Stories of Two Readers for Dewey's Read-a-Thon Day

Photo Credit: Michael Wade Carlton, 2007

In honor of Dewey’s Read-a-Thon on Saturday, my friend Joy Weese Moll and I are posting our reading tales, childhood stories about reading. We grew up in the same small town, so we share similar experiences but focused on different ones when writing about our memories of reading. One thing strong in the mind of us both are our memories of the Carnegie public library in our hometown. 

A Reading Tale

By Kathy Carlton Willis

The love of story leads us all to devote time from our busy schedules to visit a new world, a new time, a new way of life. Because time is precious, it makes sense to maximize our reading experiences as much as possible. I’ve always been a lover of books. What’s your rite-of-passage book story?

I’ll start with my own reading tale.

My mother encouraged me to learn to read as soon I started school. She was a voracious reader, eager for me to develop the same love of books she had. This Chatty Kathy loved every form of communications since my first spoken word, and the written word was no different. I took to it like gravy goes with biscuits. Remember those Weekly Reader magazines (oh, the delicious smell of the ink and paper!)? And the SRA Reading Lab inspired me to read not just for speed, but for retention—thanks to those specialized tests. It was my goal to make it through each level before the appointed time. To this day, I still like to beat deadlines.

I received my first public library card as soon as I started school, and Mom walked us kids to the library several times a month to pick up books. Yes, it seemed like it was two miles uphill both ways, but it was worth it! Our little town of four thousand was blessed with a Carnegie library (built in 1905) full of well-loved books. Mom taught me how to follow my favorite authors, and I read every title they’d ever written. I knew how to thumb through a card catalog and recite the Dewey decimal system as well as I could spell my own name. By the time I outgrew the children’s section, I had read every book and graduated to the “grown-up” shelves.

Now I’ve grown up even more. My love affair for words inspired me to start my own communications firm, so I get to fiddle with words all day long. We promote authors and books, and present programs to various groups, stringing together words we’ve written, edited, proposed, sung, spoken, coached, pitched, and more! Words thrill me. Story entices me—draws me in—beckons to me.

Most avid readers have been caught saying their idea of a time-out from stress and life involves curling up with a good book—claw-foot tub or blazing fireplace optional. Some readers aren’t quite as gung ho to dig in to their “to be read” piles. They want to like to read, but they aren’t quite there yet.

My favorite reading tip is this: Don’t waste time on a mediocre book. When reading for recreation, remember that you aren’t in school anymore. You aren’t being graded for reading every word. So if a book doesn’t appeal to you, put it down! Grab a different one. We have only so much time in life—definitely not enough time to get bogged down with a boring or confusing story line. Just because a book earned rave reviews doesn’t mean it’s the right book for you, any more than gorgeous size 7 shoes will fit size 10 feet!

Think about your own reading tale. What was it like when you learned to read? What turned you on to books? Do you recall the favorite authors of your early years? Who inspired you to read more? Did reading lists and contests in school motivate you to try harder? What challenges you today in your reading? We all have a story—even a reading story!

Louisiana (MO) Public Library

By Joy Weese Moll

The stone building that housed my hometown public library seemed a castle filled with books when I was twelve. Walking up the steps to the bright red double doors, I approached the entrance to a place of magic.

The previous summer, I exhausted the library’s small collection of books for children by finishing the L. Frank Baum series of Oz books. I wanted to advance to the adult room for more books. In particular, after reading my mother’s copy of Little Women over the winter, I was eager to read Little Men.

With both hands and leaning back my body for counterweight, I pulled the iron handle of the heavy door while crafting a plan to prove my worthiness for the adult room. Once through the foyer, two sensations rushed over me, the refreshing coolness of air conditioning and the comforting smell of books. After nodding to the librarian as a greeting, I went to the children’s shelves to search for my book. As I remembered, Frank L. Baum filled much of one shelf. Scanning back to the authors beginning with A, there was no Alcott.

The card catalog was next to the children’s shelves. I’d never consulted it at the public library, but we learned how at school. Trusting it to be similar, I slowly slipped open the drawer marked ‘Authors A,’ trying to minimize the sound of sliding wood in the quiet room. A card for Little Men told me that the library owned a copy. Then I was stuck. The organization of the adult room remained a mystery to me and I was unsure if I could be stopped for entry without permission. I wrote the call number, simply the first three letters of the author’s last name, on the provided scrap paper as I learned in school.

