Enjoy Your Money!

November 12th, 2009

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:
J. Steve Miller

and the book:

Enjoy Your Money! How to Make It, Save It, Invest It and Give It

Wisdom Creek Press, LLC (March 11, 2009)

***Special thanks to Blythe Daniel of The Blythe Daniel Agency, Inc. for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

J. Steve Miller – educator, investor, entrepreneur, and speaker – has taught audiences from Atlanta to Moscow. He’s known for drawing practical wisdom from serious research and communicating it in accessible, unforgettable ways.

Steve is the founder and president of Legacy Educational Resources, providing global resources for teachers of life skills in public schools, churches, and service organizations at www.character-education.info. A self-styled “wisdom broker,” he collects wisdom from many fields and packages it for teachers and writers via his published books and the Web. His wife, Cherie, and their seven sons continually remind him what works and what doesn’t.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $15.99
Paperback: 270 pages
Publisher: Wisdom Creek Press, LLC (March 11, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 098187567X
ISBN-13: 978-0981875675

ISLAND BREEZES

 I’ve read a lot of personal finance books, but never one like this.  Although I learned something from most of them, I often had to dig and hope I wasn’t bored to death before I found that new little nugget of wisdom. 

Not so, this book.  I really enjoyed reading it.  This entertaining book will not only teach you principles of making and growing money, it will also teach you the principles of how to lose your money.  I’m afraid one or two of those hit home with me.

Most importantly, Mr. Miller speaks to us about enjoying our money.  That’s right.  Money is not supposed to make a person miserable.   It doesn’t automatically make a person happy, either.  Oh, yes.  I know that saying about “Money might not buy happiness, but I’d like to have it to try.”  So, read the book, find out how to have both money and happiness.

As for me, I’m trying to get in touch with Mrs. Kramer.  I want to set up a breakfast meeting.  I plan to join the counterculture club.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Preface

This book will help you to:

get out of debt and accumulate wealth.
get ahead, even when the work you love doesn’t produce big bucks.
find your strengths and passions and make a living with them.
live a more fulfilled life.

You’ll discover the wisdom of the great makers and accumulators of wealth, presented in a story form to help you understand, internalize and have fun in the process. You’ll learn investing from Warren Buffett, the world’s greatest investor and wealthiest man in the world. You’ll learn principles of business success from Sam Walton, the uber-successful founder of Wal-Mart. You’ll find advice on landing and succeeding in a dream job from experts in career guidance.

Is This Book for Me?

You’re never too young or too old to discover these ageless principles. They apply to the seasoned business executive as well as the entrepreneur with his first lemonade stand. Warren Buffet caught his vision at age five and started investing at age 11. My grandmother started multiplying her money in her mid-60’s. At age one hundred and two, with her sharp mind intact, she’s accumulated a small fortune.

What’s Unique About This Book?

Many books teach personal money management. Some of them are good. But, as Paul A. Samuelson (MIT Professor of Economics and Nobel Laureate) said:

“The same surgeon general who required cigarette packages to say ‘Warning, this product may be dangerous to your health’ ought to require that 99 out of 100 books written on personal finance carry that same label. The exceptions are rare.” 1

I strove to be one of those exceptions by basing my advice not just upon years of personal experience, but upon the knowledge and experiences of well over one hundred wise people. In the process, my house at times bore more resemblance to the famed library of Alexandria than to a home. But each new book or interview seemed to offer new angles or fresh insights, often pointing to new paths just begging to be traveled. 2

After writing my first draft, I put it into the hands of over forty smart people I respect, asking them, “If you could put a lifetime of financial wisdom into a book, is this what you’d say? Be ruthlessly honest!” Their input proved invaluable.

Essentially, I distill the wisdom of the wise on working hard, working smart, saving, investing and giving – all the ageless basics – applied to today’s world. I was especially fascinated with the counterintuitive nature of so much of their advice. The more you study the successful, the more you see why most people aren’t very successful. The path to financial freedom isn’t the path that initially appears obvious. Thus, the need for books to challenge the conventional thinking of popular culture.

I cover critical topics often left out of books of this nature. For example, the excellent studies of millionaires by professors Thomas Stanley and William Danko found that character traits such as integrity, diligence and thrift are shared by most who accumulate wealth.3 The massive Gallup study of managers and people at work helps us discover our passions and strengths and put them to work in a fulfilling career.4

Finally, people usually seek money, not as an end in itself, but as a way to find peace and happiness. Funny that so many money books assume that lots of money will automatically cure our ills and put smiles on our faces. When does money help lead us to happiness? When does it hinder our happiness? Social scientists have studied happiness extensively and drawn some fascinating, counterintuitive conclusions.5 Isn’t happiness important to consider in handling your money?

Money management can be exciting! I believe that this story of Antonio, Akashi, James, Amy and their mentors can build some of that excitement. It’s fun to beat the system. It’s fun to see your money grow. It’s fun to feel successful. It’s fun to have enough money to help others. To this end, I hope you have fun reading my book.

Table of Contents

Page

Preface…………………………………………………………………………

Introduction……………………………………………………………………

Part One – Investing Money

Breakfast 1 – Discover the Basics……………………………………………

Breakfast 2 – Catch the Vision………………………..…………………

Breakfast 3 – Don’t Lose Money in Stocks……………………………………

Breakfast 4 – Make Money in Mutual Funds……………………………

Breakfast 5 – Diversify with Real Estate and Prepare for Hard Times ……

Breakfast 6 – The Breakfast that Almost Wasn’t…………………………

Part Two – Saving Money

Breakfast 7 – Live WAY Beneath Your Means…………………………

Breakfast 8 – Save on Food and Clothes ………………………

Breakfast 9 – Save on Cars…………………………………………

Breakfast 10 – Save on Houses……………………………………

Breakfast 11 –Ten Popular Ways to Lose Loads of Money………………

Part Three – Making Money

Breakfast 12 – Find Jobs You Love………………………………………

Breakfast 13 – Excel at Your Job…………………………………………

Breakfast 14 – Invest in your Mind………………………………………

Part Four: Enjoying Money

Breakfast 15 – Look for Happiness in the Right Places…………………

Epilogue: Where Are They Now?

Web-Based Complementary Resources

Acknowledgements……………………………………………………………

Bibliographical References

Index

Introduction
From Cliff Hanger to Hash Brown’s Breakfast Bar

August 15, 2005, Somewhere in the Montana Rockies…

Dangling off the edge of a massive rock, something had to give. Antonio could no longer hang on to both his well-chalked handhold and his struggling, neophyte climber – a Down ’s syndrome teen named Chad.

Antonio shot a piercing glance directly into Chad’s fear-filled eyes. “I’ve got to let go of ya, Chad! Trust in what you’ve learned and hang on to that rope!”

After the briefest silent prayer, Antonio let go….

Chad let out a blood-curdling scream, which quickly shifted into quiet concentration as he relaxed his death-grip on the rope and let it slide through the carabineers. He pushed off of the rock and began bouncing down the cliff. Rappelling with newly found confidence and his own distinctive style, his silence erupted into laughter. Chad had conquered yet another challenge during his week-long retreat with Extreme Wisdom Wilderness Adventures.

Antonio free-climbed his way down the adjacent rock, shouting triumphantly to the cloudless sky, “What a job! The wilderness is my office. My clients love me. I’m changing the world, one person at a time!”

Then, he chuckled to himself as his mind rewound to a decade earlier, to “In School Suspension,” “The Counterculture Club,” and that loony old Mrs. Kramer, who turned out to have more sense than anyone he’d ever met.

“Without them,” Antonio thought, “I could have never landed this dream job. Not the way I handled my money back in high school. When I get back to civilization, I’m calling a reunion of the “The Counterculture Club.”

11:00 PM, Two Months Later, Hash Brown’s Breakfast Bar in Acworth, Georgia…

Second-shift manager Larry Wiersbe was experiencing a rare lull in customers until four rowdy twenty-somethings suddenly charged in, looking like they’d stepped straight out of a culturally-sensitive brochure: an Asian girl, an African-American guy, an alternative-looking Caucasian girl and a Hispanic guy.

Larry introduced himself, took their orders and retreated to the grill until a sudden movement forced him to glance at the crowd. The Asian had jumped up suddenly and was swinging her glass Ketchup bottle over her shoulder like the start of a tennis serve. Then, she brought it down forcibly toward the table. Before he could intervene, she stepped back just far enough to miss the table. Riotous laughter followed, until an elderly lady appeared in the entranceway. She pointed her cane at the small party and announced at the top of her lungs, “I christen thee, ‘The Counterculture Club!’”

“Mrs. Kramer!” the Hispanic shouted, as they sprang from their seats to hug their old mentor and friend. High fives, hand slaps and severely dated hand-shakes followed. After all the commotion, Larry half expected them to boost the old lady overhead and body surf her to the table. Instead, they led her gently by her hands, respectfully seating her at the head.

His curiosity piqued, Larry followed their loud conversation from the grill.

“You crazy kids!” Mrs. Kramer began. “What in the world have you been up to? You kept me up-to-date with e-mails and an occasional meeting for a few short years, but then you fell off the face of the earth, you ungrateful bums!”

“You were never one to beat around the bush,” Antonio said sheepishly. “I’ll be the first to plead guilty to the charge of not writing…”

“Enough with the boring confessional,” Mrs. Kramer broke in. “I’m dying to catch up with your lives!”

For the next hour, Larry listened intently to some incredible success stories. Although far from perfect, these people seemed to “get” something that Larry didn’t. They exuded vision, goals, purpose. Much of the conversation revolved around finances – refusing debt, making, saving and investing money. But then the conversation would move seamlessly to finding fulfillment in serving others with their time and money.

Larry knew he didn’t fit in. He shared their age, but that was it. The three credit cards in his wallet were stretched to the max. He worked two dead-end jobs just to keep his head above water. At this rate, he’d never own his own home, much less have the time and resources to help others. And he resolved to never marry a girl who was stupid enough to choose such a loser. Finally, he got the nerve to break in.

“OK guys, it’s midnight, closing time. But you’ve obviously got something I desperately need. Unless you’re all high or suffering from delusions of grandeur, you’ve achieved a freedom that’s eluded me all of my life. Can you tell me what you learned from this lady that made your lives into something I’m envying?”

They looked at each other and shrugged.

“I’ll cut a deal with you,” Larry continued. “If you’ll tell me in one hour how you’ve achieved this…“financial freedom” as you call it, I’ll let you hang out as long as you like. Plus, I’ll serve you whatever you want. No charge.”

“Why not?” said the old lady. Obviously the mouthpiece for the group, she seemed to enjoy taking charge once more. “It would be a hoot to reminisce about old times, and a helpful review for these slow learners. Keep that order pad handy, because you’ll need to jot some of this down.”

“And you’d better pull up your chair,” chuckled the black fellow, “because once you get us started, we’ll take more than your hour.”

In School Suspension

“I’ll start,” volunteered the alternative-looking blonde. “I remember that first day vividly because I’ve relived it in my mind a hundred times since. You wouldn’t have recognized me back then. As a fifteen-year-old, I didn’t have the cheek-ring or tattoos that today help jump-start conversations while volunteering at the Juvenile Center. Back then, I was a reluctant cheerleader. This unlikely group first met in ISS.”

“In School Suspension?” queried Larry.

“If you don’t know, you must have been one of the good boys!” teased the Asian.

“So, I walked in to find these three students, but no teacher. I’d hoped someone I knew would be there, but no such luck. An assistant principal broke the ice by stepping in and explaining that our teacher would arrive shortly. Then she asked for our names and wrote them on a legal pad:

Antonio, Amy, Akashi, James.

She took another sheet and began to read our crimes, something like this:

Flash Back to High School

“Antonio: Fourteen tardies? We’re only into the fifteenth school day!”

“I’m not a morning person,” Antonio offered.

“Akashi, sleeping through Algebra again? I figured you’d be good at Math.”

“Not all Asians can be Math geniuses, you know,” Akashi responded, showing more than a hint of attitude.

“James, caught in the hall without a pass.”

“The teacher wasn’t around, and when you gotta go, you gotta–”

“Spare me the details. And Amy, what’s with parking in the teacher’s lot?”

“I was late, and a visitor had taken my spot.”

“Typical teens: all victims, none responsible. Anyway, Coach Helms will be in shortly.”

As the door closed behind her, Akashi mocked, “typical teens…all victims, none responsible. And since I’m Asian, of course I sit around studying Math for fun. I’m so tired of this prison of a school. And here I sit in house arrest with a couple of jocks and a cheerleader.”

“So you resent being labeled a stereotypical Asian Math whiz but have no problem labeling us as stereotypical preps and jocks?” shot back Antonio. Can you say “hypocrite?”

“We’re getting off to a bad start,” offered James. “If coach Helms walks in and finds us in a rumble, we’ll be stuck in ISS the rest of the year. Obviously, none of us want to crack a book until we have to. Let’s break through the stereotypes and get to know each other a bit. Surely we have something in common. Amy, you’re a cheerleader, right?”

“I hate cheerleading,” complained Amy. “It’s not me at all.”

“What do you mean?” asked Antonio. “You so look the part.”

“I’m a rebel living in a preppie world. You see, my brother started dressing goth in high school about the same time as he discovered drugs. My parents, fearing the same would happen to me if I got with the ‘wrong’ crowd, won’t let me near a Hot Topic or thrift store. I understand their concern, but I’m not about to do drugs. I see what they’ve done to my brother. But I’m not comfortable with jocks and preps.

My parents want the best for me. I don’t want to hurt them. But I’m counting the days till I go off to college, shed these Abercrombies and join a punk band. Alone in my bedroom with my bass, I can keep up with almost any song you give me.”

“Amazing. And you guys probably think I play Soccer,” teased Antonio. “It’s never interested me. I’m more into weightlifting and wilderness adventures, like rock climbing and caving.”

“If you’re into stereotypes, I do like basketball and fried chicken,” offered James. “But I don’t like watermelon, and I’m not on the school basketball team. I spend my after school hours making money. My parents always fight about money, so I plan to make a million by the time I’m 40 so that it won’t be an issue in my family.”

“Parents with money problems, now that’s something we’ve got in common,” replied Akashi. “My parents are so obsessed with ‘getting ahead’ that they work day and night and weekends. We live in a nice neighborhood and have great cars, but they can’t enjoy life. They have to work all the time to pay the bills. I’d much rather live in a one room apartment and have time to travel and hang out with my family. Amy, what about your parents?”

“They’d love to teach at the University and write on the side, but they can’t quit their corporate jobs. They need the money. They’ve never been savers. They max out their credit cards over Christmas, pay them off by the end of summer and start the cycle over again the next Christmas.

When my brother went into drug rehab and insurance wouldn’t pay, Mom and Dad had absolutely no savings to draw from. They took out a second loan on the house and are now in worse financial shape than ever. It’s depressing. They’re always tired and worried. I can’t see how they’ll ever dig themselves out of this hole. Antonio?”

