My Life, Unscripted is a hot-off-the-press book by Tricia Goyer that I would highly recommend to any teenage girl. Culled from Tricia’s life, the book’s theme is choices, made with or without God.
Tricia’s teen years sound like a train wreck. With bold transparency, she shares the choices she made: an abortion at age fifteen, then a second pregnancy, fist fights with other girls…until she hit rock bottom.
And there–at rock bottom–Tricia found God.
Tricia started to make changes in her decision making process. She started to include God.
This book is easy-to-read, interactive, and jumpstarts thought provoking discussion. It strikes me as a great book for a small group to study.
I highly recommend My Life, Unscripted (Thomas Nelson)–even to college-aged girls.
I admire Tricia’s big heart. She wants other girls learn from her mistakes. And make choices that are…scripted!
On Sunday afternoon, my mother called because her car had broken down. Thankfully, it wasn’t on the freeway. She had just dropped Dad off at the Board and Care, heard a big clunk and then the car slowed to a stop.
Triple AAA came along and towed her car to the transmission shop…because that “clunk” probably indicated a kaputt transmission.
On Monday, we rented a car for Mom, knowing this was going to take a while and that her car had seen its days.
On Tuesday, Mom took Dad over to the transmission shop to get some things out of her car and talk to Andre, the repair guy.
Dad shouldn’t be taken along on errands that require decision making. First of all, because of his Alzheimer’s disease, he doesn’t understand problems. They upset him. He just wants the problem resolved.
Secondly, he turns into Mr. Alpha, dismissing Mom and taking command of the situation.
Andre carefully explained the problem to both of my parents.
“Fix it!” Dad told him.
So Andre turned to Dad to describe the problem in more detail, and then to give him the price tag of a new transmission. “It’ll be about $3,000 to fix, but that’s less than buying a new car,” he told Dad.
Mom’s car is 13 years old and she purchased it three years ago for $3.000.
“Fix it!” Dad roared.
Mom tried to shake her head at Andre behind Dad. “Wait until I speak to my son-in-law.”
My job today is to get hold of Andre. Fast!
As I dropped my son off at high school the other day, I pulled up behind a very sleek sports car. Two big football looking boys climbed out. The dad, who also looked like a football player, hopped out of the driver’s seat to open up the trunk so the boys could retrieve their Goliath-sized backpacks.
The dad reached into the trunk and handed a backpack to one son. The son took the backpack, then leaned over and gave his dad a kiss on the cheek to say goodbye. Same ritual with the other son.
Right in front of zillions of teenagers! At the most public part of a schoolyard!
It was touching to observe. Clearly, a very natural part of family life for this gigantic, football playing family.
I smiled as I drove away. There are lots of good families out there, raising good kids.
I came home last night after a meeting to discover the kitchen turned upside down. My fifteen-year-old son stood there, frowning, oven mitts on his hands, holding a cookie sheet of…well, I couldn’t quite tell what it was.
Turns out that he had to bring in cookies for a bake sale for his leadership class and decided to bake them himself.
“Did you use a full cup of flour?” I asked, peering at the gloppy mess.
“Yes! A cup PLUS two tablespoons, just like the recipe said,” answered my CHEMISTRY HONORS STRAIGHT A STUDENT.
“Uh, sure you used a full cup as a measuring device?” I asked, trying to scrape off the layer of greasy baked substance.
“Oh.” He held up a half-cup stainless steel measuring cup. “So there’s the problem.”
My husband took pity on him. Steve has tried to make cookies, too, and ended up accidentally doubling the butter (an accountant!). Afterwards, he decided he prefers those kinds of cookies–soaked with butter, flat as a pancake. I think he secretly wanted to save those shapeless cookies for himself.
Not that there was any cause for alarm. They weren’t destined to be a big hit at the bake sale.
So off the two zoomed to Safeway to get cookies that looked like…cookies.
In the meantime, I was getting ready for bed when I heard cookie sheets clattering in the kitchen. I was home alone, so I knew there were only two options:
1) A burglar was washing dishes for me.
Or… 2) A big yellow dog had his paws on the counter, trying to eat those sort-of cookies.
Guess which one it was?
There are a number of reasons that geese fly in a V-formation. The formation conserves energy. The geese face less wind resistance, receiving a boost of air waves from those flying in front. The further back a goose is in formation, the less energy it needs in the flight.