I approached the wood counter behind which Mrs. Sterne ruled all she saw, the children’s shelves, the card catalog, and the entrance to the adult room. “Yes?” she glanced up from the stack of books that she sorted onto a library cart.

“I’m looking for Little Men by Louisa May Alcott,” I said in a rush, holding up my slip with the letters ALC on it.

“Fiction is through the door, along the wall, alphabetical by author. The A’s start on the right.” Apparently, there was no protocol. All I had to do was cross the threshold and I would be in the adult room with a vista of books, ten times as many as in the children’s section. I scurried through the doorway before Mrs. Sterne could change her mind.

Once out of her line of sight, I found the copy of Little Men that I craved and was thrilled to discover several other books with ALC on the spine: Jo’s Boys, Eight Cousins, and Rose in Bloom. Alone except for a man absorbed in his study of books open on the table in front of him, I took a few moments to explore this new space. Tip-toeing down the alphabet of dark wood shelves built into plastered walls, I passed the novels of Victoria Holt and Emilie Loring, all the way to Elswyth Thane shelved next to the portrait of Andrew Carnegie over the unused fireplace.

Clutching Little Men, I walked sedately, as befitted a newly-minted initiate to the inner sanctum of the library, to the counter to check out my first book from the adult shelves at the Louisiana Public Library in Louisiana, Missouri.

What are your early memories of libraries?

Joy Weese Moll is a librarian writing about books at Joy's Book Blog.

 

September 11th, Ten Year Anniversary

Below is the newspaper column I wrote right after 9-11 happened. To be honest, I remember how much I struggled to know what to write. Everything sounded trite and insignificant when facing the magnitude of our country's loss and fears. I see now that my writing has also improved in the past 10 years (I would hope!), but I'm still posting this in memory of 9-11. May we always remember that day and may we always honor those who paid the ultimate price.

September 11

As I sit in front of the television watching the news unfold, my deadline approaches to send in my column. How can I possibly write something now to address our national condition that will still be relevant next week? So much can happen in seven days’ time. So all I can do is just reflect and share from my heart to yours.

One thing we have learned from this tragedy is how fragile life really is. Watching the gut-wrenching video clips on the news caused many of us to put ourselves in the shoes of those who died. All any of us can do is live like it is our last day on earth. Only then will we have no regrets.

Another thing we have dealt with since 9-11 is the spirit of fear that has clung in the air much like the smoke and debris was in the air around the footprint of the World Trade Center. My favorite verse is 2 Timothy 1:7, which says, 

“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.” 

God gives us all three things mentioned there. Even when we feel powerless, we can be strengthened by His omnipotence. While we are hurting from the hatred in this world, we can know His unconditional love. And finally, when the enemy wants to confuse us, God can comfort us with the calm assurance of a sound mind.

I have been blessed to see the unifying spirit of our great nation. We are seeing patriotism again. Compassion is being shown. Donations of blood, monetary gifts, and volunteer service are being offered up. A small price to pay in the wake of the ultimate price many have already paid for our country.

I know God can comfort us, as His only Son paid the ultimate price for each of us.

CPD 23 (Thing #3)-Consider Your Personal Brand

Thing 3: Consider Your Personal Brand

Tips from CPD about Branding:

(I summarized and personalized their tips here from their full post at: http://cpd23.blogspot.com/2011/06/thing-3-consider-your-personal-brand.html)

1.     Maintain a consistent image and ensure you are portraying an accurate reflection of who you are. My branding impression is strategic and consistent.

2.     Consider your core values and how you can convey those messages to those who meet you in person and those who find you online. I think my message has remained consistent with my "heart core" values.

3.     Name used: Kathy Carlton Willis or KCW Communications

4.     Photograph: I had a photo shoot in the summer of 2010, but I still need a photo that captures my essence. Everywhere I speak, people say I have more youthfulness and spark than my photo displays.

5.     Professional/personal identity: I’m pretty much an open book, so for me, the term coined by CPD works: "profersonal" demonstrates both sides at once.

6.     Visual brand: All of my KCW branding uses my logo and the color palette of various aquas and teals. My personal blog has some of these elements, but my professional blog has all of them.

7.     Time for a bit of a vanity check. Search for your name in Google. I have 38 pages of google links, and all are positive for my branding strategy.