“Mom works day and night to support the family. Dad’s a deadbeat. He’s always either looking for a job or complaining about the job he has. Money’s definitely a big issue at home. Mom and Dad argue all the time about it. It gets so bad that I fear Dad will eventually pack up and leave.”

(Enter Coach Helms.)

“Okay class. Sorry to be late. I recognize all of you from previous suspensions, so I’ll dispense with introductory matters. Please open your text books and get to work.”

“Coach Helms, we’ve got problems,” interjected Akashi.

“Hello! That’s why you’re in ISS, Right?” offered Coach Helms.

“Not those problems,” explained Akashi. “I’m talking about family problems. Our parents suck with their money.”

“Tell me about it,” said Coach Helms. “I wish I had some answers, but I overslept this morning because I work a night job to make ends meet. I can’t seem to make it on my teacher’s salary.”

“Is everyone in this town hopeless with their money?” asked Akashi. “If you don’t give us some answers, we’ll end up just like our parents – broke, tired and whining all the time. You’re supposed to be our teacher. Give us some direction here.”

Coach Helms thought for a moment, tapping his pencil nervously on the desk. Without looking up, he said, “What about Mrs. Kramer?”

“Old widow Kramer, the Social Studies teacher?” asked James. “I had her for a class. She dresses worse than my grandma…and her car isn’t anything to brag about.”

“She may not look the part,” said Coach Helms, “but my banker says she’s the best money manager he knows. She’s got all kinds of investments going. Besides Social Studies and Business, she also teaches Money Management.”

“Come to think of it,” continued James, “I remember her being hyped about her world travels. I wondered how she paid for it on a teacher’s salary. Maybe she got a big life insurance claim when her husband died. But she can be a little scary…and those riddles….”

“Her personality…,” continued Coach Helms. “She’s definitely a work of art. More Picasso than Norman Rockwell. Been around students so long that I think she’s more comfortable with teens than adults. Hardly ever see her in the teacher’s lounge. Speaks your language.

She eats second lunch. How about this? I’ll let you eat second lunch. Try to connect with her. Until then, get out those notebooks. I want to see some progress.”

Hmmm…

1. What are your friends and relatives doing right with their finances that you’d like to emulate?

2. What are your friends and relatives doing wrong with their finances that you’d like to avoid?

3. What would you like to learn most about making and managing your money?

4. For more free discussions and activities for each chapter, visit www.enjoyyourmoney.org.

Old Widow Kramer

Fast Forward to Reunion

“So we met her for lunch, and she told us her story,” Amy continued. “Tell him about it, Mrs. Kramer.”

“At thirty years of age, my husband died of cancer, leaving me, not with a fat life insurance pay out, but with over $20,000 in credit card debt and funeral expenses. The monthly payments on those debts were killing me. Every time the phone rang, I knew a debt collector would be on the other end, hounding and threatening me.

So I sold my house and moved into a condo to pay down my debts and reduce my expenses (and avoid mowing that blasted yard). Then, I took a weekend job. The extra job also helped keep my mind off of my grief. I worked like a dog to dig my way out of debt and get those accursed creditors off my back. In a little over four years, I paid those debts in full, on a day I refer to as ‘one of the best days of my life.’ I felt soooo free!

From that experience, I got a bad taste in my mouth about debt. I avoided it like the plague. I vowed to never again make credit card payments unless it was absolutely necessary.

I still owed about $15,000 on the condo, so I kept my weekend job, putting all my extra money into paying it down. I was amazed at how quickly I paid it off. I was totally debt free! Nobody could take my home from me. It was mine.

With very few expenses, I quit my weekend job and divided the money I used to make in payments into investments, travel and giving to worthy causes. So far, I’ve saved up about $500,000 toward an early retirement.”

“From $20,000 in debt to $500,000 in savings!” reiterated Amy. “That was quite an impressive story – actually, a bit unbelievable at the time.”

Amy continued. “From that short lunch, we knew that there was a lot more wisdom where that came from. And it was more than book wisdom. It came from her experience. She had beaten the system that was killing our parents. If we could learn her lessons at age 18, she could save us tons of headaches along the way.”

“More than that,” added James, “I decided that she just might hold the key to my dream of making a million dollars by my fortieth birthday and taking early retirement.”

“My needs were more emotional,” admitted Akashi. “My older siblings were academic overachievers. My parents drilled into me that ‘A’s in school would set me up for an ‘A’ career and an ‘A’ life. But somehow I’d botch up every class with ‘C’s and ‘D’s, which I thought would guarantee me a ‘C-Minus’ life. I was a loser, and felt that everyone saw a huge ‘L’ tattooed on my forehead. I acted tough, but was scared stiff at the thought of meeting with Mrs. Kramer. Yet, I felt that she offered a glimmer of hope. I was desperate. What did I have to lose?”

“We asked her if she would meet us for breakfast once a week,” continued Amy, “to ask questions and learn more. She said that she’d love to, if we’d pay her $5.00 each per breakfast. She explained that it would be a good lesson for us to pay for wise counsel.

For the next year, we met with her every Saturday morning, here at Hash Brown’s. Sometimes, we’d discuss a book for a month of meetings. Other times, we’d just ask questions. We’ll just tell you about the meetings where she pulled out her notebook and covered new topics. Each week, she exposed us to stuff we’d never learned, either at school or at home. Those meetings changed our lives.”

Hmmm…

Was it really possible for Mrs. Kramer to go from $20,000 in debt to $500,000 in savings in a span of about 30 years?

What keeps most people from making such a dramatic turnaround?

What could have kept Mrs. Kramer from getting into her predicament in the first place?

Part One

Investing Money

Breakfast #1

Discover the Basics

“I remember that first meeting well,” volunteered Antonio, wincing. “I’ll tell about the first two breakfasts.

So, I stroll in at 9:04 to find everyone there, waiting on me.”

Flashback

Kramer: You’re four minutes late!

Antonio: I have a hard time getting places on time.

Kramer: When you’re late, you waste our time. Half of success, financial or otherwise, is showing up…on time. It’s so important that I’ll lay out some incentive. If you’re late next week, you pay for the entire breakfast by yourself.

Fast Forward to Reunion

“Everyone but me thought it a splendid idea, so my resistance was outvoted. I was more than a little ticked off, threatening that I just might not show up at all next week. Kramer nonchalantly replied that it was my choice. We learned quickly that if we wanted her advice, it would be on her terms, not ours. She ignored my pouty expression and continued.”

Flashback

Kramer: So you want to learn how to handle your money. Well, if I talk the entire time, I don’t get to eat. So let’s do it this way. We order our food. While we wait for it to come, I tell a story or throw out five to ten minutes of advice while you think and jot down notes.

After the food comes, everyone throws in their thoughts. I want to know your experiences with the concept, good or bad. Take your best shots at my ideas. Too much education these days is merely transferring a set of notes from the teacher to the students, without it going through the minds of either.

I’m not easily offended. Tell me why it won’t work for you. Your objections and comments will help us distill each concept into something that will work for you. At the end of each session, tell us what you want to deal with the next week. That way, we stay practical. Sound good to you?

(Everyone agreed as the waiter arrived to take our orders.)

Kramer: First, I’ll pass out a sheet that should help you to lighten up on your parents. I know that you think they’re totally incompetent buffoons with finances. I want you to understand the bigger picture of our culture, a big part of the reason for their money issues. Your parents’ neighbors, friends and relatives probably handle their money the same way. They’re just doing what their culture has taught them. When everybody’s doing it, it’s hard to question your way of life.

James: You’re saying that if I were to live with my neighbors for awhile, I’d likely find the same financial problems that Mom and Dad have? I’ve assumed that their nice cars and smiling faces meant that they were better off than me.

Kramer: Wrong assumption. Here’s the way many of your friends and neighbors manage their money.

Personal Finances in America

According to surveys:

Ninety-seven percent of workers over 45 say they regret how they spent their money, in light of how much they could have saved.1

Almost one in four adults live paycheck to paycheck.2

Fifty-nine percent of Americans don’t save regularly.3

We’re getting worse and worse at saving.4

Twenty-five years ago, Americans saved over ten percent of their income.

Ten years ago, we saved 4.5 percent.

By 2005, for the first time since the Great Depression, we spent more than we earned.

Approximately 1,500,000 Americans declare personal bankruptcy each year.5

The average college student graduates with over $20,000 in debt.6

Most Americans haven’t even calculated how much money they need to retire.7

Personal debt is reaching record highs, and personal savings is reaching all time lows.8

James: That’s insane! I’d hoped that retirement would be the time for me to say goodbye to the eight to five grind and relax at a beach house. If I follow the crowd in finances, I’ll be worrying about money the rest of my life!

Akashi: One in four adults living paycheck to paycheck? Talk about risky living! And adults complain about teens’ risky behaviors! A short-term job loss or illness could put them in serious debt and make them lose their houses.

Amy: The scary side of it for me is that if we don’t do something different, we’ll all be over $20,000 in debt in about six years. Then we’ll go to work and live paycheck to paycheck, until we retire in a low rent district, watching Wheel of Fortune on one of our four antenna stations, constantly whining about how we regret the way we lived our lives and don’t have enough money to have any fun.

Akashi: Our kids will probably hate our visits, assuming we’re there to ask for another handout!

Kramer: Exactly! Somehow, you’ve got to break loose from a culture that’s gone crazy with its finances. Many dig themselves into a deeper hole every day, enjoying life less and less as they spend everything they’ve got to pay off past debts. In the land of the free, they’ve become financially enslaved.

(Kramer gets a wild look in her eyes, more animated with each sentence as she rises from her seat.)

You’re already different from the mainstream. That’s why I relate to you. I challenge you to extend your independent thinking and counterculture attitudes to your finances.

And to that end (she pulls back a glass ketchup bottle high overhead with both hands, waving it menacingly in the air), I christen this group (she brings the bottle back down with increasing speed, aimed directly at the table), THE COUNTERCULTURE CLUB!

(She pulls back the bottle at the last second, missing the table, but sending her students scattering all directions. Kramer erupts into laughter.)

Amy: You scared me to death! Did you really have to embarrass us in front of all these people to make that point?

Kramer: A little adrenaline is good to help cement points in your memory. You’ll never forget this moment. Plus, if you never get over the “Oh my gosh, what’s everybody gonna think?” thing, you’ll find yourself living everyone else’s life, the life of your culture, rather than your own life. I like a little drama now and again to spice things up. Later today I’ll get a good laugh out of picturing your faces as you envisioned ketchup exploding all over the restaurant.

James: (Settling back into his chair.) A good laugh at our expense! Don’t be surprised if you find toilet paper in your yard from your favorite club to test your own embarrassment index. So where were we? Something about how our culture sucks at finances?

Kramer: From the stats on my handout, you know how NOT to handle your finances – the way most others handle their finances. You’ve seen it in your parents and now in the culture at large. Let’s transition to how we can do finances right. This being the first breakfast, let’s start with an overview – some basics of financial wisdom. In the coming weeks, we’ll devote entire breakfasts to each principle.

But instead of handing out the list, I want you to draw out the basics from a real person who went counterculture with her finances. From decades of teaching, I’ve found that students remember stories better than lists; plus, stories are more interesting. As I tell the story, jot down the principles that you think made the person successful.

Oseola Enjoys Life and Saves a Fortune

Some of us might fear that we’ll never have enough money to make ends meet and enjoy life. What if your job doesn’t pay well, and you can’t seem to get ahead? I want to introduce you to Oseola, who has a lot to teach us. She didn’t have the advantages of most of us, yet she enjoyed life and saved a ton.

Oseola grew up in a simple house with her grandmother, mother and an aunt. As an eight-year-old, she would wash clothes after school to help make ends meet. Her school education ended at age 12, when she dropped out to care for her sick aunt and work full time at washing.

So far, she’s not on anyone’s “most likely to succeed” list.

Her work was hard, but she enjoyed it. She washed the old-fashioned way: building a fire under her wash pot, then soaking, washing and boiling a bundle of clothes. Rub. Wrench. Rub again. Rinse. Starch. Hang out to dry. She worked Monday through Saturday, for 75 years, until arthritis forced her into retirement at age 86. She never got to finish school, never had a car and owned few possessions. Her TV received only one station. But that didn’t bother her because she never watched it very much anyway.

I can hear you thinking, ”Get a life, woman!” But, you see, Oseola did have a life – a great life. She didn’t desire travel or possessions. She loved her God, her family and her work. Singing and storytelling filled her days with joy and laughter.

She never bought on credit so that she would be financially free. And since she didn’t need money for a lot of possessions or travel, she invested it, a little each month. By July 1995, a half year after her retirement, she had saved – get this – $280,000. That’s over a quarter of a million dollars! Then, she stunned the world by giving away over half of it, $150,000, to establish a college scholarship for needy students, offering others the education she never had.

Until recently, Oseola McCarty referred to herself as a ”poor little old colored woman who walked everywhere.” No one paid her much attention when she was out. But when the word leaked out about her donation, the world took notice.

She has since received numerous awards, been interviewed on ABC, CNN, NBC, BET and MTV. She’s been featured in Newsweek, The New York Times, People, Life, Ebony, Essence and Jet. But all that recognition never changed her simple life. You see, she didn’t need all the recognition. In her own words, ”I think my secret was contentment. I was happy with what I had.”9

Now, compare her to most Americans. Many with huge salaries haven’t managed to save a cent. Many are worth less than nothing, worrying constantly about their debts. But Oseola shows me that if she can save over a quarter of a million dollars by washing people’s clothes in boiling water over a fire, I can save money as a schoolteacher.

So, what do you think?

Reflections on Oseola

Akashi: I’ll start. I think her life sucked. She spent her entire life in a hovel working the same crappy job day in and day out, with only one TV channel for entertainment. She didn’t even own a car. What kind of life is that?

Antonio: Akashi! Mrs. Kramer is trying to help us out here. Don’t be so hard on her!

Kramer: I’m the one who sets the ground rules, and I challenge you to be just as outspoken as Akashi. If you other three sit there smiling at each other and sipping your juice while disagreeing in your gut, we’re getting nowhere. Say what you think. Be ruthless.

Jack Welch, one of the greatest business leaders of our time, devoted an entire chapter of his book Winning to push for candor.10 He observes that we usually don’t tell it like it is, fearing we’ll hurt people’s feelings. He thinks lack of candor is deadly to business.

Lack of candor may be easier in the short-run, but it hurts us in the long-run. Without candor, we don’t face reality. Be honest, guys! Do you agree with Akashi?

Antonio: I’ll be candid with you, Akashi. In ISS you complained about your parents being so wrapped up in their work and living in a ritzy neighborhood that they didn’t have time for the important stuff, like family.

Oseola chose relationships over things. She enjoyed working at home, spending time with her relatives and helping others. She didn’t secretly desire to get the latest version of Halo or go to Disneyland. She lived life the way she wanted to, had lots of fun and can look back with the satisfaction of knowing she helped others along the way.

Think of Einstein. He never drove a car. He enjoyed thinking more than mansions and hot cars.

