people was gone. Having been evacuated, DC was like a ghost town with the streets occupied by only police, military with big guns, a man in a suit running with an attaché case, and two tourists, us. But underground the subway was bustling with activity. There were people who had never ridden the subway and were at a loss as to how to get home. We, with city and subway maps in our possession, were the center of attention for quite a while. For two weeks we had seen people with their heads buried in newspapers and books, talking to no one. Now everyone was talking to someone about what had happened, where they were when it happened, and trying to figure out why it had happened.
Even though we had learned about the attacks on the World Trade Center, nothing had prepared us for seeing their collapse repeated over and over again on the TV for days and realizing the terrible loss of life. We had just been to the top two weeks before. The many pictures I had taken showing their beauty were still in my camera not to be developed until we were home.
We finally got in touch with the family to let them know that we were OK. This was the only day of our four month trip that the family knew exactly where we would be. We were in big trouble because they were sure that we could have found a pay phone somewhere in DC to let them know hours before that we were alive and well. I told the kids that this was payback for the times we waited up when they were out past curfew. They were not impressed with my attempt at humor.
We left Washington the next day and began the long trip home to the West Coast. We saw God Bless America, United We Stand and Prayer for Our Leaders written on signs everywhere, even on school marquees. Flags of all sizes were flown from poles, windows and cars. It was apparent that a great change had happened to the American people over night.
When folks at home found out where we had been during the terrorists’ attack, they asked me a lot of questions. My answers included the following: “ No, I wasn’t afraid. No, we didn’t panic. No, I didn’t think I was going to die. I guess it wasn’t my time to go.” My responses seemed so inadequate after awhile.
These questions made me re-think my experience and re-evaluate my life and my priorities. At the same time, my pastor, Dave Moore of Southwest Community Church in Indian Wells, preached powerful messages about sharing God’s love and salvation. He made me aware that because of what had occurred on 9/11, people all over were searching for answers as to what had happened, what was important in their lives, and what they could do about it. I was challenged to meet my responsibility as a Christian to spread the good news of Jesus Christ to those around me.
While I am not shy about my faith, I have never been one to get up on a soapbox and preach either. I knew that I had a story to tell, but how was I going to do it. My decision was to change my Christmas letter that normally shares family news to one about my experience and what it meant to me. Since this would be a totally new challenge I yelled to God for help, and the letter was completed in an amazingly short time. I decided that not only would I send it to the 250 people on my Christmas mailing list, I would give it to anyone who sent me any kind of letter, card, solicitation, or bill. It was MY money paying for all of it, so I was going for broke. The worst thing that could happen would be a shortening of my Christmas card list for the next year. The best thing would be changed lives. I anticipated some interesting reactions, and I got some.
My letter included a shorten version of the experience, the following reflections, and what I had learned from them. Now it was my turn to ask questions. So here it goes.

“Exit from our physical life can happen any time, any place and in any way.
Do you know where you are going to spend eternity? Where is your destination?
To whom are you looking for your security? Who is your tour guide? How are
you going to get there? What is the procedure? Jesus gives the answers to these
questions in the book of John in the Bible. He states in John 11: 25,26, ‘I am the
resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live even though he dies; and
whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’
I ask you dear family and friends, do you believe this? Jesus is my Tour Guide.
My destination is to be with God for eternity, and I am following His instructions
completely. He says BELIEVE, and our action is TO BELIEVE.
I urge you to read the book of John for THE PLAN given for a life of
peace and purpose now and life eternal whenever it may come. If you want to
know about what is coming in the world situation, read the book of Daniel
(Old Testament) and The Revelation (New Testament), and you will discover
who wins.”