More thoughts from me to go with this assignment:

1.     I need to be more consistent with my blog posts on both this personal blog and my professional blog at http://kcwcomm.blogspot.com

2.     In weeks ahead, as I work through the CPD “things to do” I look forward to personalizing my blog even more (header, wallpaper, design, plug-ins, e-mail notifications, etc.)

Such a Winter Chicken!

That's me, raising my hands up in the air. I surrender. Waving the white flag. Admitting a glaring flaw. I'm a winter chicken! It started in driver's ed when I had to drive on a snow and ice covered bridge across the Mississippi River. I was the novice of the group. I took the phrase "white-knuckled grip" to a whole new dimension! By the time I crossed the bridge, all the other student drivers were hunkered down on the floors of the car, preferring not to look. That only imprinted the fear more deeply into the "fraidy-cat" center of my brain.

Then, through the years, I got stuck in winter storms. Me and cars and storms just do not get along. Flashback city! One time I fishtailed across a cloverleaf ramp, and witnessed other drivers actually smacking the rails. I made it across safely, but scarred for life (or should I say "scared for life"?).

Compounding the issue is that my lungs actually shut down with cold air. No, not a panic attack. It happens even when I'm enjoying myself (obviously, not at the wheel!). And then there's the Raynaud's Syndrome. Fingers become white, blue, then red. Patriotic.

That brings me to today's winter day. We selected Brenham, TX to avoid winter precipitation and freezing temperatures. Today, we're looking at around 3 inches of sleet and snow, coming in just a few hours. I'm due to go out for lunch with a friend. Like a chicken I texted her to see if she'll pick me up. Good excuse: hubby has to go out and needs my vehicle since he owns a rag-top convertible with rear-wheel drive. But the truth is, I'm "bawk bawk bawk chicken!'

REVIEW: Love Food and Live Well by Chantel Hobbs

Like many overweight people starting 2011, I've set a goal to lose some weight this year. I know that sounds lame. Many of us start the year and end the year the same weight, no matter how much we'd like to shed the weight. I've had three successful weight-loss experiences in the past, and I know how to lose the weight. My problem is, I need to be disciplined in keeping the weight off by not allowing circumstances to interrupt my weight-loss success.

When I evaluate my trip-ups, one of them is that I'm a foodie. I love reading about food, studying recipes, looking at restaurant menus, watching cooking shows, and creating my own recipes. Vacations involve fine dining. Stress means comfort food. Holidays and celebrations beg for special recipes. Nostalgic trips down memory lane have me remembering certain dishes my loved ones made with love.

I need to find a way to "have my cake and eat it too," or in this case, "enjoy food but lose weight too." Enter Chantel Hobbs. I'm reading her book, Love Food & Live Well. Finally a book that understands my dilemma. Interesting, with the popularity of Eat. Pray. Love. to find a Christ-centered book by an author who understands that the love of food isn't wrong with the proper focus. In excess, it's gluttony. That's wrong. But enjoying the sense of taste and savoring mealtime is not sinful.

I appreciate Chantel's take on weight-loss. She lost 200 pounds before becoming an expert on the subject. Love Food & Live Well provides wise and empathetic words from "just" another gal further along in the discipline of weight-loss and maintenance. She doesn't expect impractical goals—doesn't come across as condescending or judgmental. Reading between the lines of her books I hear the assurance, "I understand and I support you." With God's help, and Chantel's books, I'm determined to end 2011 weighing less, MUCH less, than I started the year.

(by Kathy Carlton Willis, 2011)

BLOG TOUR: Love Food and Live Well by Chantel Hobbs

It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!

You never know when I might play a wild card on you!

Today's Wild Card author is:

Chantel Hobbs

and the book:

Love Food & Live Well

WaterBrook Press; 1 edition (December 14, 2010)

***Special thanks to Audra Jennings, Senior Media Specialist, The B&B Media Group for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Chantel Hobbs is a life coach, marathon runner, personal trainer, wife, and mother of four. Her amazing story of losing two hundred pounds and keeping the weight off has been featured on Oprah, The Today Show, Good Morning America, Fox & Friends, Life Today with James Robison, The 700 Club, and Focus on the Family Radio—and in People and First magazines. Hobbs hosts a weekly radio show and is the on-air fitness expert on the WAY-FM radio network. She is also a regular guest on the KLOVE radio network. Hobbs is a frequent speaker to women’s groups and makes personal appearances at fitness conventions. The developer of The One-Day Way Learning System and the author of four books, including Never Say Diet and The One-Day Way, Chantel lives with her family in south Florida.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $19.99
Hardcover: 240 pages
Publisher: WaterBrook Press; 1 edition (December 14, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0307457842
ISBN-13: 978-0307457844

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:

The Battle over Blue Jeans


People, Here Is My Deal!