Akashi: You nailed me. As much as I complain about my parents’ obsession with things and money, I’m pretty hooked on some of my things, like always upgrading to the latest cell phone, playing online games till late at night and the freedom that my car gives me.

But fun is different for everyone. I do admire Oseola for bucking the crowd, choosing her own path, finding financial freedom and putting people first.

Kramer: We don’t have to adopt everything about her life. But what can we learn from her financial success?

James: I’m astounded that she could accumulate such wealth from what must have been a pitiful salary.

Amy: I think it’s actually pretty simple. She spent less than she made. With no car, low-cost housing and no frivolous spending, she could save more than a lawyer who has a great salary but spends it all on his ritzy house and payments on his Porsche. The first thing I learned from Oseola is: Live beneath your means. All of our parents make tons more than Oseola, but I’ll bet you that everything they get on Friday is spent by the next Thursday. You can’t save if you spend all that you make.

Akashi: Look not only at what she did, but what she didn’t do. She didn’t own even one credit card. Whereas most of us spend outrageous money in interest, she waited till she could pay cash. I’ll bet that one habit saved her thousands and thousands of dollars.

Kramer: You bet right, Akashi. In Oseola’s own words,

”I save my money till I can buy something outright.”11

Akashi: So, principle number two is: Avoid paying interest.

Antonio: Principle number three: Save for the future. If she had a medical emergency, she wouldn’t have to sell her house to pay for it.

James: She took the money that she would have been paying the credit card companies and invested it, so that she was receiving interest rather than giving it away. Over time, it all added up. Principle number four: Invest over time.

Antonio: She worked hard at something she enjoyed. Even a small salary adds up when you put in the hours.

Kramer: I think you’ve summed up the basics of financial wisdom. Think about those principles this week, and see how they apply to your personal finances. In future weeks, we’ll talk in much more depth about each principle. What do you want to cover next week?

James: I’m fascinated with how Oseola multiplied her money. I want to be financially independent as quickly as possible. How can investments multiply my money so that I can retire in my 40’s?

Kramer: Is that okay with everyone else?

(Nods all around.)

Hmmm…

What facts from the “Personal Finances in America” sheet bother you the most? Why?
Why do you think Americans struggle with their finances?
How would your personal finances be different if you handled them more like Oseola?
Are you living above or below your means? How could you begin living below your means and saving some money each week?
What can you do this week to start handling your money better?
Assignment

This week, ask your parents to tell you what they know about investments. Go on the Internet and read some basic articles on stocks and mutual funds. You’ll need to bring your calculators. What I’ll tell you is so extraordinary that you won’t believe it unless you see the numbers yourselves.

One more thing! I have a riddle for you to solve:

To some I’m their greatest nightmare
To others their greatest friend.
Neither spirit nor flesh
I’m not hard to comprehend.

I increase the wealth
Of both paupers and kings,
Rewarding the wise,
Robbing fools of their dreams.

I work when you work
Just as hard when you sleep.
With me Buffett made billions
If you sow, you can also reap.

I’m slow at the beginning
‘Till my power is unfurled.
It’s why bankers and investors say,
“You’re the eighth wonder of the world.”

Resource to Take You Deeper

Read Oseola McCarty, Simple Wisdom for Rich Living, (Atlanta: Longstreet Press, 1996).

*********************************
Please do not construe this book as the author’s or publisher’s prescription for your personal finances. Only a qualified financial counselor who knows your specific life circumstances, your personality, your goals and your objectives might be qualified to advise you in these matters.

Enjoy Your Money! Copyright © 2008 by Wisdom Creek Press, LLC. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher, except for brief reviews. For information contact Wisdom Creek Press, LLC, 5814 Sailboat Pointe, Acworth, Georgia, 30101, www.wisdomcreekpress.com.

Cover design by Carole Maugé-Lewis
Front Cover Photography by Rasmus Rasussen

Author Photo by Christina Cosenza

Typesetting by Callisa Ink & Co and Carole Maugé-Lewis

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Miller, J. Steve, 1957-

Enjoy Your Money! : how to make it, save it, invest it and give it : the adventures of the Counterculture Club/ by J. Steve Miller.

p.cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index.

LCCN: 2008941060

ISBN-13: 978-0-9818756-7-5

ISBN-10: 0-9818756-7-X

1. Finance, Personal. I. Title.

HG179.M4919 2009 332.024

QB109-200015

Take Time to Remember

November 11th, 2009

                          

A Climate for Change

November 9th, 2009

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 authors are:
Katharine Hayhoe and

Andrew Farley

and the book:

A Climate for Change: Global Warming Facts for Faith-Based Decisions

FaithWords (October 29, 2009)

***Special thanks to Valerie M. Russo of the Hachette Book Group for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHORs:

Katharine Hayhoe is a professor in the Department of Geosciences at Texas Tech University and CEO of ATMOS Research, a scientific consulting company. She contributed her research to and served as Expert Reviewer for the Nobel Prize-winning Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. Katharine’s work has been presented before the U.S. Congress, highlighted by state and federal agencies, and featured in over 200 newspapers and media outlets around the world.

Visit the author’s website.

Andrew Farley is the lead teaching pastor of Ecclesia (www.EcclesiaOnline.com) and co-hosts Real Life in Christ, a 30-minute program that airs every week on ABC-TV in the West Texas area. Andrew served as a professor at the University of Notre Dame for five years and is now a tenured professor at Texas Tech University. Andrew has coauthored three textbooks and more than a dozen journal articles. He is also the author of The Naked Gospel: The Truth You May Never Hear in Church.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $22.99
Hardcover: 224 pages
Publisher: FaithWords (October 29, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0446549568
ISBN-13: 978-0446549561
Product Dimensions: 9 x 6 x 1 inches

ISLAND BREEZES

This book still hasn’t convinced me.  I’m really trying to make it through to the end.  My review copy didn’t have all the grafts, figures and tables that the author keeps mentioning.  I think having those available will make it easier for the reader.

If you’re trying to convince me of the validity of the global warming theory, you shouldn’t start off telling me that from 1998 to 2008 shows that the world actually cooled, but it doesn’t count.  Excuse me?  It doesn’t count because it hasn’t been happening long enough?  Maybe that’s because we haven’t been that far past 2008 to have any more data than that. 

I really would like to see his “hockey stick” diagram.  It apparently shows that we had an Ice Age, Medieval Warming and then the Little Ice Age.  Now more warming, and what comes next according to this diagram?  Maybe it’s the cooling again?

In chapter 4, the ostrich is referenced as an example of what Christians should not do when confronted with an issue that we prefer would just go away.  Is he referring to the myth about the ostrich sticking it’s head into the sand when danger is present?  If he doesn’t even research this, how much research is really behind his global warming theory? 

He lists many sources for his research, including Al Gore, who made a lot of money from his book and movie.  It didn’t take Britain long to debunk Al Gore’s theory.  Now, even kids have Gore figured out.

I’m not saying that we shouldn’t make an effort to protect our environment.  I drive one of the first hybrids to come out.  I have replaced my bulbs with CFLs.  I recycle and have tried to drastically reduce my use of plastics and disposables.  That does not mean I’m convinced that the global warming theory is more than a theory.  It means that as a Christian, I choose to take care of all that with which I’ve been blessed by my Creator.  It does not mean that I’ll ever be in favor of the “cap and tax” bill which will drive us even deeper into a depression. 

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Aleph – Keepers of God’s Law are Blessed

November 8th, 2009

  Happy are those whose way is blameless, who walk in the law of the Lord.

Happy are those who keep his decrees, who seek him with their whole heart, who also do no wrong, but walk in his ways.

You have commanded your precepts to be kept diligently.

O that my ways may be steadfast in keeping your statues!

Then I shall not be put to shame, having my eyes fixed on all your commandments.

I will praise you with an upright heart, when I learn your righteous ordinances.

I will observe your statues; do not utterly forsake me.

Psalm 119:1-8

Character Driven: Life, Lessons, and Basketball

November 5th, 2009

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:
Derek Fisher

and the book:

Character Driven: Life, Lessons, and Basketball

Touchstone (September 8, 2009)

***Special thanks to Mallika Dattatreya of Touchstone/Fireside Publicity, Simon & Schuster, Inc for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Derek Fisher has spent twelve seasons in the NBA playing for the Los Angeles Lakers, Golden State Warriors, and Utah Jazz. He is the president of the NBA Players Association. Currently the starting point guard for the Lakers, he lives with his family in Los Angeles.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $24.99
Hardcover: 272 pages
Publisher: Touchstone (September 8, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1416580530
ISBN-13: 978-1416580539

ISLAND BREEZES

I wasn’t really sure I wanted to read this book.  I grew up in Indiana where little boys have little basketballs as soon as they can walk.  The state is obsessed with basketball.  By the time I moved down to warmer climes, I was sick to death of basketball.  Why on earth did I feel compelled to read a book by a basketball player?

I’m so glad I’m reading it.  I’m not finished yet, but I won’t quit until I am.  I have so much respect for Derek Fisher, and now, for the game of basketball.  Since I’ve distanced myself from it for so long, I can be more objective.  I can also appreciate the correlation between Derek’s life lessons and the intricacies of basketball.

This book is not just for sports fans. This book is for all who are interested in having a character driven life.  You will find that the title of this book is aptly named for Derek Fisher.  Thank you Derek for giving me a deeper appreciation of the game as well as for the man behind the book.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Character Driven
Life, Lessons, and Basketball

Derek Fisher

with Gary Brozek

A Touchstone Book

Published by Simon & Schuster

New York London Toronto Sydney

Chapter One: Putting Your Skills to the Best Use

When people found out that my wife Candace and I were expecting a child, more than a few of them said, “Your life is about to change.” Candace and I both had a child from a previous relationship, so we had some idea of the truth of that statement. What we didn’t know was the extent of how much our lives were going to be altered several months after our twins, Tatum and Drew were born. I don’t know if having twins changes your life twice as much, but when you find out that one of your newborn children has a serious illness like cancer, very little in your life and your routine remains the same. We suspected that something was wrong with one of Tatum’s eyes; after first dismissing the difference in its appearance as parental paranoia, we took her to a specialist. When we learned that she had a rare but very dangerous form of cancer known as retinoblastoma—a tumor of the retina—it was as if someone had sucked all the air out of the doctor’s office.

After we were told initially that there was little hope of saving Tatum’s eye, we were stunned momentarily and that pit of the stomach sinking feeling could have overwhelmed us. I don’t want to trivialize the situation by comparing my daughter’s dire diagnosis to the game of basketball, because truth to be told thoughts of my career, the Utah Jazz’s prospects for the playoffs and any thoughts of winning a championship were very, very far from my mind. My energies were concentrated on doing whatever I could to help my daughter and support my wife who was understandably upset and fearful. I was experiencing a lot of the same emotions as Candace, but I could sense that this was particularly hard on her. Her maternal instincts were running at their highest level and they had been for some time prior to the diagnosis and prior to her pregnancy. Prior to her getting pregnant with the twins, we’d experienced a miscarriage. Losing that child was a blow to both of us, one that we’d recovered from to a certain degree, but not something we had by any means forgotten about.

In the wake of that sad event, we’d decided to explore other medical options to insure a safe and full term pregnancy. As a result, we’d seen a few fertility specialists, and we’d made the decision to go with what we were told would most likely be a safer alternative—in vitro fertilization. My whole life, I’ve been someone who looks at all the alternatives and choices before making a decision based on a careful risk / reward analysis. If the doctors we were dealing with felt that in vitro fertilization offered us the best chances of having a child, then that’s what we were going to do. I can still remember sitting in that doctor’s office talking about everything that needed to be done. I was able to block out all thoughts that in vitro wasn’t normal or natural and that the procedure would be done in a lab instead of in the privacy of our own home. What mattered was the results. Candace and I both were very eager to have a family together, and so we were going to do whatever it took to make that dream come true.

I do have to admit to trepidation in regards to one part of the procedure. To increase the chances of having a viable fetus develop and to avoid having to go through the painful procedure of harvesting one of Candace’s eggs, we were told that it would be good idea to fertilize and then implant more than one ovum at a time. If they “took,” we could decide if we wanted to bring those ova to full term. Candace and I knew that we would of course not destroy one or more of the eggs, so we had to decide just how much we wanted to increase the odds of our successfully producing a child together. I was cool with the idea of having twins, but when the doctor said that we could go for three if we wanted to, I had to call a time out. I looked at Candace and she looked at me. We each did some elementary school math and came to the same conclusion. There were two of us, and if God willing Candace would get pregnant with twins, we could each handle one of the twins at a time. Two parents, two hands/arms each, two children. That would work. Any number of children above that would make the math, and the amount of work we’d have to do that much harder. If circumstances were different, and we didn’t have any kind of control over the situation and God willed that we would have triplets or even more children, then we’d have accepted that also.

We looked at the doctor and said, “Two, please.”

My career as a basketball player came into play when Tatum was diagnosed and the way I was able to handle the situation. Like many people, I believe that God never puts on our plates more than we can handle, and that everything that happens in our lives fits into a pattern of His creation. When you are faced with challenges like Candace and I were, all the choices and decisions and experiences you have had leading up to the specific moment of having a seriously ill child fall into place. Because I’d dedicated my life to basketball, because I had been in pressure packed situations, and because to succeed in basketball I had to understand the role of focus, tenacious diligence, teamwork, and sacrifice, we were all able to do what it took to secure a successful outcome for Tatum. Ultimately, whether or not Tatum’s eye would be saved was out of our hands and in the hands of God. I truly believe that, but there were a lot of other human beings who made that possible. I do know that looking back at all those choices I made that lead us to those wonderfully skilled individuals who did save her eye, there was ample evidence of the guiding hand of God at work. We asked Him to lead us and were comfortable with knowing that His will would be done, and we put the power of prayer to use.

Let me give you one example of how a choice I made in my life paid unexpected dividends down the line. We were fortunate to have a family friend who worked in a medical school library and was familiar with all kinds of print and electronic resources. When Tatum was diagnosed and we were essentially told that our only option was to have Tatum’s eye removed so that the cancer would not spread, my basketball training and God’s intervention combined to make me realize that I needed to pass the ball off. This was not a shot I could take independent of the team; I needed to turn to forces greater than my own. I really believe that God put this friend in my life to do more than just someone to socialize with. He put her there because with his medical background, she was someone I could turn to to do the kind of research and study to find an alternative to surgically removing my precious daughter’s eye. With her background and training, she was able to quickly sift through much of the medical literature that existed and report back to Candace and me.