After the Christmas letter went out, this event began to take on a life of its own. People began to ask me for copies of my letter to send to their family and friends. I was asked to share an expanded version with several groups. Tapes of my talk were requested and were sent out. E-mail of the letter even went to Africa.
Then I started a new project. It took seven phone numbers, but I worked my way through Ft. Meyer where the tour guides are stationed and the Pentagon where they were assigned. I finally was connected with their supervisor’s office. He was intending to write an article about them and wanted me to fax everything I had written about the experience. By that time, this included not only the Christmas letter but also an evaluation letter about our tour that I had sent to the Pentagon. I, in turn, wanted an address so I could send the tour guides an appropriate thank you along with my Christmas letter and everything else I had written about them. Warned that this would take a long time for delivery because of security, I was prepared to patiently wait, and I did. Besides, the more people who had to screen my letter were more people who had to read my questions.
I finally received a response from the tall tour guide asking if we wanted to complete the tour when they were up and running again. He would like to finish what he had started that day. My answer, of course, was that we would be there any time it could happen and wanted him to be our leader again. He does not consider his actions during the evacuation to be heroic. He just was doing his job as our tour guide and as a soldier in the US Army. But after all of us had been safely evacuated, he felt relief that he was going home to his wife and baby.
Someone told me that I should write a book about what had happened. This is the closest I’ll ever get to that challenge. Another suggested that I send my letter to President Bush. I am still contemplating that one. He hears from generals and admirals all of the time. Maybe the commander-in-chief would be interested in what two of his rank and file did on 9/11 .
After this experience, I will never look at life or death the same way. This has given me a new perspective on my salvation experience. I certainly have been moved out of my comfort zone of the church pew. Every time I am before a microphone my heart races, my palms are sweaty and my knees are shaking. I am not a public speaker, but I do believe that I survived this experience for a purpose and an opportunity not to be wasted. I am to glorify my God and spread His message of salvation and grace. Jesus states in Matthew 10:32, “Whoever acknowledges me before men, I will also acknowledge him before God in heaven”. What a wonderful promise.
I do hope that those reading this story will ask themselves, their family and friends the same questions that I asked in my letter. Now is the time for all of us to evaluate who and what is important to us in this life and for all of eternity.

In my opinion...Americans Are Crazy

We are:

Against capital punishment but for abortion.

For the equality of women but not against soft porn in our movies and ads.

For charity but we don’t want to pay for it ourselves.

For drug testing in the work place but against it for welfare recipients.

For a balanced budget but not for cutting programs.

For freedom of religion but only if it does not offend us.

For equal rights of marriage while divorcing at an astounding rate.

Against new oil drilling while expecting an endless supply of gasoline for our cars.

For protecting the caribou but not for protecting the unborn child.

Could we possibly be more schizophrenic?

Now that I'm a grown up...

Let me never fall into the vulgar mistake of dreaming that I am persecuted whenever I am contradicted.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted" Isaiah 61:1

Few things feel more vulnerable than a broken heart. 

 Life's way of reacting to a crushed heart is to wrap tough sinews of flesh around it and tempt us to promise we'll never let ourselves get hurt again.

That's  not God's way.

Self-made fortresses built to protect our hearts not only keep love from going out, they keep love from coming in.

We risk becoming captives of our own protective fortresses.

Only God can put the pieces of our hearts back together again, close up the wounds, and bind them with a porous bandage that protects from infection...

but keeps the heart free to inhale and exhale love.

Beth Moore

Breaking Free

There is no doubt...Love Hurts.

Recently I was reading some articles relating to homeschooling that used the term “guard your heart.”  I forgot about this term that was so freely thrown around in homeschool circles years ago and was reminded how odd I always thought it was.

The “guarding your heart” philosophy was used to describe how a single person should interact with the opposite sex.  Guard your heart and you are saving what belongs only to your future spouse.  Guard your heart, don’t get too close, until you are sure of God’s will and then you will not get hurt.  Protect yourself from people. 

  Sounds like a good idea, the only problem is it is not biblical.  The verse that uses this phrase (Proverbs 4:23) is talking about guarding ourselves from sin, not people.  The fact of the matter is that we are called to love and love hard.  In doing so, we will get hurt.  Being vulnerable with people can lead to a great supportive relationship, or we can be left humiliated and devastated.  It is normal and healthy to experience both in ones lifetime many times over.  I love C.S. Lewis’ thoughts on the subject.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

My heart has been broken many times over by the very people I love the most.  The people who know me best have the ability to wound me the deepest.  There is no amount of heart guarding that can prevent this from happening.  If you never “fall in love” with any one other than your spouse, your heart still will be broken.  People are not perfect and they sin.  This will break your heart.  People are not immune and they suffer both mentally and physically.  This will break your heart.  People are not immortal and they die.  This will break your heart.