For as long as I can remember, I have loved clothes and makeup. Even when I weighed close to 350 pounds, I experimented with trendy hairstyles while checking out the latest plus-size fashion catalogs.


When I was in elementary school, I would spend afternoons with my sister Christy, sitting on the floor of the closet in the decked-out pink bedroom we shared. This was a supersized closet where we would set up our Barbie dolls for fashion shows. Because I had blond hair and Christy was a brunette, it was only natural for me to pretend to be Barbie and her to be Skipper, Barbie’s little sister. At least that’s how I sold the idea to Christy. As we grew up and began to put our dolls away, I still enjoyed being prissy, often spending way too much time in front of a mirror.


Even as a young mother, I was a fashionista. I’ll never forget entering the hospital to have a scheduled cesarean to deliver my son Jake. I had spent the day before the delivery getting a pedicure and manicure and shopping for a matching nightgown set. Really, I did this! As I lay on the table in the operating room, the doctor arrived and started to chuckle. “Well, Chantel, I can see nothing about this is going to be a natural delivery.” All I could say was, “At least I left the false eyelashes at home.” I was only half kidding.


One reason I went overboard with my appearance was because I loved hearing friends and family comment on how together I looked. Even while having a baby, I wanted to look great. But today, in hindsight, I feel seriously sorry for the woman I used to be. She was always exhausted from trying to maintain her unreal image. Plus, I knew deep down that I wasn’t fooling anyone but myself. My weight problem wasn’t going to vanish underneath fancy clothing and attempts to camouflage my problem areas. I really did know that owning an all-black wardrobe wouldn’t keep my body issues a secret.


But back then I had convinced myself I needed to make a serious effort to look pretty from the neck up because I was too overweight for the rest of me to look decent. I rationalized that if I could highlight my best features, people would see my positive attributes and look past my greatest flaw: my obese body. At this point my life was one big head game.


I’ll never forget the weekend I went on a business trip with my husband, Keith, to Bermuda. This was a dream coming true for someone who spent most days watching Barney and folding laundry. But when we started to pack, panic set in. Bermuda is one huge beach, and I knew I’d embarrass my husband if I wore a swimsuit in front of his bosses and work friends. On the other hand, this was Bermuda! It was a free trip and a chance to escape the zoo I called home!


After we boarded the plane, I found my seat and immediately put a jacket over my waist. This was a trick I had learned from previous travel experiences, and it almost always worked. If I could hide where the seat belt was supposed to be, the flight attendant wouldn’t notice that mine was unbuckled. The truth is, I did this because I couldn’t connect the seat belt. I was too big around. This time, however, my system failed. As the attendant stopped by our row, she asked me to buckle my seat belt. As I struggled to latch it, she stood impatiently with one hand on her hip. I whispered that I was having trouble making it fit.


So being the sensitive, tall, and freakishly thin woman she was, she shouted to her co-worker, “Could you look in one of the overhead compartments for a seat-belt extension?”


I was mortified. I closed my eyes and tried to pretend the attendant was talking about someone else. A few moments later she handed me the hated seat-belt extension, and I fastened the thing as quickly as I could. I promise you, I could feel the pity of strangers as they witnessed my hame. But instead of shedding tears, I did what I had rehearsed in previous situations. I took a deep breath and grabbed Keith’s hand, squeezing it for dear life as the aircraft took off. My vacation is off to a great start, I told myself. I can’t wait to see what other embarrassing moments lie ahead.


Surprisingly, our Bermuda trip ended up being the trip of a lifetime. The island was beautiful, the water was the clearest blue I had ever seen, and I felt beautiful for the entire week. Strangely, it was another young mother, the wife of one of Keith’s co-workers, who was mostly responsible.

Each day I would get dolled up and make my entrance into the meeting room for the company’s group breakfast. This girl went out of her way to say something sincere and extraordinary about the way I looked, morning after morning. She would also ask me for fashion advice. By her looks, she didn’t need any, certainly none from me. Yet she still inquired and never in a condescending way.