We knew that time was running out and the longer it took us to find alternatives, the riskier those procedures might be. Cancer has unflagging energy, and we knew that with each passing day, the tumor was growing. Candace and I could have tried to do all the research on our own, but poring through medical journals to try to understand all the complications and even just the possible approaches to treatment would have cost us precious time. Even developing a basic understanding of the options and then trying to track down doctors who either did those alternative procedures or who might be able to explain better to us what the potential risks were with those procedures was not something we could do either. The clock was winding down, and we knew we needed to rely on someone who could quickly cut through the lingo and technical aspects of the treatment options and feed us the information as quickly as humanly possible. As a point guard, I have always had to assess the situation on court and distribute the ball to those who are the in best position to score. Evaluating time on the clock, the score, the opposition’s strengths and weakness, and a dozen more factors are things I’ve spent nearly a life time doing. I had some idea those skills would transfer to life off the court, but being able to assess circumstances and make decisions quickly under such extreme non-basketball circumstances, put those skills to the test in ways I had never anticipated.

That our friend was able to find out that two doctors at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in New York had experimented with a radical new treatment, one they’d only performed on fourteen patients and had never published the results of those early clinical trials, is in my mind, nothing short of a miracle. Those doctors had just begun the treatment in 2006—a year before Tatum was diagnosed. Another stroke of good fortune we could add to our score. When Candace and I sat in an office speaking with Dr. David Abramson and Dr. Pierre Gobin, they at first told us that the only real choice we had was to have Tatum’s eye removed. I’m sure that they figured that we were parents doing their due-diligence work, getting a second and third opinion hoping against hope that we could avoid the negative outcome of surgically removing our daughter’s affected eye. Of course, if removal of the eye meant preventing the possible spread of the cancer, and that was truly our only option, we would have agreed with that course of treatment. Something had told us, in the face of all the other opinions that lined up with Dr. Abramson and Dr. Gobin’s initial assessment, that we had to dig deeper. If nothing else, we wanted to hear that dire prognosis from the best doctors in the field, and Dr. Abramson was considered the go to guy in the area of retinoblastoma.

Like most people, I’d heard of Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center (though I knew it simply as “Sloan-Kettering”) even if I’d been fortunate to that point on not ever having had any firsthand experience with the place for myself or any of my family members and friends. I knew that it was a state of the art cutting edge facility recognized world-wide as one of the most advanced cancer treatment and research facilities out there. What I came to learn as we pursued this option as a potential treatment for Tatum was that the doctors at Sloan-Kettering had a long history of advancing treatment of the rare cancer affecting our baby girl’s eye. In the 1930’s, doctors there had come up with the first treatments that successfully managed the disease. Prior to that, I learned, being diagnosed with retinoblastoma was essentially a literal death sentence. Survival rates for the disease were incredibly low back then. Fortunately, thanks to the work of many doctors and researchers, the odds have increased significantly, though in most cases the patient ends up losing the afflicted eye.

The cancer is rare, only about 350 children in the United States are diagnosed with retinoblastoma each year, but it is the most common type of eye cancer among children. Worldwide, approximately 5,000 children are afflicted with this cancer and about half that number eventually die from it. I say “only” in regard to the number of children in the U.S. with the disease (compared to almost 3,000 kids with leukemia for example) but for every child and every parent of a child diagnosed with the disease, that number is far too large. In most cases, the disease is the result of a randomly occurring mutation in chromosome thirteen. Most often, the affected child is the first in the family to have the disease and it is only about ten percent of the cases that the mutation is inherited from one of the parents. Candace and I weren’t so concerned at that point about the cause of Tatum’s cancer, we were mainly concerned with treatment options. We were fortunate to find Dr. Abramson. He was the Chief of the Ophthalmic Oncology Service at Sloan-Kettering and in the ‘70s had trained under one of the leading experts in the field of eye cancer treatment, Dr. Algernon Reese at Colombian Presbyterian Medical Center. Dr. Reese, an ophthalmologist, and Dr. Hayes Martin, a surgeon had pioneered the use of radiation treatments in eye cancer in the ‘40s and ‘50s. Dr. Abramson and his team continued to advance treatment options including the type of chemoeradication (shrinking the tumor with chemotherapy) technique our friend had learned about.

When I asked them about their experimental treatment, intra-arterial chemotherapy, they seemed surprised. As Doctor Abramson later said in a New York Times interview, “I’m not sure how he knew about . . . . He must have done a lot of homework.” Thanks to Thomas, I had been able to copy someone else’s homework. Spreading the ball around, and trusting that a teammate will execute under pressure proved to be a wise move. Dr. Abramson and Dr. Gobin stepped up for us and agreed that if Candace and I were willing to take the risk, they were willing to do the procedure. We knew that we had to do everything we could to save Tatum’s eye. The decision was in that way easy. Subjecting your infant daughter to anything, even a regularly scheduled immunization is hard. Sitting there in that office, floors above the growl and hum of mid-town Manhattan, we took a deep breath, trusted that the Lord had led us to this place for a good reason, and signed the consent forms and did all the other necessary paperwork.

Obviously, there is never a good time to have anyone in your life become sick, but the circumstances of Tatum’s diagnosis was marked by all kinds of potential pitfalls. We were in the process of moving from the Bay area to Salt Lake City. I had been traded during the off season, but with the kids still infants and lots of loose ends to tie up, it didn’t make sense to move right away that summer. I’m sure a lot of you can relate to idea of moving and having to find new doctors, deal with health insurance companies (we were fortunate to have good coverage) and all the issues of who’s in network, who’s not. Candace had been concerned that something wasn’t quite right with Tatum’s eye, had been assured by our pediatrician that nothing was wrong. Only when we finally settled in Salt Lake City and Candace pursued second and third opinions did Dr. Katy McGelligot confirm my wife’s suspicions. I was at practice when the voice mail message came in telling me that we needed to get to a pediatric ophthalmologist that afternoon. I joined them there and I was glad that we had been persistent and followed Candace’s gut instinct that told her that something was wrong. If we had waited and if we’d let the red tape of insurance companies and all that deter us, I don’t know what the outcome could have been.

Call it a mother’s intuition, call it her keen sense of observation, call it the Lord moving in mysterious ways, but whatever you call it, we were grateful that we had acted on Candace’s suspicions. Neither of us had ever heard the word retinoblastoma before, and to be honest, I’d never even thought that people could have cancer of the eye. In most ways, Tatum was a typical ten-month-old child. Being part of a pair of fraternal twins, Drew and Tatum were going to be subject to a lot of comparisons, maybe more than other siblings. When they were born, Tatum had darker skin than Drew whose coloring was more cocoa. He had a lot more hair than Tatum, though now that isn’t the case, and he was always a lot less patient than her. When Drew was hungry, everyone in the house, and probably the surrounding neighborhood, knew that he was in need of food. He had to nurse or get a bottle immediately and there was nothing we could do to persuade him to just hold on for a minute. Tatum, on the other hand, would wake from a nap and assess the situation, come fully awake and alert, and then she’d eat. Even from her earliest days, she seemed quite playful and mischievous, more capable of demonstrating a bit of an attitude.

What Candace noticed was that sometimes when she looked into Tatum’s eyes, something didn’t seem quite right to her. She couldn’t articulate exactly what was wrong, and each time I looked into my little girl’s eyes, I was so in love that I couldn’t imagine there being anything wrong with her. I felt the same about Drew. They seemed to me to be God’s perfect little creations—even if they did fuss and cry a bit. Candace told me that what got her thinking something might be wrong was that sometimes when light shone in Tatum’s eye, it didn’t seem to reflect back the same way it did from her other one or in the same way it did from Drew’s. I’d learned in the more than ten years that I’d known Candace to trust her instincts. If she thought there was something wrong, then there had to be something wrong.

Candace noticed that in some photographs of Tatum, depending upon the angle one of Tatum’s eyes reflected back a white light. That white light is visible in the pupils of children with retinoblastoma. This is known as leukocoria or the “cat’s eye reflex.” Just as a cat’s pupil appears white in certain lighting, so will a child’s who has retinoblastoma or other eye conditions including Coat’s disease. Not in every case will that white reflection in photographs be a true indication of those serious conditions, but it is definitely worth checking out with a doctor. We learned all of this only after her diagnosis, and our doctors told us that it is a good idea to take a monthly flash photo of an infant and child to check for that tell-tale marker of a potential problem.

After the examination, when the doctor told us that he’d detected some abnormalities and what he suspected was a tumor, I felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out. I remember grasping Candace’s shaking hand, and my mind rushing. The sensation was like what happens when you are driving a standard transmission car and you think you’re in gear but you’re in neutral. You hit the gas and you can hear and feel the vibration of the rapidly racing engine but you don’t increase your actual speed. I had thoughts bouncing all around my head, but I wasn’t making any kind of positive steps toward coherence.

Looking back on it, I now realize how could it have been otherwise? I’m not a real worrier by nature, and despite the difficulty Candace and I had experienced in having lost a child previously, I didn’t overly fixate on the list of possible bad things that could happen to the twins before or after they were born. I had lost some people close to me, usually through a long and protracted illness as was the case with my grandmother. I’d lost a few older relatives, but they had lived what seemed to me then to be long lives. Nothing could prepare me for someone telling me that my daughter had cancer. It was a life-altering moment, a kind of sign being driven into the ground indicating that there was a then and next there was to be a now. Facing the prospect that we could lose her, and not just that she might lose her eye, was unimaginably difficult to process in a short span of time.

In a way, hearing that news was also like I’d instantly done some mental spring cleaning and thrown away anything that wasn’t needed and put everything else neatly into order. As clichéd as it sounds, I knew in that moment that very little besides my daughter’s health and my family’s safety was what mattered. All the little gripes and complaints I might have had about how the season was going—even though things were going well—any nagging pain from overuse or injury, any thoughts about upcoming games, who I’d be matched up against, all that just neatly took their place in line—a long ways behind—one overriding concern: What were we going to do in order to help our daughter?

In the immediate, Tatum was given an MRI examination the next day that confirmed the diagnosis. We had a playoff game that night against Houston and I would suit up. At that point, no one except the Jazz owner Larry Miller and the General Manager Kevin O’Connor knew the specifics of the situation. They told me that I was under no pressure to play that night or at any other point during the playoffs. They agreed that Tatum’s condition and our privacy was mattered the most.

I had been making a mad rush from practice to doctor’s appointments to the hospital for tests that the reality of what was going on with our child hadn’t really sunk in. We’d won the game (details TK) and only when I sat in front of my locker after the game did the truth hit me, and it hit me hard. I sat staring blankly ahead of me, a towel draped over my shoulders. Guys filed past me and music began blaring. A few minutes later, reporters were allowed in, and they were just doing their job, but the last thing I wanted to do was to talk about the game, the series, or anything to do with basketball. All I could think of was what my daughter potentially faced. I didn’t want anyone to see the anguish I was experiencing, so I went into TK Brigg’s office, our trainer, and broke down. In some ways the game had been good for me, a distraction, but it only delayed the inevitable. I was devastated. That private moment of despair was good for me, helped me get it out of my system and refocus on the task at hand—how to overcome the dire diagnosis and what seemed at the time the absolute certainty that Tatum’s eye would have to be surgically removed.

The day after we met with Dr. Gobin and Dr. Abramson, Wednesday May 10th, 2007 Tatum would undergo the procedure at New York Presbyterian Hospital.

Dr. Abramson knew about the playoff game the Jazz had that night against the Golden State Warriors. As a former alternate on the 1960 men’s Olympic swimming team, he knew what an athlete’s life was like. He suggested that we could hold off doing the procedure until after the game. A delay of a just a few hours would have no effect on the outcome of the procedure or the viability of Tatum’s eye following it.

“Absolutely not,” I told him, “Just do what’s best for my child. How many games I miss in the playoffs is totally irrelevant.” I meant every word of that statement, and even when Dr. Abramson suggested some adjustments could be made to the schedule, I remained firm in the commitment I’d made to Candace and to Tatum. There hadn’t been any real need for discussion—Candace and I both knew that as difficult as the circumstances were, the decision about how to approach Tatum’s care was easy—spare no cost, leave no stone unturned, and put basketball where it belonged on my list of priorities. In other words, well below my family and its needs.

Doing the right thing came so easy because of the values that my mother Annette and my father John had instilled in me from the beginning. They made every sacrifice they could to enable me to be where I am today, and they demonstrated every day that you put your family member’s needs above your own. Doctor Abramson was simply trying to accommodate me and my needs, figure my career into the scheme, and I appreciated that, but there was never a question in my mind that we would do the procedure as soon as humanly possible. This was an aggressive and risky treatment, and the two men who pioneered it gave off an air of quiet confidence that I’d always appreciated in teammates. Not that they needed any more motivation, but just to show how the Lord does truly move in mysterious ways, Dr. Gobin, who grew up in France, had lived for a time in Los Angeles while working at the University of California at Los Angeles medical center. He was a die-hard fan of the NBA team there and remembered me from my days with the Lakers. Score another bucket for the home team.

I felt confident in the team we’d assembled. Doctor Gobin and Doctor Abramson were realistic but confident. I liked that about them both. They were as personable as could be without seeming smug or distant. They were clearly brilliant men, but it was their compassion and consideration for us as people and not just as a condition or an opportunity to test a procedure that could make them famous or wealthy or both that really impressed me. They didn’t push us to try something; instead, they only agreed to do it when we brought up the possibility. Their confidence and calm helped to settle our nerves a bit, but nothing could still them completely. Dr. Gobin, who specialized in something called Interventional NeuroRadiology, was another highly respected medical pioneer, primarily known for advanced treatment for stroke victims. In 2001, Dr. Gobin joined the Weill Cornell Medical College as Professor of Radiology and Neurosurgery, and the New York Weill Cornell Hospital as the Director, Division of Interventional Neuroradiology.

I didn’t know this at the time, but there was a third member of the medical team, Dr. Ira Dunkel, a pediatric oncologist who also worked with Dr. Abramson and Dr. Gobin to come up with this treatment option. The procedure would involve injecting a tumor-killing drug through a tiny blood vessel in the eye. The doctors explained that within fifteen seconds, the drug is directly on site in the tumor. It either destroys the tumor entirely and it disappears, or it becomes calcified.

I’ve been anxious before games before, but nothing compared to the jitters I experienced that night. From our hotel room, we could see Central Park spread below us, and I envied the imagined emotional ease with which I saw the runners and cyclists circling that great expanse of green. I’d heard that some people consider Central Park Manhattan’s lungs, a breath of fresh air squeezed from the concrete ribs that surround it. I wished I could exhale, heave a great sigh of relief, but as daylight turned to twilight and then into full on darkness, I found myself drawn to that window and knew that for me there was a very different reason why New York is the city that never sleeps.