What matters is how you decided to deal with the broken heart you will inevitably have.  For years my marriage was very painful and I chose to close myself off from the pain. My heart became a little hard knot.  In trying to protect myself from the pain, I became unable to love.  I became harsh and critical.  In recovery I learned I did not have to protect myself, or be guarded.  I just needed to accept things how they were and quit trying to change everything and everyone.  In doing so, my heart slowly thawed and became big and fluffy, bigger and fluffier than ever before... just like the Grinch’s.   I might conclude that a relationship is not healthy for me and decide to end it or take a break from it but I no longer close myself off because of it.  I accept the pain that I am feeling and do not try to hurry up and make it go away by hardening my heart.  I have learned that embracing the pain, instead of denying it, causes growth and an ability to love even more and better in the future. 

In regards to sin, then yes we should guard our heart but in regards to people the Bible is clear.

1 Peter 4:8
Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 

Flaming Marshmallows and Other Warnings.

I recently lost my sanity and invited two 4^th grade math classes over for a hot dog roast.  I actually do this on a regular basis and it occurred to me that a similar dynamic happens every time.  Even though we have spent a whole school year together and are very familiar with one another at school, they enter my house very tentatively.  They sort of hide behind their parents for a little bit and have to be coaxed into playing one of the games at first.  Soon they start warming up and the fun begins.  We have a great time for a few hours and then it starts to break down.  They forget themselves and their manners and start literally climbing the furniture and the trees.  Flaming marshmallows start getting flung around and just before disaster happens their parents show up.  Their parents’ presence reminds them of what is considered acceptable and right.  The main governing force in their lives brings them back to a place of healthy and good behavior immediately.

It struck me that this same dynamic can be seen in recovery over and over.  We come to Celebrate Recovery very tentative and scared.  We are fearful to admit we have a problem, we are fearful that we might not fit in and we are fearful about not knowing anyone there.  Soon, however, we meet great people whom we can identify with and realize that we do indeed have issues that need working on.  We start meeting with a small open share group, join a 12 step study and start working the program.  We might even start volunteering to help with the details of running the ministry and soon we have fellowship with people like us, often for the first time in our lives.  But inevitably, we reach a point were we tend to forget ourselves and why we are there and we stop working the program.  We don’t call people like we used to, we quit journaling and examining ourselves on a daily basis.  The difference between the 4^th grade math party and CR is that no one is coming just before the disaster happens.  There is no parent that is coming to tell us to knock it off, or to hold our hand when we are getting a little out of control.  We are now grown up and must do this for ourselves.  We must not believe the lie that we are “cured” and are done with all that recovery stuff now.  We must parent ourselves and require ourselves to do what is right and healthy even when we don’t want to.

I love a party as much as the next person, whether it’s with 4^th graders or my CR friends.  It is true, the fellowship of CR makes it easy to go but it is the constant work that makes life better for me and for those around me.  And when you come over to roast marshmallows I promise I won’t fling one at you.  This is the one area that I think I really am cured.

10 Cool Things About My Dad!

• My dad took us on awesome vacations.  He even took us out of school for a week every year to go snow skiing.
• My dad would often surprise us and pulled into Foster’s Freeze to buy us an ice cream cone.
• My dad went to a Father/Daughter dinner with me for Campfire girls once.  I thought it was totally boring.  He must have hated it but never let on.
• My dad taught me to catch and hit.  Although I look like a girl doing it…because I am one…I am good at it.
• My dad was the scary dad.  If boys came over, I knew they must really like me.
• My dad made sure I had the exact car I wanted when getting my first car.  I loved that car so much I kept it for over 10 years.
• My dad taught me to be a hard worker and do the job right the first time.
• My dad would hand me a twenty when I asked to borrow five bucks.
• My dad blustered for years about how when I was done with school and working full time I would have to pay rent.  When that time came he wouldn’t take my money.
• My dad loves and takes care of his big extended family.  He would be there in a second if any of us needed him.