Best of all, she never breathed the dreaded words “You have such a pretty face.” The trip to Bermuda taught me the intense power we all have when we speak to someone, especially to a person who is feeling weak and vulnerable. Just by saying something simple and positive, we can brighten someone’s outlook, even if it’s only for a few seconds.


For most of my life I had become accustomed to backhanded compliments. When it came to my weight and all my failed attempts to lose it, I had heard everything. I’d try yet another diet, and two weeks into it over and over I would hear from those around me, “Now keep up the good work.” And I would always think, Are you kidding? I’m trying here. Just tell me “good job,”

and don’t worry about whether I lose another dad-gum pound. I get that you are letting me know I have a long way to go!


Yet Another New Start


Coming home from Bermuda, where I felt sincere acceptance, I had real hope. I felt different. I was relaxed, revived, and encouraged. I decided that I was ready to give weight loss another shot. As I set out to lose weight for the eighty-sixth time in my life, I felt prepared. I bought the latest diet book from Sam’s Club and a twelve-pack of muffins. I rationalized the muffin purchase by telling myself I needed to have one last hurrah.


On Monday my plan was to go for it. I would try with everything in me not to let anything stand in my way. Of course, I didn’t see any need to crack open the new book I’d bought until the weekend was over! What would a few more days of indulgence hurt?


Then Monday arrived, and I made my grand entrance at the gym. I even went back three days in a row. The only problem was that by the end of the week I was hanging out more than working out. I’d been trying to get David, the juice bar owner, to tell me his recipe for the yummy chocolate–peanut butter protein shake I was ordering every day. The first clue it wasn’t all that

healthy should have been the chocolate syrup he poured in. But I told myself, if it’s made on gym property, how bad could it be?


By the time the week ended, I had followed the plan in my recently purchased book and had my cheat day. Not surprisingly, I quickly indulged in an entire cheat weekend. However, I managed to get back to the gym the following Monday. The plan I was on was doable, and even with halfhearted efforts, I was slowly losing weight.


After shedding about twenty pounds, I decided I needed some new clothes. This was kind of funny, especially since not one person had noticed that I had lost an ounce. As I said earlier, I’ve always loved fashion. But at this point, with my weight so high, I was stuck wearing mostly dresses and skirts. I just couldn’t face the prospect of trying to fit my behind into a pair of pants

at Lane Bryant. But now, since I was feeling pretty good about myself and getting results, I headed over to the Coral Square Mall. I was there to hunt down a pair of blue jeans. Even if I had to lie down to zip them and not breathe while I wore them, I was determined to come home with new jeans.


I picked up three pairs with plenty of stretch to take into the dressing room. Once the door was closed, though, no amount of sucking it in, squeezing hard, or holding my breath got the jeans up to my waist. I couldn’t make any of them fit. As I held the jeans up and looked in the mirror, I wondered how anyone could stand to look at me. I was a disgusting blob of pain and misery.


I had left home that day feeling good about my progress. I was finally losing some weight. But after a few minutes in a dressing room, I wanted to die. How had I let myself become this pathetic mess of a woman?


A few Cinnabons later I went home. Two weeks after my blue jean horror show, I found out I was expecting. A month into the pregnancy I miscarried due to a badly infected gallbladder, and I ended up having emergency surgery. I wondered if I would ever change my life or if I would die first. Death seemed like perhaps the only escape out of this prison.


About six months later I had an unforgettable encounter with God. I was alone in my car, driving home from a meeting. I had reached my lowest point ever, and I let God in. I had known Him for years, ever since I had been saved from an eternity separated from Him. As a little girl in Sunday school, I had asked Jesus into my heart to save me from my sins. What I needed now, as a desperate, hurting, damaged woman, was to be saved from myself. I was still trying to run my own life.


God had whispered my name through many embarrassing moments and hurtful situations; I just never answered. But that night, alone in my car, He finally got through to me. I experienced a supernatural intervention. And it compels me now to tell my friends, my clients, and my readers my Lazarus story.