In some ways, Tatum’s being an infant was a blessing. We didn’t have to explain to her the risks involved and she didn’t have to deal with the anxiety of knowing that she had cancer or that she faced a surgical procedure the next day. Unfortunately, we had no way to communicate to her that because of the sight-saving procedure she was going to undergo, she couldn’t eat. Normally a very happy and satisfied baby, being forced to go without food had her especially fussy that night and the next morning. For Candace and I, we’d both flipped a switch in our minds the instant we got the diagnosis. We’d been in caregiver and protection mode for weeks, and were in an especially high state of alert that morning. It tore us up to hear Tatum’s wails and to listen to them and to see her in distress was gut wrenching. We made a few calls back to Utah to make sure that Drew and my stepson Marshall were doing okay. A few more phone calls to family members to let them know what was going on gave us something to do once Tatum finally fell asleep. My mother assured me that the prayer circle with the church ladies back home in Little Rock was complete and doing the necessary work. Until that night I’d never really thought of the significance of the name of my hometown. A rock can be a weapon or a refuge, and as Jesus told St. Peter, it was upon that rock He was going to build his church. Home and family have always been my rock, a touchstone, a place on which the foundation of my life was built. I could add that to the list of the many blessings I’d been privileged to receive. Though I didn’t need to hear my mother telling me that those prayers were going out, it was nice to know that we had a whole bunch of folks on the sidelines and in the stands doing their very best to help my family get through this difficult time.

We knew that waiting while Tatum was in surgery was going to be the hardest part, and showing up at 7:00 a.m. for a 10:00 a.m. scheduled start was going to be difficult. When one of the surgical team members was called into a separate emergency and the procedure was delayed, that already protracted period of anxiety went into overtime. Though we weren’t guaranteed results, but had been encouraged by the news of the success rate among the fourteen patients who had previously undergone the treatment, we had a lot of faith in the doctors. Knowing that any kind of invasive procedure was inherently risky, and knowing that with an infant the veins and arteries in such a delicate and fragile part of the anatomy—the eye—required great precision had Candace and I both on edge. We’d read up on the procedure, knew that this was the one best chance we had, but still the thought of having toxins injected into your child’s system to attack a tumor was unsettling at best. I tried to stay focused on the positive, and was grateful that my years in the league had taught me how to fight off distractions. Prayer made that task much easier as well.

By the time we were instructed to put on masks and gowns so that we could escort Tatum into the operating room, a steady diet of adrenaline had begun to take its toll. Tatum too had exhausted herself, and I was grateful that she was asleep when Candace laid her down on the table. We both kissed her and told her that we loved her. I’ve faced some tough assignments in my life, but nothing compared to having to walk out of that room. I trusted the doctors and have faith in God, but leaving your child to face any kind of uncertainty or pain had me feeling like a brick was lodged in my throat. When I turned back to catch one last glimpse of Tatum before the procedure began, I was struck again by how small and vulnerable she looked surrounded by all the adults in the room and the various monitoring devices. Walking out of that operating room was the toughest part of this ordeal yet.

Most days when I have a game, I’m able to take a short nap to rest and restore my energy before heading to the arena. We’d been told that the procedure would take a couple of hours, and I spent nearly every second of that span of time on pins and needles. I was grateful that our friend was there with us; she and I spent most of the time talking about what we imagined the progress was and counting down the minutes until someone came out of the surgical area to give us the promised mid-session report. That report never came, for whatever reason, but when one of the team members came out to report that the procedure had gone well, I was enormously relieved. When we saw Tatum being wheeled past us in a kind of incubator, my heart did skip a beat—seeing her in that device, alone and isolated, had our hearts aching for her as we alongside her to the recovery room.

I was glad in some ways that we had a job to do while Tatum was in recovery. The procedure required that a line be inserted through her femoral artery in her upper thigh. The doctors didn’t want the incision to tear open, so we were given the job of keeping Tatum still. As each minute passed post-surgery and she came out of her anesthesia-induced slumber, she grew more and more active and agitated. The other concern was that she be able to keep down any fluids or food she was fed, so Candace and I worked together to be sure that those two tasks were taken care of. It felt great to have something to do to contribute to Tatum’s well being and comfort. I’m not someone who likes to give up control and the feelings of helplessness that I experienced during the procedure had started to work on me. Just being able to hold Tatum in our arms felt as if we’d been given some powerful medicine to calm us and soothe the aches in our hearts.

With the procedure completed and the early prognosis good, all we really could do was wait—both for Tatum to recover from the anesthesia and for the three weeks to lapse before we would return to see if the chemotherapy had the desired effect. With Tatum’s immediate safety and condition seemingly well in hand, I had a few moments when I could think about all that had happened. Through the weeks we struggled with Tatum’s health concerns, I’d been in close contact with the Utah Jazz organization, and they couldn’t have been more supportive. When Tatum was in recovery and sleeping again, I took the opportunity to call Kevin O’Connor, the team’s general manager to let him know Tatum’s status. I followed up that phone call with one to our coach, Jerry Sloan, simply to let him know how Tatum was doing. No one asked me if I’d be able to make that night’s game, no one pressured me in any way to commit to anything. They both simply were glad to hear that things had gone well for my daughter. That meant a lot to me. Though they were my bosses, work was something fairly far from their minds.

During my phone call with Coach Sloan, I’d let the team know that as much as I wanted to remain on the active roster for that night’s game, I understood that it really wasn’t my decision to make. Basketball, and our series with the Warriors diminished in importance compared to taking care of my family. That said, I still felt a sense of responsibility to my teammates, the organization, and the fans. We were, after all, in the playoffs, and needed to maintain our home court advantage with a win that night in Utah. The Jazz organization and fans had high hopes that we could make a run deep into the playoffs and win an NBA championship that had eluded them.

I had my priorities straight, but knowing that Tatum’s chemo treatment was an outpatient procedure, we had scheduled a return flight for that day regardless of the fact that we had a game back in Salt Lake City that night. The Jazz had helped us out greatly by assisting us in securing a private jet to take us back and forth. The only concern we had about flying so soon after the treatment was Tatum’s leg. We needed to keep her still. The main reasons we wanted to be back in Salt Lake City was to be with our large circle of supporters and to as quickly as possible restore some semblance of normalcy in our lives. Even though Drew was too young to fully understand what was going on, I’m sure he and Tatum both were picking up on the worried vibes that Candace and I were putting out despite our best attempts not to. Marshall, Candace’s son and my step-son, had been affected as well. He was well aware, at age twelve, of everything that was going on, and I knew from conversations that I had with him, he was both worried about his step-sister’s health and his mother’s mental state. He hated seeing her worried and upset, and the sooner we got back home to him and to our life and its routine the better it would be for all of us. I also put a call into the mother of my daughter Chloe. Though she was much younger than Marshall and couldn’t fully comprehend what was going on with her baby sister, I wanted to let her know that things were okay.

Once we got the okay to leave the hospital, we took the opportunity to get back to Salt Lake City as soon as possible. If we had any indication from the doctors that it would have been in our best interest to remain in New York, we would have done it. They assured us there was nothing more to be done except to wait to see if the drugs had the desired effect on Tatum’s tumor. We were also reassured in knowing that our friend was also a former registered nurse, and she could monitor the incision on Tatum’s leg and take all the steps necessary in case something happened. The doctors kept telling us that we were in good hands on the flight and were extraordinarily comfortable in having us leave.

In our minds, the major challenge was over—the procedure was done—the rest was out of our hands. That wasn’t the most comfortable place for either of to be in. We’re both take charge kind of people, but we’d trusted in what our friend had told us and then the doctors. Everything had worked out as well as could be expected to that point. Next, we just had to let go and trust that we’d done the best we could, prepared ourselves and executed the game plan to the best of our abilities. We put our faith in God, comfortable in knowing what a prayer warrior Candace had been throughout this time.

For as many times as I’d played in either New York or New Jersey and having lived in Los Angeles for much of my early adulthood, the drive through the west side of Manhattan to the Lincoln Tunnel didn’t do much to settle our nerves. I couldn’t help but think of Tatum’s delicate physiology and be amazed that these potent drugs had managed to work their way through her veins and arteries. In some ways I wished that when we came out on the New Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel that we’d be on the other side of this crisis. In some ways we were, but just as it felt being in the waiting room prior to the procedure, with little constructive activity we could perform to help Tatum’s cause. More waiting was ahead of us, but something told me that there was more that I could do.

Once we reached our cruising altitude and we made our way west, thoughts of our playoff series crept back in. I’d done the right thing by my family, and I had another job and another group of people I was beholden to. If I could help that second group out, I wanted to. I wasn’t certain if I was capable of shutting out everything that had transpired in the previous few days, but if nothing else, maybe by being there I’d help lend an emotional hand to my teammates. I had placed a second call to the Jazz’s front office personnel to let them know I was heading home. No one asked if I was coming to the arena, and I hadn’t volunteered any information other than that we were on our way back. I appreciated that no one in the Jazz organization put me under any kind of pressure to play that night. I still wasn’t certain as we flew over the darkening fields of the Midwest if I was even on the active roster for that night.

Another “coincidence” played in my favor. Our series was against the Golden State Warriors, a team I had played for from 2004-2006. I’d been traded just that off-season, and while some of the personnel had changed, I was still familiar enough with their tendencies to feel comfortable playing against them. I had missed the first game of the series, a game we pulled out after trailing by three at halftime and by five going into the fourth quarter. The Warriors up-tempo style and the performance of their guards Stephen Jackson and Baron Davis, who combined for 40 points, made me think that I might be needed. Our guards, Dee Brown and Deron Williams, had done a great job in my absence, but playoff pressure was a whole different thing. We needed everyone on the roster to contribute, and I had no idea if I was on the roster or if I could contribute.

The flight home was quiet, each of us lost in private thoughts. Candace and I had made the decision to not reveal any of the details of what was going on in our personal life. While I was upfront with the team, I’d been so busy attending to Tatum’s needs and keeping close family members posted on what was going on that I hadn’t had time to even consider what I might do that night and the furthest thing from my mind was what anyone else outside of that very small circle knew about the situation.

When we saw the great basin and the Great Salt Lake below us as we banked into our final approach, I still had no idea what I would do if the team called on me to perform that night. Everyone wants to feel needed, but that night, I was hoping that the Jazz had the game in hand and my presence wasn’t needed. Once in the terminal, we were all met by my friend and assistant business manager Duran McGregory. He said to me again how he was thrilled to hear that the procedure had gone well. He proceeded to tell me that the Jazz had a message they wanted him to relay. I was on the roster and the team wanted me there if I felt up to it. I discussed things with Candace, and she was all for me heading to the arena. She understood that I had a job to do there as well at home. With my responsibilities taken care of on one front, it was time for me to do my job. Duran would take me to the game, and a car service would take Candace and Tatum home.

I was surprised to learn that an unmarked police car was going to escort Duran and me from the airport, which was about ten minutes from our residence in Salt Lake City, to the arena. I didn’t really sense that there was any kind of urgency, but when we turned on the radio to listen to the game, I got a better sense that the game was going anything like I’d hoped it would. Dee Brown had been hurt and taken to the hospital with a possible neck injury when our own six foot eleven inch Mehmet Okur fell and landed on him. Five minutes into the game and the Jazz was down to only ten players. I said a prayer that Dee was going to be okay. I also learned that Deron Williams had picked up two fouls within a one-minute span in that too eventful first quarter. We were forced to use a forward, Andrei Kirilenko, at the point for a few minutes. When I heard all that, my mind started racing. All of this information was coming at me so fast, and I’m listening to the game instead of being on the court or courtside participating in it, a police car’s mars light is strobing the scene inside and outside the car, and I had that peculiar sensation of both being in the car and outside of it looking in on the situation as it evolved.

To make matters more surreal, when we pulled into the player’s entrance and I got out of the car, teams of cameramen and soundmen and photographers were there. With flashes going off and the guys hustling alongside of me as I strode quickly into the arena and made my way to the locker room, I was doing everything I could to keep my mind focused on what I needed to do. At that point, I wasn’t certain of exactly what that was, but even getting undressed and then dressed in my uniform helped me filter out some of the distractions. I’d put on a game jersey thousands of times in my life, but that night I had to slow myself down and really think about left arm and right arm, right side out and inside out, frontward and backward. I wish that I could say a calm descended on me, but it was more like I was numb, that I relied on muscle memory in order to do even the simplest things like tie my shoes.

I was surprised by the sea of noise that washed over me when I came out of the tunnel and onto the arena’s floor. I knew that there was a timeout and no action going on, so what was all the commotion about? I heard a few people shouting my name, and I looked up and was impressed by the how many fans had worn baby blue to the game.

Anytime you come up out of the tunnel, you see the court fully spot lit and gleaming, but that day I really felt like I was walking toward the light. Making my way toward our bench, I saw a few of our guys on the bench looking at me. On their faces I could see a mixture of concern and a happy-to-see-you look. I glanced up at the clock, three minutes and eighteen seconds remained in the quarter. Carlos Boozer had just been fouled and he was making his way toward the free throw line. I felt as if someone was massaging my tense limbs, easing some of my anxiety. I was much more at home here, stepping out onto the floor of a basketball court than I was sitting in a hospital waiting room or a doctor’s office. New York City literally and figuratively felt a thousand miles away, and yet it felt as if in other ways I was still there.

I said a couple words to Ronnie Brewer, Paul Milsap, and Matt Harping, letting them know that things had gone well. I didn’t have much time to talk, I heard assistant coach TK call my name, letting me know that I was going in for Andrei Kirilenko. Boozer hit both his free throws to extend our lead to 84-80. I walked toward the scorer’s table, and I could hear and feel vibrating in my chest the outpouring of affection that came from the Utah fans. In the days to come, I would learn more about the amazingly supportive fans and how they embraced my family and me with their show of faith and support. Salt Lake City is a place where family and faith come together in a unique way all the time, but this was different and special, and I can never repay the people of that remarkable place for all they did for us. A thank you can never really sufficient, but I want them all to know how deeply grateful I am to them and what a cherished place in my heart they hold.

New York and doctor’s offices and waiting rooms and the fans were out of sight and out of mind as soon as I stepped across the sideline. I immediately went into game mode. On our first possession after the free throw, Carlos Boozer captured an offensive rebound, and the ball was kicked back to me. I fed Carlos for a bucket, and was feeling pretty good even though everything seemed to be happening in a blur of motion and emotion. I tried to focus on just merging with the flow of the game. The Warriors made a basket and then we turned the ball over. They converted to pull within a point at 86-85.

I threw a bad pass a few seconds later; fortunately, my former Golden State teammate Jason Richardson, rimmed out a three pointer at the other end, and we ended up leading at the end of the third quarter 90-89. Jason had gone out of his way to let me know that he was thinking of me and rooting for my family, but like any true competitor, he would have put the proverbial dagger through our collective hearts if he could by hitting those long-range jumpers of his. This was a case of give no quarter and ask for no quarter as it always was, especially in the playoffs. Stephen Jackson and Baron Davis expressed similar sentiments and only later could I fully appreciate how much those words meant to me.

Despite how numbed I was by the events of the day, the extensive air travel and very far out of my routine journey to the arena, I felt the electricity in the air. Not all the buzz in the building was a result of my being there under those circumstances. This was a definite playoff atmosphere, and it was like it soaked in through our pores and fed our adrenal glands. The game was definitely on.