Happy Father's day Dad. I love you!

When Death Comes

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom; taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

Excerpt from When Death Comes by Mary Oliver

I Am A Military Mom

I cannot remember a time when old war movies were not the favorite at our house.  If it was about war or if it starred John Wayne, it had to be watched no matter how many times we had seen it before.  If it was about war AND John Wayne was in it, we MUST own it.  Soon costumes were included and the local army surplus store became a favorite place to spend allowance and birthday money.  I started to think that maybe all these black and white, bloodless movies might be giving the wrong impression.  I decided that what my sons needed was a big dose of reality.  I knew just the ticket.  At some ridiculously young age we took them to see Saving Private Ryan.  I knew this would sober them up and they would now think of war in a much more serious way and not be so enamored by it.  Nope. 

As they grew up and Little League was replaced by competitive debate, their interest in war expanded to public policy, both domestic and foreign, and a new interest was sparked.  Civic duty.  It started to seem like their interest was not a mere interest but a calling.  Joseph started working hard in school to be able to receive an appointment to the US Naval Academy and Andrew, compelled by the loss of a childhood friend killed in Iraq, enlisted in the Marines.

In the fall of 2005, we sent both boys off to get ready for their life in the military.  We dropped Joseph off at a prep school to further his chances at an Academy appointment and we put Andrew on a bus headed to San Diego for Marine basic training.  My life has not been the same since.  I was pushed into the deep end of a culture I knew nothing about. I learned quickly.  I went from constant communication and contact with my boys to nothing. Nada. Zilch.  The military does not care that you miss them.  The military does not care you sleep with your phone in case they call.  The military does not care that you missed the call and so does not give them another chance to call.  The military cares about one thing.  They care about preparing them so they can do a job and hopefully stay alive doing it.  It did not take long before this was the only thing I cared about also.

December 2005 we went to pick up our boys, but men had replaced them.  Joseph now had experiences he needed to enter the Academy and be able to make it through the next four rigorous years.  Andrew stood lean, erect, and proud to have made it through the toughest boot camp of the US armed forces and was ready to join a special Marine unit call FAST Company.  They were ready and so was I.

Moms often say to me, “Oh, I couldn’t do it!”  The fact is I didn’t have a choice.  I went from homeschool mom, who was with them 24/7, to military mom over night.  Their calling had to became mine, their duty had to became mine, but their honor and pride became mine also.  There are no words that can express the honor I feel in being able to have raised those boys and you have only to look upon my face to see the pride of the men they have become.

To those of you who have served or are serving, and for the moms of those who "gave their last full measure of devotion," I salute you on this Memorial Day, 2011.

Trust Trumps Love

I had an epiphany this week. I am not really sure what an epiphany is but I am pretty sure I had one. I realized that it is okay that I have never felt unloved by God. I actually don’t really get it when people say they have never felt loved, not even by God. What makes them so much more unworthy than the rest of us that God would not love them? So what part of me grasps onto God for dear life and causes me to cry out “Abba Father” if it is not the part that needs to be loved?

(Here is where the epiphany comes in)

It is the part that needs to trust. I have never doubted that I am loved by the people around me. But these same people have hurt me deeply because they were not trustworthy at some point or another. When addiction is a part of your life there may be love but there is little trust. There is an old recovery joke that says how do you know when an addict is lying…when their lips are moving. When I finally realized God was the trustworthy One, I could finally rest and turn control of my life over to Him.

It is trust that I crave and truth breeds trust and God is Truth. He is the best kind of truth. Not the harsh kind of truth that I tend to dish out. Not the “good parts only” kind of truth that flatters and is usually used to further an agenda, but the best kind of truth. The kind that helps me see my strengths and how they can be used and gently points out my sin and character flaws in order to correct them. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for God’s love but if I had to choose, I would choose trust. In the Rochambeau game of life, trust trumps love every time in my book.