An Incredible Second Chance


Remember the story of Lazarus in the Bible? When Jesus brought him back from the dead, and we’re talking dead as a doornail (he was four-days dead), I imagine all he wanted was to blow a trumpet and tell the world about his miracle. Today I feel a similar kind of zeal resulting from my own miracle. As I surrendered all the pain of my lifelong weight problem to God, my heart

began a major shift. God gave me a deep desire to go to work. For the first time, I took on the task of losing the weight with Him in charge. I was no longer alone as I had been in the past. By allowing God, who never breaks a promise, to give me the strength, self-control, and focus I needed, how could I fail?


Ten years later I am on the same course He set for my life that night. My life is still filled with unexpected moments, both tragedies and celebrations. But I have never looked back.


After going on to lose two hundred pounds, I designed my own fitness and weight-loss program and became a certified Spinning teacher, personal trainer, and marathon runner. I love feeling strong, being healthy, and knowing I’m not a slave to my former appetites. Often I run into people I haven’t seen in many years. They may have known me as the overweight girl with a

pretty face. And if I dare to attempt a reacquaintance, I am usually in for a good laugh.


I’ll never forget one woman from a church I attended years earlier. I ran into her at the grocery store and tried to convince her who I was. “You aren’t really Chantel from West Lauderdale Baptist,” she insisted. I tried to get her to believe it was me, just an improved version. I think she finally accepted the truth, but it took awhile.


I am proud of the woman I have worked to become. However, I am most thankful that God rescued me from a place where I had lost all hope. God’s care for me and His work in my life give me the strength to stay on course. Now, after writing four books and producing a learning system for weight loss and fitness, I can see that God continues to use me as a voice of real-life

experience. A big part of my message is this: let me help you stop sabotaging yourself and your life. I know, from hard experience, how to overcome self-defeat. Every day I get to hear the stories of people who were losing hope, as I was, and now are finding the life they had dreamed of. I receive e-mails from women who have heard me speak, read one of my books, or heard me on the radio and now are surrendering their failed attempts to God. They are learning the truth and power of surrender and then doing the hard work of changing their lives.


In my work of helping people reclaim their health, I never know what is coming next. Recently I got a call from my publicist. She was so excited she could hardly tell me the news. “While you are in New York later this week to do The Today Show and Fox and Friends, a major women’s magazine wants to set up a photo shoot.”


I screamed. I couldn’t help it. Not only would the exposure help sell my book, but doing a photo shoot in New York, as the author of fitness books, was an experience I never dreamed I’d have. When I weighed nearly 350 pounds, an opportunity like this never entered my mind.


I couldn’t wait, but I had to. It was still a few weeks away. As New Year’s came and went, I was more careful than ever about fitting in all my workouts and eating clean. (Clean eating is the best way for me to think about food that delivers maximum energy with a reasonable calorie content.) When the day arrived, a driver came to our New York hotel to take Keith and me to the shoot. In the previous week, I had given my measurements to a stylist. She informed me she would be shopping for the clothes I would wear for the photo shoot. To use a term from my Southern-rooted parents, I was in hog heaven! I used to be the woman who was embarrassed to tell anyone her sizes, and now I had someone else buying me clothes based on them! The great part was the freedom in sharing what size I was. For the first time, I felt no shame.


When we arrived at the studio, I noticed that the loft where the photographer had scheduled the shoot was trendy and chic. It had sky-high ceilings complete with lots of lights and screened umbrellas to ensure perfect lighting. Taking up an entire wall was a buffet of food the magazine had catered for the event, my event! All of it was healthy fare with me in mind.


As I entered a dressing room, fun music filled the air. A makeup artist and hairstylist began their magic. I listened while they talked about their past work. One had done Heidi Klum’s makeup not long before, and the other spoke of doing the makeup for big names on a major movie set. I was a little overwhelmed with the emotion of the moment. I felt like I was back to playing Barbie dolls with my sister.


After hair and makeup were underway, the stylist had me try on all the clothes she had bought. We settled on a great pair of designer jeans with a sleek white sweater and a trendy hot pink top. I put on the heels she had purchased—a perfect fit—and some fabulous jewelry. Then I was whisked away to the main part of the studio. In that moment I felt like a million bucks.


It was then the stylist asked me what I believed to be an insane question: “Where are your old blue jeans?” At first I couldn’t believe I had heard her right, but I knew what she was getting at. She said the creative director wanted me to hold up a supersized pair of pants in the photo to show the dramatic contrast represented by clothes I had worn in my previous life.