Those three plus minutes went by in a flash, but when I sat on the bench during the quarter break, I once again marveled at Jerry Sloan’s game management skills. Getting me in there immediately wasn’t just an act of desperation. He knew that if I had time to sit on the bench, I had time to think. While it’s important to be aware and alert on the court, it’s often more important to react to what you observe while in the flow of the game than it is to ponder things. If I had sat on the bench, my mind might have wandered a bit—I’m only human. By being forced into the action immediately, it was as if my body was jumpstarted, and my brain instantly switched to basketball mode immediately as a kind of reflex action. No pre-meditation, just action.

I was back on the bench at the start of the fourth quarter, and at that point, I was better able to focus on the ebb and flow of the game instead of wondering about whether or not I could play and actually contribute. With that question answered, my mind focused more on how to slow down Golden State’s offense. With our guards in foul trouble, the Warrior’s Baron Davis and Jason Richardson were taking it to us with a mix of threes and dribble penetration. With just under eight minutes left in the fourth quarter, we were ahead 99-96. Right before the TV time out, Baron Davis had converted a lay up for this thirty third point of the night. When one player has a little more than a third of his team’s total output, you know he’s having a night. We had to figure out a way to put the clamps on the guy.

Following that time out, we went on a bit of a run. At the 4:52 mark, our forward Mehmet Okfur hit a three to put us up 106-100. Things were looking good, but with the way Golden State was hoisting up and hitting three, it was still really just a two-possession game. Just as I suspected, Stephen Jackson hit a trey. Next, Jason Richardson fired up a three, was fouled and hit two of three free throws. He followed that up by hitting a three, to put Golden State up by a point 108-107 with just a little more than two minutes to play.

I went to our assistant coach, Tyrone Corbin, and said, “I can play defense.” He nodded. The competitor in me came to the surface at that moment. I wanted in there, feeling like I could do what we needed to turn the tide. Tatum and my family were in my heart, but the game was on my mind. With 1:13 remaining in the game, Coach Sloan had me re-enter. We were down 110-107. A few moments later, the Warriors scored again, and we trailed by five with less than a minute to go. On our next possession, Deron made a great pass to Carlos Boozer for a jam. We put the Warriors on the line, and we were fortunate they missed a couple of free throws. With two seconds left, Deron made a runner to tie the game at 113. Overtime.

The rest, as they say, is history. We jumped out quickly to a lead, but the Warriors scrambled back into it. In the fourth quarter, I forced Baron Davis into a critical turnover just when we needed a stop. With just over a minute to play, we were up by three when Deron Williams found me open in the corner. I got the ball in rhythm, got in good bent knee position, and rose up with my eyes locked on the rim. The shot felt good leaving my hand, but I’d had that feeling before and been disappointed, but this time my faith in myself proved good—as did the shot. We were up by six, and I followed up that shot with a pair of free throws in the waning seconds, and we pulled out the ‘W.’

I did something a bit uncharacteristic for me following that three pointer. As I headed back up court during a time after that shot, I pointed to the sky. My faith in God is something personal to me, but at that moment I had to acknowledge that I didn’t make that shot on my own. A higher power, God, had helped me make that shot. Jesus Christ was there for me in that moment in ways that allowed me to find within myself the strength to do my job and do it well. I did another atypical thing for me. After the game, TNT’s Pam Oliver wanted me to do the post game interview. Normally, they go to the star of the game, the guy who had the most points or hit the game winner. Instead, they came to me because of the situation with Tatum. Candace and I had agreed to keep things within the family, but when Ms. Oliver asked me about the situation, my gut told me that I needed to open up.

With tears in my eyes and an enormous sense of relief spilling out of my mouth I told her, “It was very, very serious. My daughter’s life was in jeopardy. She has a form of eye cancer called retinoblastoma. And the only reason I’m saying this now is because there are kids out there that are suffering from this disease, and people can’t really identify it. It’s a very rare disease. And I want people out there to take their kids to the ophthalmologist, make sure they get their eyes checked and make sure everything’s okay, because we could have lost my little girl had we waited any longer.”

I knew at that moment that I had a message to deliver. I had to do the right thing, and if feeling a little uncomfortable sharing a personal slice of a sometimes too public life meant having to bare a bit of our collective soul, then I was glad to do it.

This book is in a lot of ways, a product of those experiences. I don’t know that if it wasn’t for what we went through and the enormous level of support locally and nationally my family received if I would have wanted to write a book. I’ve never felt particularly special just because I was a basketball player, am more reserved than most people, and truly felt like what I did in those days dealing with Tatum’s health situation and in the days and weeks following when I asked to be released from my contract so that I could work someplace where Tatum could receive the kind of follow-up care she needed, I was simply doing what any father, any parent, would do for a child or other family member. I was somewhat taken aback by all the attention the things I did or the choices we made as a family received. I was, and continue to be, enormously grateful for the outpouring of affection and am humbled by the media attention and people’s view of me. On many levels then, this book is an act of pay back. Not only do I want people to know about retinoblastoma (Candace and I have started a foundation to promote education about the disease and possible treatments) but I want them to know that what took place in those few weeks was the product of an upbringing, an environment, a long list of influential people, and an agency with capabilities far beyond what we humans can muster.

As I stated before, I realize that everything that came before the moment when Tatum was diagnosed, was preparing me to deal with Tatum’s health crisis. And as uncomfortable as it can sometimes be to have a light shone on me, I feel its my duty and my privilege to share with you more of those moments that lead to our victory on and off the court. I don’t feel that my life has been in any way extraordinary, but I do believe that I have something to contribute, and giving back in this way is one form of giving thanks for the many blessing my family and I have received. In the pages that follow, I’m going to share with you some of the many lessons I’ve learned that have enabled me to succeed and stay sane in this sometimes crazy game of basketball. I didn’t get here alone, and I’ glad to have you along with me on the journey.

I also know that in the most rational sense, my having spent thirteen years in the league is in a very real way less a product of anything that I’ve done than it is a product of some large plan laid out for me. In the chapters that follow, I’m going to share with you some of the fundamental lessons I learned on the court and off the court that have enabled me to succeed beyond what most people who saw me play the game ever could have expected. I’ve always had a quiet confidence in myself and my abilities as a basketball player. I’m also realistic enough, analytical enough to know that confidence alone wasn’t what got me here in the NBA and kept me here. I also know that I’ve been blessed beyond all measure—the success of Tatum’s procedure is just one small example of that. I’ve been provided with opportunities and the ability to recognize them when they present themselves and the skills and faith to seize those opportunities.

I don’t know that I go out of my way to be a nice guy, it’s just a part of who I am because of how I was raised and because of all the reinforcement I’ve gotten for sticking with some of the fundamental truths about how to live my life—whether that’s been the Golden Rule of doing unto others as I would want them to do unto me—or understanding the fundamental truths of how the triangle office should be run. It took me some time, but I’ve come to understand that the two selves, the basketball player and the man, husband, father, friend, brother that I sometimes felt like I had to keep separate actually work together as a team. Any separation between who I am, what I do, and how I conduct myself are all bound together in ways that I’ve only lately begun to understand. Just as there’s no sound reason why a guy who is six feet one and not the fleetest of foot can play in this league and contribute to the degree that I have, there’s no logical reason why, now at the age of thirty-four, I should be enjoying one of my best seasons ever as a professional. I should be on the down side of my career, but as I see it, things have never looked brighter, my future never more certain, my love for my family such a source of contentment and pleasure. In no way am I ready to hang them up, but this seems like a good point at which to stop and take stock of where I’ve been and how I got to this point. I love playing this game, I love my family and the life I’m privileged to lead. In my mind, my NBA career is only going to lead me to half-time in my life. What’s to follow will likely be as fulfilling and rewarding, mainly because of what I’ve learned about myself and the world during this thrilling ride.

Embrace the Struggle Review

November 1st, 2009

Zig Ziglar has always been “the man” when it comes to motivational speaking and writing.  Even more so now with this book.  He has personally come through the fire and is better than ever.  This book is subtitled Living Life on Life’s Terms.  If you’re like me, you’ve spent a lot of time trying to live life on your own terms. 

This book shows us how much better it can be if don’t struggle against life.  I really like a quote in the book which came from Gene Archer.  “When you embrace the struggle, you embrace the Master.”  As you read this book, you will understand the wisdom of embracing the struggle, no matter what the struggle may be.

We all have these struggles.  Mr. Ziglar covers all the arenas of our struggles – physical, financial, addictions, marriage, spiritual, illness and grief.  He tells us about his personal struggle with a head injury, as well as sharing stories of other’s struggles. 

This book will inspire you and encourage you to embrace your own struggles.  By living life on life’s terms we’re accepting life as it is and putting our future in God’s hands where it belongs.

Praise the Lord!

November 1st, 2009

 Praise the Lord, all you nations!  Extol him, all you peoples!

For great is his steadfast love toward us, and the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever.

Praise the Lord!

Psalm 117

Embrace the Struggle

October 31st, 2009

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 authors are:
Zig Ziglar
and
Julie Ziglar Norman

and the book:

Embrace the Struggle

Howard Books (October 27, 2009)

***Special thanks to Jennifer Willingham of HOWARD BOOKS (SIMON & SCHUSTER) for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHORs:

Zig Ziglar is the president of Zig Ziglar Corporation and has motivated the sales forces of multinational corporations and thousands of individuals. One of the leading stars of the “positive thinking” movement, he is the author of bestsellers See You at the Top, Secrets of Closing the Sale, Success and Self-Image, 5 Steps to Successful Selling, How to Be a Winner, and How to Get What You Want.

Visit the author’s website.

Julie Ziglar Norman is the overly proud mother and grandmother of one son, three daughters, and twelve grandchildren. She lives in Alvord, Texas, with her husband of twenty-six years, Jim Norman; three horses, three rescued dogs and three rescued cats, and she is currently writing her first solo book to be published by Brown Books in 2010.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $23.99
Hardcover: 224 pages
Publisher: Howard Books (October 27, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 143914219X
ISBN-13: 978-1439142196

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

FOREWORD

Zig Ziglar, my father, is in a struggle right now. A struggle so profound and so real that by sharing it with you I believe you will be filled with hope and encouragement. The gift that God has given Dad is the gift of encouragement and the ability to transfer hope to others so that they can rise above whatever circumstance they are in. As Dad has always said, “Getting knocked down in life is a given. Getting up, starting from where you are and moving forward, is a choice.”

On March 7, 2007, our family experienced what Dr. James Dobson calls “a suddenly.” I was out of town when I got the call. I went numb as I listened to my sister Cindy’s voice, “Dad fell down the stairs. He has a serious head injury.” Suddenly, our family joined millions of other families facing similar circumstances and life was very different. Dad, at eighty years of age, lost the vitality he was renowned for; he no longer moved with the energy and agility of a sixty-five-year-old man. Almost overnight he aged fifteen plus years, and thus began his struggle to live with and overcome the effects of a brain injury.

The next weeks were very anxious as we figured out the impact of the accident and the possibilities for recovery. The calendar became filled with doctors and more doctors. Life was changing fast. But the amazing thing was that Dad’s attitude never changed. I knew that he hurt all over from falling down a sixteen step staircase onto a marble floor. I could see that his balance was impaired and that his short-term memory was “really short,” as he likes to say, but still he was as optimistic and, if possible, even more loving than before the fall. As usual, he was more concerned for us than he was for himself.

“Focus on what you can do, not what you can’t do.” I have heard Dad say that hundreds of times. “It isn’t what happens to you, but how you respond to what happens to you that makes the difference.” “Go as far as you can see, then you can see farther.” These are words my father has taught and words he lives by daily. And that is why I’m so excited about this book. Once again my father is using his circumstances, as unfortunate as they may be, to encourage others in their own struggles. As my sister Julie says, he is willing to be transparent, and he continues to write and speak because he wants to show his audiences that life on life’s terms is well worth living. Life may never be the same again but that doesn’t mean it can’t be just as wonderful and fulfilling in an entirely new and different way.

My wish for you as you journey through this book is that you will count your blessings until your gratitude bucket is full, and if you or someone you love is in a struggle, take courage and press on, because, as the Ziglar family has learned, it is in the depths of the struggle that God reveals His eternal blessings.

Embrace the Struggle,

Tom Ziglar

Proud Son of Zig Ziglar

INTRODUCTION

I’m convinced that in the last year the overwhelming majority of people have been struggling with some kind of concern—personal, family, business, health, relationships—you name it. I know I certainly have! It seems these are things that just happen over the course of time. The question is how do you handle struggle?

Through the years I’ve spoken about and written often on how to overcome negative situations, but as a motivational/inspirational speaker and author, I have to admit that I personally have spent the majority of my time focused on how to accomplish the next positive achievement. I believe I have given an honest and realistic picture of how to address struggles in the past but as you know, what we know is a result of what we’ve learned. The things we learn firsthand have a much greater impact on us and better position us to help others deal with similar circumstances. In fact, the Bible tells us this is so; “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of our mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God (2 Corinthians 1:3–4 NKJV).

Until now, my greatest life struggle has been dealing with the death of my forty-six-year-old daughter, Suzan. I wrote extensively in Confessions of a Grieving Christian about how I grappled with my grief and how God comforted me. Not surprisingly, that book has been the one of mine that has generated the most letters from readers. Why? Because that topic directly addresses an emotional struggle all of us eventually face in our lives. Generally, you don’t read a book about grief unless you are grieving. And you typically won’t gravitate toward a book on overcoming struggles unless you, or someone you love, are in the midst of a struggle. If you find this to be your case, you my friend, are reading the right book!

I know without a doubt that the personal struggle I’ve been going through since my fall has given me insight that I could not have had otherwise. I’ve been overwhelmed time and time again as I have discovered that the principles I’ve taught through the years apply to my present circumstances more completely than they ever have at any other time in my life. And, amazingly, the simplest concepts of all have proven to be the most applicable life buoys for me.

The pages that follow this introduction are full of inspiring stories of individuals who have faced struggles and not only survived, but live a life far more fulfilling than they ever experienced before their struggle began. Many of the stories come from individuals who, upon hearing about my brain injury, sought to encourage and comfort me with the comfort that God had extended to them during their struggle.

I will share with you the principles and scriptures that have served as lifelines for me and explain how I have applied them to my struggle. You will hear how my struggle has impacted and influenced the lives of my wife, the Redhead (When I’m talking about her, I call her the Redhead. When I’m talking to her, I call her Sugar Baby. Her name is Jean.), my son Tom, my daughters, Cindy and Julie, and my granddaughter Katherine. You’ll also learn how this has impacted my speaking career, my writing and the wonderful staff I’m blessed to have at our company, Ziglar, Inc.

My personal struggle is health related but this book deals with not only the struggle physical limitations create, but also financial, spiritual, family and relationship struggles. This book is about living life on life’s terms. It is about knowing what you can change and what you can’t change and learning how to live your life with an enthusiastic expectation for what is yet to come. Where there is a struggle there is life. For that we can be grateful!

CHAPTER ONE

THE FALL AND THE FUTURE

I get lots of ideas when the lights go out at night and it gets very quiet. Sometimes they come when I first lie down to sleep, other times I wake up with an idea racing through my mind, but regardless of when an idea comes, I have made it a habit to get out of bed and write the idea down before it disappears into my dreams. You should do the same. (This book is not really about me and my accident . . . it’s about you having the benefit of my experience, good or bad!)