I am unworthy and 100% untrustworthy but God keeps his promises to me anyway. I am unlovable for sure and still God has my whole life planned out and under control. I love Truth and I am certain, with every fiber of my being, that He loves me.

Memoirs of a Model.

I used to be a high fashion, magazine model. Well, ok… I modeled for Teen magazine…once. I’d like to tell you that I hated it so much that I never did it again. Truth is they never called me back so I never got a chance to tell them I never wanted to do it again. We were all on the same page about my modeling career I think. I sucked at being a model; the people at Teen thought so and so did I. Sucking at something…not fun.

I am sure there are some really fun things about being a model. Unfortunately I don’t know what they are. I did not find one thing about it fun. My mom and I had to get up really early to be in downtown L.A. on a weekday morning from Orange County. Driving in L.A traffic…not fun. Once everyone arrived at the meeting place, we all crammed in the back of a Toyota Chinook. Remember those? Riding in the back of a Chinook in L.A. traffic…not fun. Once we got to the photo shoot location we were given our outfits and were told to change in the back of the Chinook. Changing in the back of a Chinook with 4 other people while L.A. traffic peeked in…not fun. We then spent the next five hours posing then waiting, posing then waiting until we were starving.  They finally let us eat the food that was in the photo shoot. Eating bread and cheese that has been sitting out for five hours…not fun. The posing part did not go well for me. It was obvious that I was not giving them what they wanted and they were not really giving any direction. Not being a natural at modeling and working with a rather novice photographer…not fun. The frustration level was a little high for all parties. Finally it was over and we could go home but it was now rush hour again. Again, driving in L.A. traffic…not fun.

I had almost forgotten about the whole thing when the February, 1975 issue of Teen magazine came out. I was not good in the photos. I was horrid actually. This is when I realized that I was not very photogenic and I really did suck at being a model. Seeing horrible photos of yourself in a national publication…not fun. The word started spreading at school that I was in Teen magazine. People, I did not know, would stop me and ask if I was the one in the magazine and then stand there staring for about 30 seconds obviously thinking “why?” I did not blame them, I was wondering why myself actually. This was not fun.

The whole modeling experience, though not fun, was not the most miserable thing I have ever done (that would be when Kim and I replaced our own roof and wanted to kill each other over it…a post for another day). And I did learn a valuable lesson. If I needed to actually look good in photos I should hire a really great photographer and I should scratch modeling off the list of possible career choices. So, modeling…not fun. Laughing while looking at the photos now and sharing them with you…loads of fun!

10 really cool things about my mom.

• My mom does not need to go to the mall when she comes to visit and I do not have to go to the mall when I visit her. If you know me then you know why I like this so much.

• My mom is an excellent seamstress. She was the kind of mom that when you came home and said “oh yeah, I need a pirate costume tomorrow for the school play,” you not only had one but it usually was the best one.

• My mom was in the California Miss Senior America Pageant and won first runner up and Miss Congeniality. Whose mom does this??

• My mom was in the Pentagon on 9/11 and has had articles published about it.

• My mom is one of only two people I know who get as excited as I do to see figure skating in person.

• My mom took us to church every Sunday when I was growing up.  We never missed.

• My mom water-skied, snow skied, and camped as I was growing up. Later, she took up tap dancing, cycling, golf, and public speaking.

• My mom has almost as many pieces of clothing that say Naval Academy as I do.

• My mom was one of my kids’ biggest fans and sat through countless boring baseball games and debate rounds.

• My mom always let us bring home stray people and animals. She still lets us do this. Everyone is welcome at my mom’s house. She is a very cool mom!  Happy Mother's Day Mom!

Being 50 vs Turning 50.

Sunday I attended the 50th birthday party of a friend. It was a very nice event planned by her husband with no black balloons or snarky comments about being over the hill. I was not as fortunate when I turned 50. Not only did I get the over the hill balloon and coordinating black birthday party decorations, but also a big round over the hill button to wear. Lucky me. This, coupled with a snarky joke by a friend about burning the house down with all the candles, made me hate turning 50. I did not mind being 50, I hated turning 50. I could not wait until it was over.