An additional benefit to the V-formation is that it is easy to keep track of every bird in the group. Fighter pilots often use this formation for the same reason. When a goose tires or drops out, another one or two fly down with it, keeping it company until it is ready to resume the flight. The geese are keeping a close eye on the gaggle.
A gaggle, to us non-feathered types, might be compared to a group of friends. We need each other: for encouragement, advice, attention, even sharing a laugh. We need to take care of all of the geese in our gaggle.
In the book of Acts, Barnabas was known as an encourager to his friends. He was the first to extend trust to the much-feared Saul after his conversion. The apostles were skeptical of Saul but Barnabas persisted, describing Saul’s dramatic encounter with Christ on the road to Damascus. Barnabas brought Saul into the gaggle, opening the door of ministry to the most effective evangelist on earth.
Who knows the impact you might have someone, by bringing him or her into your gaggle?
Yesterday, my two college kids took off to start their fall quarter. How did the summer go by so fast?
Summer started with such a jolt. College kids come bursting back on the scene, dragging STUFF and friends into the house. We all re-adjust to a “new normal”: Laundry quadruples, the fridge is constantly empty yet dishes pile up in the sink, the television jumps between ESPN or America’s Next Top Model. My visa bill is alarmingly high as we absorb the cost of two more adults-who-are-really-still-kids…dentist bills, new shoes and clothes, a six-month supply of shampoo and toothpaste.
And the noise! The only time the house is a guaranteed quiet is in the morning, when those nocturnal beings (not unlike skunks) sleep in.
But it just feels so “right” to have them home, to have a full house and a crowded driveway. From a mom’s point of view, anyway.
Last week, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling a little sad about the coming changes. The Lord reminded me that my kids are “suspended” right now. They’re just…waiting. Most of their friends have already left for college, summer jobs have wrapped up, and it’s time for them to get busy with their own lives. Somehow, I felt better after that awareness.
Still, as their cars left the driveway yesterday and I waved until they were out of sight, I felt a sharp pain. I thought of so many of my friends, just like me, saying a prayer over these beloved kids as we wave until they’re out of sight.
And then I went back inside and started to adjust to another “new normal.”
Took about twenty minutes!
On Thursday night, 9-11 Eastern time (6-8 California time)…I’m going to be a guest host on Fab Chat, a place to discuss books! If you have a moment, drop in and ask a question or give a comment. Thank you!
After dropping off my son at high school, I stopped at the grocery store to get a few things for dinner. Just as I started through the check-out line, my cell phone rang.
It was my daughter, crying hysterically. “Mom! I’ve been in a car accident!”
On the freeway. In the fast lane. During the early morning commute.
A typical scenario–one car (who knows why?) made a fast brake and all of the ones behind it had to slam on their brakes. There is no margin of error on our California freeways.
After making sure she was okay, I listened to the details of the accident, then called my husband (who was sitting at his desk, miraculously! He’s one of the World’s Hardest People to Contact.). He called our daughter and assessed whether the car was driveable as I zoomed down the freeway to find her.
When I got to the scene of the accident, the young man whose car was also involved was still waiting with her–an incredibly kind, calm person, who walked her through all of the insurance details, called the insurance company and started the claims process.
Then, he told my daughter not to worry and patted her gently on the back.
I followed my daughter home, thanking God for His provisions of safety and kindness.
It could have been a much different morning. We have a bashed-in car, but a daughter in one piece.
Every Saturday night, my dad loves to watch Lawrence Welk. For you young whippersnappers, Lawrence Welk was a big band leader from way, way, way back in my parents’ youth. For years, he had a TV show that featured young coiffed couples hopping around to the polka, among other dances. My folks loved it.
We kids? Not so much.
Just to cover those nights when Lawrence Welk isn’t on TV (he seems to be pre-empted quite frequently. Go figure!), I bought a DVD to slip in.
So last Saturday night, my mom went over to Dad’s Board and Care to settle in for the Lawrence Welk night. The evening was warm, so Dad’s sliding door was open but the vertical blinds were down.
Suddenly, in crashed a woman through the vertical blinds, dragging a tube of oxygen behind her, into Dad’s room and plopped down on his bed. Dad jumped up, tried to get her out of his room but she refused. “I’m not leaving!” she said with vehemance. And she started watching Lawrence Welk.
Turns out that she’s a new resident and got a little confused about whose room was whose.
Lawrence Welk always had that kind of affect on women.