I’ve also made it a habit not to disturb the Redhead if I can possibly help it and that night was no exception. I quietly slid out of bed and hurried toward my office which is across the hall and to the right of the head of the staircase. As usual, I did not turn on a light. I had traveled that particular path thousands of times in the twenty-two years we’d lived in our home. However, in all of those years I had never accidentally put my left foot down where the second floor ended and the first step down our staircase began! Let’s just say that misstep more than disturbed the Redhead!

Most of what I am writing at this point is information my family filled me in on after the accident. Since I was unconscious for several minutes I have absolutely no recall of what happened after I fell but from what the Redhead tells me she grabbed the phone and dialed 911 as soon as she realized I was tumbling down the stairs. An ambulance was dispatched and help was at the house within a few minutes of my fall.

“THE CALL”

While the paramedics attended to me the Redhead called our children. By then it was about 10:30 p.m. so seeing our name come up on Caller ID at that hour struck fear into our children’s hearts. And this time, I’m sorry to say, their fear was not unfounded. My son Tom refers to that night as the night he got “the call.” I’m quite sure each of you has had “the call” at one time or another and can relate to what our children were experiencing. I’m grateful that all three of them, including Tom who was out of town, hurried to the hospital to help their “elderly parents”—that is what I call us when I’m about half-teasing and about half-relieved that our kids are hovering around us, willing and eager to help.

Over the next several hours it became apparent that my left side took the brunt of my fall. When I landed at the bottom of the stairs I hit my head on the marble floor and then slammed it against the front door. Please don’t ask for a reenactment—you get the picture! I had to spend a few nights at the hospital so the doctors could monitor the two areas where my brain had a bleed, and I needed some time to get used to the positional vertigo that I began to experience about twelve hours after I fell. Amazingly, I suffered no broken bones, but I can testify that I was one sore and dizzy guy!

What we didn’t know when I finally left the hospital was how seriously my short-term memory had been affected. Sometimes it is nice to be a little clueless. Everyone in the family has had ample time to adjust to the fact that my short-term memory is very, very, short. Now we are all learning how to live with that fact.

Life is change. On March 7, 2007, my life changed completely with one, simple, misplaced step. Some would say it changed for the worse, and by man’s standards they would be entirely right. Fortunately, and I can assure you this is not by chance, the one verse that I’ve written in the majority of books I’ve been asked to autograph, the verse that I believe encourages people most in the midst of their troubles, Romans 8:28, And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose (KJV), is the verse that allows me to know that God will use this season of my life, difficult though it may be, for His glory and my ultimate benefit.

By man’s standards my fall down the stairs and the vertigo and the brain injury that resulted in my short-term memory loss would seem to dictate an end to my long and much loved career, but I’m here to tell you that even with its problems, life is more inspiring, more intriguing, and more fulfilling than ever. For me, when life does take an unexpected turn, it is somewhat like taking a hike on a new trail; I can’t wait to see what is around the next bend. If the going gets really rocky, I might start hoping smoother ground is just ahead, or that I’m close to the end of the trail where I can take a long desired break from the grueling journey. But my enthusiastic expectation for what is yet to come, for what God has planned for me and my life, never wavers. I trust Him.

I also trust my family. Many years ago I told my family that I was concerned that I might not be able to realize it myself if I started to lose my edge and my speeches were no longer as effective as they should be. I did not want to embarrass myself so I asked them to promise that they would tell me if they ever thought it was time for me to step down from the stage. As I got older and started experiencing some of what I’d call the usual memory loss that happens when we pass the ages of fifty, sixty, and then seventy, the children often checked on me to be sure I was still able to deliver. Thankfully, they were discreet and until after the accident I didn’t even know they had already begun checking me out periodically. They took their assignment seriously and I’m glad they did.

It is true that as I neared the age of eighty, I began to rely on notes to help me keep my place as I was speaking. But I figured that most folks rely on notes by the time they are eighty so I wasn’t at all concerned about how my audience would perceive my occasional pass by the podium to reference my outline. My daughter Julie reviewed the DVD of the Get Motivated Seminar engagement I did in San Bernardino, California on March 6, 2007, the day before my accident and she assures me that I was still completely stage worthy at that point. Unfortunately, my brain injury had such a profound effect on my short-term memory that the ability to reference an outline was beyond me. I could look at the outline but I couldn’t remember the last point that I had made. To add insult to injury, the vertigo I was experiencing made it virtually impossible for me to even walk around the stage safely.

THE DILEMMA

Obviously, I had a real dilemma. I book engagements months and years in advance and there were several engagements pending when I fell. I know companies and individuals alike are negatively impacted if I can’t keep an engagement, so I have always done everything in my power to be where I’m expected. I’ve missed the funerals of my siblings and friends and I’ve spoken when I probably should not have due to illness, but I always felt like my responsibility to show up according to plan was paramount. I can still hear my mother saying, “If a man’s word is no good—he is no good.” I had given my word.

Situations like the one I’m in create circumstances that make a fellow really grateful to have good family relationships. I knew I could count on the help of my family and I got it in spades! The Redhead, Tom, Cindy and Julie enlisted the help of my doctors who were working with me after my accident, as well as the help of my friends and associates, to determine if I should find a way to continue speaking or stay home and concentrate on my writing.

My family was open to seeing how I would progress, but they were concerned about the very real possibility that my vertigo might cause another fall and that traveling would put me in more vulnerable positions than staying close to home would. When they discussed the idea that it might be time for me to retire from public speaking, it was quickly followed by a concern that God might not be done with using me on the stage and none of them wanted to be responsible for suggesting I stop if that was, in fact, the case. However, it was crystal clear that short of an outright miracle I would not be giving the kind of speeches my audiences had come to expect.

The doctors had said that I might recover more of my short-term memory with time as my brain healed but they couldn’t be sure of what the ultimate outcome was going to be. More than a year has passed since my fall and it seems that I have good days and other days. (You know there are no bad days. After all, some people didn’t wake up today and compared to them I’m having a better than good day!) Since I am over eighty years of age we are taking the conservative approach to my medical options. We’re taking our time and applying the good old Ben Franklin approach I’ve taught all these years; divide a page from top to bottom, put positive benefits of procedures/therapies in one column and possible negative outcomes in the other, and we’ll let the obvious, as well as prayer, determine our decisions.

I’ll go into more detail later about some of the therapies, supplements, exercises and medical treatments friends and even clients have suggested and that we’ve tried, but for now I want you to know that we’ve never stopped looking at possible treatments for what ails me. We pray about the treatments and supplements we are told about and if we feel God is leading me to try them, I try them. My doctors remain supportive and encouraging about the possibilities the future holds.

My associates, particularly those who also speak on public platforms, were and still are concerned about me retaining my dignity and going out on top. The thought of me, in many cases, their mentor, performing differently and faltering here and there before an audience is almost unthinkable. I love them for wanting to help me be remembered as I was before the accident. And I love them for personally helping me move ahead, to do what God puts in front of me to the best of my ability.

THE IMMEDIATE SOLUTION

Thankfully, the only speaking engagement that I had to miss immediately after my fall was for my friends and business associates Peter and Tamara Lowe at one of their big Get Motivated Seminars in Houston, Texas on March 13, 2007. After a lot of in-depth examination by no less than five doctors, it was determined that I had retained almost all of the information I have taught over my many years as a speaker and author, and that I was totally “present” when being spoken to. The only new memory problem I had was with the most immediate short-term. When questioned I could answer without any hesitation, but if you asked me what you had asked me when I finished answering the question I could not tell you. Yes, my memory about current events is that short! (You’re probably wondering how this book got written and I’ll tell you—we are both the beneficiaries of the good help I have. Between my executive assistant, Laurie Magers, my editor/daughter Julie Norman and others on my staff, we got it done!)

Since I could recall information when asked, Peter Lowe came up with the idea of changing my speaking format. For years I have been known for my energetic, highly physical speaking style. Some people have even accused me of being more than enthusiastic during presentations. I liked to somewhat live out the stories while I was telling them, and I thought standing stock still behind a podium might block or slow down the words that came flying out of my mouth at the rate of 250 per minute with gusts up to 450. You would naturally assume that it was my vertigo that put an end to all my physical onstage activity, but it really had more to do with the fact that we couldn’t find anyone who felt comfortable chasing me around the stage to ask the next question in our new interview format! Sorry, I couldn’t contain myself.

Sitting down for one-on-one interviews on stage came about through a combination of me being unsteady on my feet and my mind not keeping track of what I’d already said. Peter Lowe interviewed me for the first time in Boise, Idaho on March 27, 2007, just twenty days after my fall but after a few engagements it occurred to him that my associates, Bryan Flanagan and Krish Dhanam, both of whom have shared the Get Motivated Seminar platforms with me on many occasions, might be a better fit for the job. They have both taught my material and they’ve studied it in order to apply it to their lives. They can tell most of my stories almost word for word, and in the event I had trouble recalling any answer to their questions they could help out by prompting me toward the answer or outright supplying the answer if it still eluded me. It made perfect sense to ask them to interview me at the Get Motivated Seminars. Fortunately, they both agreed and with great faith we pressed forward to keep my commitments.

LOVE AND HONOR

Both Krish and Bryan did an excellent job of interviewing me on stage. They carefully laid out their questions so that we could cover several different areas of interest such as the mental, physical, spiritual, financial and relational sides of life. Their goal and mine was to continue to give the audience valuable, applicable, life improving information in an entertaining way.

I cannot express fully the gratitude I have for these two men. Engagement after engagement, they tweaked their questions as they learned better how to deal with my short-term memory. They spent hours and hours working on how to make me look my very best. They learned how to highlight the good and minimize the imperfections that were bound to happen with the kind of brain injury I suffered.

We continued on this course with the public seminars but we had to address what we, as a company, would do about my corporate engagements and about my two day Born to Win seminar that I had hosted since the 1970s. My son Tom was the president of our company at that time (now he is the CEO) and I sorely wish that all the weight of this problem hadn’t fallen squarely on his shoulders, but he handled and continues to handle the business beautifully.

Tom decided that we’d notify the corporations I was scheduled to speak for about my accident and the change to an interview format and let them decide if they wanted to keep their engagement or cancel, and that we would not book anymore corporate events for the foreseeable future. He also decided we would promote the upcoming Born to Win seminar as the final one.

THE LAST BORN-TO-WIN SEMINAR

I know rock stars have farewell tours, sometimes they have one every four or five years, but I had never considered that I might actually “plan” to do any of the things I do for the last time. I’ve always planned to die while I’m still doing what I love doing. When folks say they’ve heard I’m retired, I say with mock surprise, “Retired! Friend, you weren’t listening! I said I was reFIRED! I’m not gonna ease up, shut up, let up or give up, until I’m taken up! Matter of fact, I’m just getting’ warmed up!”

Some people might think that’s reaching a little far for a man who has celebrated the sixtieth anniversary of his twenty-first birthday. (For those of you who are mathematically challenged that means I’m eighty-one years old.) But I am truly the kind of guy who goes after Moby Dick in a rowboat and takes the tartar sauce with him! Which will help you understand that it was with a bit of trepidation that I agreed to the “last” Born to Win seminar.

It wasn’t long before I understood why rock stars have so many farewell tours. They sell out—fast! I was overwhelmed at the immediate response to the announcement. Many who attended Born to Win did so several times through the years. Some brought their employees; others came with their whole family in tow. Larry Carpenter particularly stands out in my mind. He attended forty-five times over twenty-seven consecutive years. His beautiful wife Lisa and their three sons participated more times than I can remember. Larry also financially sponsored nearly 200 people down through the years because he wanted the people he cares about to experience what he experienced there. The last Born to Win was no exception. He brought his whole family and as we’d say down home, a passel of friends to boot! That event was like old home week for the Redhead and me. We got to see so many people whom we’d come to know and love. We were in “tall cotton” the whole time.

Because of my accident, my involvement had been scaled down a great deal but I was scheduled to have three different interview sessions with Krish Dhanam and a great deal of time mixing and mingling with the participants. Krish did the interview the first evening and later fell ill so another long time associate and friend Jill Tibbels agreed to do the Saturday morning interview, which went off exceptionally well. Jill always does an incredible job of anything we ask her to do. That’s just one of the reasons we’re so grateful her association with us spans more than twenty-five years.

Tom came up with the idea of making this final BTW more intimate and special by having a “family” session where the Redhead, Tom, Cindy and Julie joined me on the stage in a living room setting to tell stories about what it was like having me for a husband and father. I often tell people that if I’d known how much fun grandkids were going to be I would have been a whole lot nicer to their parents! I’d like to add that had I known my wife and children would be taking the stage to talk about me . . .

We all had a marvelous time but I suspect my jaw was dropped open most of the time. I had no idea that I had raised so many hams! All three of my children had the audience holding on to their sides. Honestly, I didn’t know that growing up and working with me had provided them with so much funny material! And then the Redhead chimed in and people were almost rolling on the floor. It was as if my family had been saving up for this one occasion. It was all in good, loving fun and the ones I love most in this world did get around to saying that they loved AND respected me, so all’s well that ends well.

ANOTHER UNEXPECTED TWIST

Except, as is often the case, what appears to be an ending is anything but. That afternoon of August 25, 2007, was another beginning for me with my daughter and long-time editor, Julie Norman. I love seeing the hand of Providence in my life. Julie became my editor as a result of having won a place at the bi-annual Writer’s Workshop that Guideposts hosts to develop new talent for their magazine. John and Elizabeth Sherrill, long-time roving editors for Guideposts and well-known co-authors of Corrie Ten Boom’s, The Hiding Place, as well as Brother Andrew’s, The Cross and the Switchblade, noted that Julie was a natural at editing. When Julie told me they, and a few others who were leading the workshop, had commented on her editing ability, I immediately knew I needed her to help me with my books. Fifteen years and twenty-one books later we’re still writing away. This book is our first effort as co-authors. With my short term memory loss, the kind of help I needed was more in-depth than the usual editing Julie has done in the past.

And now we’re speaking together as well! Jay Hellwig, my driver and personal assistant and the husband of Jill Hellwig, our number one salesperson for more than thirteen years, noticed that the Born to Win attendees responded enthusiastically to what Julie had to say from the stage. He told Tom that he thought it would be a more natural fit to have Julie interview me at the Peter Lowe Get Motivated Seminars. He pointed out that because of our father/daughter relationship she could more comfortably interrupt me if I started to repeat myself and, after all, she had been editing everything I’d said in print for years, she knew all of my material. It was such an obvious fit I wondered why I hadn’t thought of it myself! Julie, it seems, had been being prepared all along to help me at this time in my life.

It made sense to Tom, too, and when he asked Julie if she would travel with me and her mother and interview me on stage, she agreed without hesitation.