Why is it okay for people old enough to be your parents to call you old? Wait…my parents did call me old. Why is that okay? I guess I should not be surprised since when I was about 40 my mother told me that I was too old for long hair and I was getting a double chin. I have heard that if you want honesty, ask your kids. My kids know better.

My husband kept making sure I knew he had nothing to do with the party. He was running a little scared but I have nothing against celebrating. I think 50 is a great milestone and I am happy to be over 50 and proud to be a grandmother. But my idea of celebrating this milestone would have been everyone telling me how great I look not how old I am, even if a little stretching of the truth was necessary.

I did fair better than my husband’s grandmother, however. Evidently her husband bought her a hearing aid for her birthday once. My husband learned from this little faux pas and bought me a gift (see below) that says “Baby, you’re not getting older, you’re getting better!” My husband is a very smart man.

It might be time to shut-up.

Recently, I lost a very dear friend. Not through death, although it feels like it, but through a horrible misunderstanding. Our definitions of what it means to be a friend are vastly different. So different, in fact, that it could not be overcome. Where I am struggling most is in my codependent need to understand it. I have the false sense that if I understand it then everything will be okay. This “need” to understand, results in an almost obsessive urge to talk it out…over and over. This is not productive and is just a way of acting out for the codependent. We convince ourselves that if we can just ask “why” one more time or if we can just explain our boundaries a little more clearly once again, then the other person will get it. Well, the truth is sometimes things don’t work out how we planned, people don’t always do what we want them to, and some people are never going to get it. When no amount of talking or asking is going to change things or increase understanding, it might be time to shut-up.

At some point during my recovery, I read somewhere that if you ask for something three times and don’t get it you are now just negotiating with yourself. A light bulb went on in my head! This is exactly what I was doing; talking and talking, asking and asking, while the person across from me is nodding and nodding but not ever agreeing. Negotiating with myself was a form of self-abuse and was totally in my power to stop. It was time to shut-up. Now if I find myself asking or talking about issues more than a couple of times I know I need to change tactics. I must stop talking and accept that the other person is not going to change and learn how to live with that, or decide that it is unacceptable and make a change myself.

The change I needed to make regarding my friend was not an easy one. It has caused me great heartache. Through this I have been reminded that recovery is a process and never ending. I hope I never have to make a change this painful again but if I do, I know I am equipped and with God’s help I am able.

We're Foodies

We’re foodies. What is a foodie you ask? American Heritage dictionary defines it as “someone who has an ardent or refined interest in food.” Our taste is not refined by any stretch of the imagination (we get very excited by really good chili cheese fries) but it is ardent for sure. Being foodies we are very intrigued by the Food Network, especially a show called Diners, Drive-ins and Dives. The host, Guy Fieri, travels around the country, in a really cool car, checking out the most hole-in-the-wall places for really great food. We love this show.

A couple of months ago an episode aired about the Tee off Bar and Grill in San Francisco. We knew we had to drive the hour it takes to get up to the City (Bay Area people do not call it Frisco, just saying) to check it out.

I’m not going to lie; the place is a dump. It is the diviest place I have ever been in. It needs a good cleaning and the décor is…well strange. The ladies’ room door doesn’t really close and there were three flies that seemed to think the middle of the bar was their own personal flight pattern. They flew in a circle there the whole time. I felt like I needed antibacterial after touching anything, but the food…it was great! We all agreed to order different things so that we could try lots. We ordered all the things featured on the show, the pork chop, mac and cheese and the pulled pork, plus the Italian sausage burger and an order of hot wings. It all looked just like how it looked on the show and tasted fabulous. On our way out, the bartender asked us if it lived up to all the hype. It did. The next time I go to the Tee off Bar and Grill I am going to order the beer battered mushrooms and the kangaroo. Yup, you heard me, kangaroo.

Happy Easter!

Good Friday

Incredible Good Friday message by Dave Tieche from Family Community Church.

The cure for nagging.

I used to be a nag.  It wasn’t my fault.  Son #1 made me do it.  There was no amount of grounding or punishing to get him to do what I wanted him to do, so I nagged.  I know the logic seems weak, but if you are a mother of a strong willed child and codependent, you know what I mean.  Nagging is the only answer.