I understood the point of playing up the shock value. Shoppers standing in line at the supermarket checkout would be amazed by the pants I had once filled out. But the idea that I would have to display a symbol of the old life I had left behind made me feel sick, like I had never lost a pound. How could I hold up a pair of jeans that represented my old humiliation?


I explained to the stylist that not only had I not brought a pair of jeans but I didn’t feel comfortable doing this. As I held my breath, a few phone calls were made, and the shoot continued without the troubling reminder of my past. It turned out to be a great experience, and I was pleased with the photographs. However, I felt a little angry and upset with myself. Hadn’t I moved on past my old image? I could now fit two of me inside my old jeans, so why was this such a big deal? I also wondered if readers might have been helped by seeing me holding up the pants I used to wear. Why couldn’t I just smile into the camera with confidence even if I was standing behind a pair of my old jeans?


I Will Never Return


Back in my hotel room, I awoke in the middle of the night still thinking about the photo shoot. Finally I could see clearly what had offended me. Supersized blue jeans were a symbol of major pain in my life. Holding them up in front of me would not feel as if I was showcasing success. I was now on an exciting journey to share my life and my program to help other people. I had ditched the old jeans, just as I had ditched diets—and both of them for good! Sure, I will always be able to relate to the woman who desperately tries to zip up a pair of pants in a store’s dressing room. But I didn’t want to spend another special moment of my life sharing the spotlight with my former self. I had crossed the point of no return. I now knew without question that I would never go back.


I have a completely new deal, one that focuses on living my new life, the life that God led me to when I fell into my darkest moment. The old me had long wanted to leave behind the constant torment of being overweight and undisciplined. That life is now over. My new deal is much sweeter than I dreamed was possible.


You can have the same deal! You can start living a life of security and freedom. You can be released from the prison of defeat, failure, and negative self-image. And best of all, the new deal we’re going to explore is guaranteed to last.


I won’t ever return to being the person I started out as. There is no going back. And I’ll show you how to take full advantage of the same deal!

Today's Message: God With Us

Today, Pastor preached a Christmas message from the book of Matthew. What stood out to me was just how important it is that God came to be with us. Immanuel. Jesus put on human flesh, yet remained sinless to pay the debt we could not pay. But this year, Immanuel means more than the fact that God came to Earth in the form of the baby Jesus. This year, I make it more personal and more of a day-to-day gift than the gift of salvation. Not just God with us. God with ME. God with YOU. What does it mean to me to know that God isn't just in Heaven, but He's here helping me, talking with me about normal and important stuff, nurturing me. And it's not a one-sided relationship—He loves hearing from me. He walks with me and talks with me and tells me I am His own. Immanuel. God with us.

Come on a WHIM (See, Giggle, Share!)

Come read my article over at The Pastor's Wife Speaks. Today we're talking about funny stories that happen when we're at speaking events. I share a couple of mine and offer a giveaway drawing for others to share their stories. Come see. Come giggle. Come share.

It's all over at: The Pastor's Wife Speaks

On a WHIM: New Article for Pastors' Wives

I have a new post over at The Pastor's Wife Speaks. I'll be writing a monthly column for them, and would love for you to support me over there as well as share it with any pastors' wives you know.

Here's the logo for it:


Here's part of it:

Hide and Don’t Seek?

Do you arrive early for church, only to wish you were invisible so you could avoid the verbal assaults from well-intentioned (and not-so well-intentioned) members? Here’s the scenario: Mrs. Crowder always has a prayer request. Those I can handle. Then Mrs. Berry hunts me down with a message for my husband because she doesn’t want to bother him, but he really should know that the microphones weren’t loud enough last week and the music was too loud and the people in the back couldn’t read the screens. Mrs. Tina comes running out of breath because the bathrooms are out of toilet paper and it would be easier for me to restock them than for her to do it—she needs to get to Sunday School class early to make sure she hears all the gos—er—I mean prayer requests. Then Rachel quizzes me on the spirituality of the recent youth activities and speculates that we’re just entertaining them and not winning souls. Tom pulls me aside to tell me that he can’t make it to a board meeting, and he’d rather not tell my husband personally—could I please relay the message for him. On and on it goes. People with criticisms, rumors, tasks, excuses, and the occasional prayer request.

For many years I could fake it when the demands made me weary. I just put on a smile, took a deep breath and continued on my way. Sunday’s only one day a week, right?

But then...
Read the rest of it HERE.