My Celebrate Recovery group didn’t share the same opinion about my nagging.  They seemed to think it might actually be MY issue.  They obviously did not know Son #1.  Our leader suggested imposing a consequence on ourselves for unwanted behavior.  Hers was no Starbucks for a week.  I was going to have to give this some serious thought.  What in the world could I restrict myself from?  I could not think of a thing…until I opened my closet. There, standing at attention in front of me, was my answer.  Shoes!

When my inevitable slip occurred I was not to buy new shoes for one month. I have to admit this did not seem too hard.  I buy a lot of shoes, but a one-month restriction seemed a bit soft even to me…until the unthinkable happened.

I left to visit my parents and I forgot my shoes. Some people stick a couple of pairs of shoes in their suitcase when they travel.  I have a whole bag for the shoes.   This trip I forgot the shoe bag.  First, I told myself that I could buy new ones because the restriction was not meant to be enforced during emergencies.   I had a party to go to; if that wasn’t an emergency, what was!  But after feeling a little convicted about my frivolous definition of “emergency” I concluded I could not go buy shoes.  I borrowed a very nice, sensible pair of pumps from my mom.  I don’t think they could be considered “old lady” shoes, but nobody was going to be having back problems in those shoes that’s for sure.   I got the point.  I would not need to be reprimanded for this behavior again.

As much as I wanted to pretend my nagging was someone else’s fault and blame him for it.  I was completely responsible.  No one was making me do it and I needed a spanking.  I am thankful for all the “spankings” that God has given me but I’d rather do it myself before it gets that serious.  If a few less shopping trips is all it takes, I say bring on the old lady pumps.

The Nail Lady's Eulogy.

Today, I went to a funeral.  Not my most favorite thing to do on a Saturday afternoon, but I have learned over the years that if you pay attention you can get some great life lessons from funerals.  This was a “happy” funeral in that the deceased lived a full life, was loved by many and professed Christ as her savior so we know where she is now.

Elizabeth could be and was described as a force of nature.  She was a small woman that never went unnoticed.  Her boss, my husband, has described her as a Diva, which is fitting since she once was invited to sing for San Francisco Opera.  But the thing that amazed me most was her nail lady showed up.   That’s right…her nail lady!  Nail lady, Debbie, stood up and shared, in very broken English, how Elizabeth had touched her life and the lives of her other customers.

Who of you can say that your nail lady, the guy who cuts your hair, or your mailman, would come to your funeral let alone speak at it?  Mine wouldn’t.  I’ll admit that sometimes I act like I cannot fit one more person into my life unless someone dies and makes room.

I believe that Elizabeth’s gregarious way of approaching life is a gift that I don’t have, but I really think I could learn to be more like her.  It might take a while but I am certain that with a lot of practice I could do it.  It just so happens that it is almost sandal season and I could use a pedicure or ten.

What are we waiting for San Jose!

You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing.

You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy,

that I might sing praises to you and not be silent.

O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!

 Psalm 30:11-12

It is never a good idea...until it is.

While chatting with a few homeschooling colleagues today at work, I was reminded of how absolute homeschoolers can be.  It is ok that I say this because I once was a homeschooler.  I know what you're thinking and you are right!  A homeschooler AND codependent…a very deadly combination.  I’ll get back to that another time.

This specific conversation was about technology and progress.  The questions thrown out for discussion were: is there good in it and if so, is the good worth the unintended consequences?  An absolute “NO” was the resounding opinion.  It made me chuckle considering the recent turn of events at my house.

There was a time, when my boys were young, that we had almost no TV channels.  We were taking some kind of moral stand against cable.  I would proudly announce, every chance I got that WE had no cable.  I am pretty sure I said it with a voice and facial expression that communicated clearly that I thought I was all that and a bag of chips. Eventually the Summer Olympics rolled around and we told ourselves we would subscribe to cable just for the month and then no one ever bothered to cancel it. 

I have also been an emphatic non-believer of TV in the bedroom.  I deemed it isolating and was sure no good could come of it, THE END…until this week.   It became clear that my son, his wife and their adorable baby daughter would be staying with us longer than first anticipated and the baby needed to be in her own room now.  My husband graciously gave up his office and therefore his personal sanctuary and retreat.  This sacrifice that he was making made my brain shift into overdrive.   EUREKA!  I had it!  The biggest flat screen TV possible in the bedroom was the answer.  During a romantic birthday dinner last weekend, I told him of my fabulous plan.  He was dumfounded.  A cautious smile started to appear on his lips.  He was obviously nervous to get too excited in case this was one of my snarky jokes.   As the realization that I was not joking came over him he became giddy.   Yep, he agreed.  My plan was brilliant and I was the best wife EVER.

After consulting with the techie son and doing some research, the right TV was decided upon.  A date with same son last night to purchased said TV resulted in two grown men acting like five year olds with new Lego sets.   I now have a TV spanning the length of my dresser in my bedroom. There is no room to put anything other than the TV on the dresser, it covers the whole mirror and I am the best wife in the world.   Will it be isolating? Heck yeah!  We need a little isolation in this 1200 square foot house with 4 adults, a baby and a Yorkie.  Will good come of it?  I’m thinking yes...I’ll let you know ;-)

Hello, my name is Rapunzel and I am codependent.

It is just me or is Disney’s newest princess movie the most codependent Disney movie ever?  Now, I love a good princess movie as much as the next girl but come on.   Not only does Tangled’s golden-tressed heroine change a thief and a scoundrel into a fellow worthy of marrying a princess, but she is also able to change a whole biker bar of scoundrels into sensitive gentlemen, in touch with their feminine sides, just by singing and dancing with them for about four minutes.

Why is this “pick the bad boy and change him into a good guy” scenario so enticing when we all know it doesn’t work.  Millions have tried but I have yet to hear of a success story.  I have never seen any man turn into a good guy from any amount of love, encouragement, support, shaping, reminding, or nagging.  Not even crying works after the first few times. Let’s face it, if you are human you cannot turn spots into stripes.  Trust me I know, I tried for 25 years.

But the good news is God can…and does!  2 Corinthians 5:17 says that we all can become new creatures in Christ.  What a relief!  I no longer have to be everything to all people in order for things to work out.  God has it covered.

So here’s my advice to you.  (Codependent people often give unsolicited advice but this is different because mine is really good.)

1. If you took your daughter to see Tangled do not be surprised when she brings home Creeper, the local high school drop out that is going to become a famous rapper right after he gets the rest of his body pierced, because she just knows that deep down he is an awesome guy.  I might be overstating the situation here but then again maybe not.

2. Let God do his work on the guy you have your eye on before marrying him.  Always know that you are a precious child of God and anyone should have to seek Him in order to get to you.

3.  If you are going to traipse through the forest with Flynn the scoundrel, wear some cute shoes.  Everyone knows that real princesses wear cute shoes, for crying out loud. Sheesh!

My whole life in a nutshell...a really small nutshell.

My earliest memory of ”people pleasing” is age two and three quarters.  As we were waiting for my mom to give birth, my dad asked me if I wanted a baby sister or brother.  When I answered “a baby sister,” he asked the question again.  I again answered “a baby sister.”  After he repeated the question for a third time, I assumed I was getting the answer wrong and changed it to “a baby brother.”  This seemed to satisfy him and he quit asking.  In reality, I think he may just have been having a hard time hearing and understanding me but my choice to change my  “want” to match his before the age of three astounds me.

This mousy personality continued into high school until finally I decided enough was enough.  It was in the ninth grade that I set out to find out what I wanted and what I liked.   I might have taken this too far when I eventually started telling everyone else how to live their lives too, but after all, they probably needed me too ;-)

Now, I work daily on finding the balance needed to be healthy and to maintain healthy relationships.  Recently I found myself acting codependent in a relationship for four days.  This is a far cry from the 20+ years I approached life like this in the past.  Most days I find the balance and every so often I don’t, but everyday I thank God for the miracle He has worked in my life and the husband he has given me who allows me to keep 50+ pairs of shoes.