EMBRACE

THE

STRUGGLE

ZIG ZIGLAR

JULIE ZIGLAR NORMAN

Howard Books

West Monroe, Louisiana

DEDICATION PAGE

To the Redhead,

My bride of sixty-one years, the only woman I’ve ever loved

and the most important person in my life.

Sure do love you, Sweetheart!

Our purpose at Howard Books is to:

Increase faith in the hearts of growing Christians
Inspire holiness in the lives of believers
Instill hope in the hearts of struggling people everywhere
Because He’s coming again!

[Howard Logo]Published by Howard Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020 www.howardpublishing.com

Embrace the Struggle © 2009 Zig Ziglar

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Last Breath

October 31st, 2009

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:
Brandilyn & Amberly Collins

and the book:

Last Breath (Rayne Series #2)

Zondervan; 1 edition (October 1, 2009)

***Special thanks to Lindsey Rodarmer of ZONDERKIDZ for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Brandilyn and Amberly Collins are a mother/daughter team from northern California. Brandilyn is a bestselling novelist, known for her trademarked “Seatbelt Suspense”. Amberly is a college student in southern California. She and her mom love attending concerts together.

Visit the author’s website.

Here’s a video about the first book in the Rayne Series:

Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Reading level: Young Adult
Paperback: 240 pages
Publisher: Zondervan; 1 edition (October 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0310715407
ISBN-13: 978-0310715405

ISLAND BREEZES

Please don’t ever stop writing these books.  I love the Rayne Tour Series!  For once I got in on the first book, Always Watching.  Last Breath is a stand alone read, but it’s so much better to have the first book under your belt before reading it.  This is categorized as teen fiction, but this adult loves it.  It might even get read again before I pass it on to my granddaughter.

Last Breath has mystery, romance and a thoroughly unexpected ending.  I often figure out the mystery before the end, but not this time.  Okay, ladies.  I’m waiting.  Do it again.  Keep the series going.

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

Your father sent me.

The last words of a dying man, whispered in my ear.

Were they true? What did they mean?

Your father sent me. The stunning claim drilled through my head, louder than the crowd’s screams.

Guitars blasted the last chord of Rayne’s hit song, Ever Alone, as Mom’s voice echoed through the Pepsi Center in Denver. The heavy drum beat thumped in my chest. With a final smash of cymbals the rock song ended. Multicolored laser lights swept the stadium, signaling the thirty-minute intermission.

Wild shrieks from thousands of fans rang in my ears.

I rose from my chair backstage. Tiredly, I smiled at the famous Rayne O’Connor as she strode toward me on high red heels. In the lights her sequined top shimmered and her blonde hair shone. She walked with confidence and grace, the picture of a rock star—until she stepped from her fans’ sight. Then her posture slumped, weariness creasing her beautiful face. Mom’s intense blue eyes usually glimmered with the excitement of performing, but now I saw only the wash of grief and exhaustion. How she’d managed to perform tonight, I’d never know. Except that she’s strong. A real fighter.

Me? I had to keep fighting too, even if my legs still trembled and I’d probably have nightmares for weeks.

Your father sent me.

I had to find out what those words meant.

“You’re a very brave young lady,” a Denver detective had told me just a few hours ago. I didn’t feel brave then or now.

“You okay, Shaley?” Mom had to shout over the screams as she hugged me.

I nodded against her shoulder, hanging on tightly until she pulled back.

The crowd’s applause died down. A heavy hum of voices and footsteps filtered from the stadium as thousands of people headed for concessions and bathrooms during the break.

Kim, the band’s keyboard player and alto to my mom’s lead vocals, stopped to lay a darkly tanned hand on my head. A strand of her bleached white-blonde hair was stuck to the gloss on her pink lips. She brushed it away. “You’re an amazing sixteen-year-old.”

I shrugged, embarrassed. “Thanks.”

Mick and Wendell, Mom’s two remaining bodyguards, approached without a word. I gave a self-conscious smile to Wendell, and he nodded back, sadness flicking across his face. His deep-set eyes were clouded, and the long scar across his chin seemed harder, more shiny. At five-eleven, Wendell is short for a bodyguard but every bit as muscled. Tonight his two-inch black hair, usually gelled straight up, stuck out in various directions. He hadn’t bothered to fix it since the life and death chase he was involved in just a few hours ago. Seeing that messed-up hair sent a stab through me. Wendell was usually so finicky about it.

Mick, Mom’s main personal bodyguard, folded his huge arms and stood back, waiting. Mick is in his forties, ex-military and tall, with a thick neck and block-shaped head. I’ve rarely seen emotion on his face, but I saw glimpses of it now. He and Wendell had been good friends with Bruce, Mom’s third bodyguard.

Bruce had been killed hours ago. Shot.

And he’d been trying to guard me.

My vision blurred. I blinked hard and looked at the floor.

“Come on.” Mom nudged my arm. “We’re all meeting in my dressing room.”

Mick and Bruce flanked her as she walked away.

Usually we don’t have to be so careful backstage. It’s a heavily guarded area anyway. But tonight nothing was the same.

Kim and I followed Mom down a long hall to her dressing room. Morrey, Kim’s boyfriend and Rayne’s drummer, caught up with us. He put a tattoo-covered arm around Kim, her head only reaching his shoulders. Morrey looked at me and winked, but I saw no happiness in it.

Ross Blanke, the band’s tour production manager, hustled up alongside us, trailed by Stan, lead guitarist, and Rich, Rayne’s bass player. “Hey.” Ross put a pudgy hand on Mom’s shoulder. “You’re doing great.” He waved an arm, indicating everyone. “All of you, you’re just doing great.”

“You do what you have to,” Stan said grimly. His black face shone with sweat.

Narrowing single file, we trudged into the dressing room. Mick and Wendell took up places on each side of the door.

Marshall, the makeup and hair stylist, started handing out water bottles. In his thirties, Marshall has buggy eyes and curly dark hair. His fingers are long and narrow, deft with his makeup tools. But until two days ago, he’d been second to Mom’s main stylist, Tom.

“Thanks.” I took a bottle from Marshall and tried to smile. Didn’t work. Just looking at him sent pangs of grief through me, because his presence reminded me of Tom’s absence.

Tom, my closest friend on tour, had been murdered two days ago.

Mom, Ross, Rich and I sank down on the blue couch—one of the furniture pieces Mom requested in every dressing room. Denver’s version was extra large, with a high back and overstuffed arms. To our left stood a table with plenty of catered food, but no one was hungry. I’d hardly eaten in the last day and a half and knew I should have something. But no way, not now.

Maybe after the concert.

Stan, Morrey and Kim drew up chairs to form a haphazard circle.

“All right.” Ross sat with his short, fat legs apart, hands on his jeaned thighs. The huge diamond ring on his right hand was skewed to one side. He straightened it with his pinky finger. “I’ve checked outside past the guarded area. The zoo’s double what it usually is. The news has already hit and every reporter and his brother are waiting for us. Some paparazzi are already there, and others have probably hopped planes and will show up by the time we leave.”

Is Cat here? I shuddered at the thought of the slinky, effeminate photographer who’d bothered us so much in the last two days. He’d even pulled a fire alarm in our San Jose hotel the night before just to force us out of our rooms. Now by police order he wasn’t supposed to get within five hundred feet of us. I doubted he’d care.

My eyes burned, and my muscles felt like water. Little food, no sleep, and plenty of shock. Bad combination. I slumped down in the couch and laid my head back.

Ross ran a hand through his scraggly brown hair. “Now at intermission folks out there”—he jabbed a thumb toward the arena—“are gonna start hearing things. Rayne, you might want to say a little something when you get back on stage.”

Mom sighed, as if wondering where she’d find the energy to do the second half of the concert. “Yeah.”

I squeezed her knee. If only the two of us could hide from the world for a week or two.

Make that a whole year.

Rich frowned as he moved his shaved head from one side to the other, stretching his neck muscles. His piercing gray eyes landed on me, and his face softened. I looked away.

Everyone was so caring and concerned about me. I was grateful for that. Really, I was. But it’s a little hard to know you’ve been the cause of three deaths. Under all their smiles, did the band members blame me?

Ross scratched his hanging jowl. “We got extra coverage from Denver police at the hotel tonight. Tomorrow we’re supposed to head out for Albuquerque. It’s close enough for Vance to drive the main bus without a switch-off driver, and the next two venues are close enough as well. But that’s just logistics. We’ve all been through a lot. Question is—can you all keep performing?” He looked around, eyebrows raised.

“Man.” Morrey shook back his shoulder-length black hair. “If three deaths in two days isn’t enough to make us quit …” His full lips pressed.

I glanced hopefully at Mom. Yeah, let’s go home! I could sleep in my own bed, hide from the paparazzi and reporters, hang out with Brittany, my best friend—who was supposed to be here with me right now.

But canceling concerts would mean losing a lot of money. The Rayne tour was supposed to continue another four weeks.

Mom hunched forward, elbows on her knees and one hand to her cheek. Her long red fingernails matched the color of her lips. “I almost lost my daughter tonight.” Her voice was tight. “I don’t care if I never tour again—Shaley’s got to be protected, that’s the number one thing.”

I want you protected too, Mom.

“I agree with that a hundred percent,” Morrey said, “but at least the threat to Shaley is gone now that Jerry’s dead.

Jerry, one of our bus drivers—and a man I’d thought was my friend—killed Tom and Bruce, and then came after me earlier that night. A cop ended up shooting him.

Kim spread her hands. “I don’t know what to say. I’m still reeling. We’ve barely had time to talk about any of this tonight before getting on stage. I feel like my mind’s gonna explode. And Tom …”

She teared up, and that made me cry. Kim had been like a mother to Tom. Crazy, funny Tom. It was just so hard to believe he was gone.

I wiped my eyes and looked at my lap.

“Anyway.” Kim steadied her voice. “It’s so much to deal with. I don’t know how we’re going to keep up this pace for another month.”

Mom looked at Ross. “We can’t keep going very long with only Vance to drive the main bus.”

Ross nodded. “Until Thursday. I’d have to replace him by then.”

“With who?” Mom’s voice edged.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to jump on it.”

“You can’t just ‘jump on it.’ We need time to thoroughly check the new driver out.”

“Rayne.” Ross threw her a look. “I did check Jerry out. Completely. He had a false ID, remember? That’s what the police said. I couldn’t have known that.”

“You might have known if you’d checked harder.”

Ross’s face flushed. “I did—”

“No you didn’t! Or if you did it wasn’t good enough!” Mom pushed to her feet and paced a few steps. “Something’s mighty wrong if we can’t even find out a guy’s a convicted felon!”

What? I stiffened. “How do you know that?”

Mom waved a hand in the air. “The police told me just before we left the hotel.”

We’d huddled in the manager’s office after the policeman killed Jerry.

I stared at Mom. “When was he in jail?”

Mom threw a hard look at Ross. “He’d barely gotten out when we hired him.”

Heat flushed through my veins. I snapped my gaze toward the floor, Jerry’s last words ringing in my head.

Your father sent me.

How could my father have sent Jerry if he was in jail?

“Rayne,” Ross snapped, “I’ve told you I’m sorry a dozen times—”

“Sorry isn’t enough!” Mom whirled on him. “My daughter was taken hostage. She could have been killed!”

Rich jumped up and put his arms around her. “Come on, Rayne, it’s okay now.”

She leaned against him, eyes closed. The anger on her face melted into exhaustion. “It’s not okay.” Mom shook her head. “Tom’s dead, Bruce is dead. And Shaley—”

Her words broke off. Mom pulled away from Rich and hurried back to the couch. She sank down next to me, a hand on my knee. “Shaley, you’re the one who’s been through the most. What do you want to do?”

My throat nearly swelled shut. Go home! I wanted to yell. But I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair. This wasn’t my tour. I didn’t have to pay the bills.

I glanced around at all the band members. Morrey was holding Kim’s hand. Stan and Rich watched me, waiting. A canceled tour wouldn’t just affect them. Rayne had three back-up singers, one of them Carly, who’d been such a help to me. Plus all the techs and roadies. They’d all lose money.

Wait—maybe Mom would let me go home and stay with Brittany. Now that Tom’s and Bruce’s killer was dead …

“Shaley?” Mom tapped my leg.

“I don’t … I can’t stop the tour.”

Ross exhaled. “Rayne?”

Mom looked at the wall clock and pushed to her feet. “We can’t decide this now. It’s only fifteen minutes before we have to be back on stage. I still need to change.”

Stan stood. “I say we figure on doing Albuquerque, and then we can decide about the rest.”

“Yeah, me too.” Rich got up, along with everyone else. I could see the business-like attitude settle on all their faces, including Mom’s. Soon they had to perform again. Every other concern must be pushed aside. In the entertainment world the saying was true: the show must go on.

Within a minute everyone had left except Mom, Marshall and me. Mom threw herself into a chair by the bright mirrors so Marshall could adjust her makeup. When he left she changed into a steel blue top and skinny-legged black pants.

I sat numbly on the couch, four words running through my mind. Words, I sensed, that would change my life.

Your father sent me.

Mom didn’t know what Jerry had whispered to me as he died. I needed to tell her.

But how? Like me, she was running on empty. It would be one more shock, another scare. I wasn’t sure she could take anymore and still perform.

Had Jerry told me the truth? Had the father I’d never known—the man my mother refused to talk about—purposely sent a killer to join our tour?

I needed to know. I needed to find out. Because if it was true—the danger was far from over.

So Much More Than Sexy

October 28th, 2009

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:
Mark Atteberry

and the book:

So Much More Than Sexy

Standard Publishing (July 1, 2009)

***Special thanks to Blythe Daniel of The Blythe Daniel Agency, Inc.for sending me a review copy.***

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Mark Atteberry has been a minister since 1975, serving at Poinciana Christian Church in Kissimmee, Florida, since 1989. He’s been married to his high school sweetheart, Marilyn, for 32 years. Mark is the author of six books including Free Refill, The 10 Dumbest Things Christians Do, Walking with God on the Road You Never Wanted to Travel (a Retailers’ Choice Award finalist), The Caleb Quest, and The Samson Syndrome(chosen as a Bible study tool by many NFL teams, including the New England Patriots, Philadelphia Eagles, Pittsburgh Steelers, Dallas Cowboys, and Miami Dolphins and used as team Bible study by both 2007 Super Bowl participants, the Indianapolis Colts and the Chicago Bears, during their championship seasons). His books have been endorsed by Karen Kingsbury, Donald Miller, Randy Alcorn, John Maxwell, Barbara Johnson, Angela Thomas, Pat Williams, Steve Green, and others.

Visit the author’s website.

Product Details:

List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 208 pages
Publisher: Standard Publishing (July 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 078472119X
ISBN-13: 978-0784721193

ISLAND BREEZES

This book is small, but mighty.  It was easy to read and understand.  More than that, it was inspiring.  I kept thinking about who I might want to pass this book on to after I finished it.  My conclusion?  All females.  Mark’s insight and advice span the ages.  It’s as helpful to my granddaughter who is just blossoming into a teen as it is for her grandmother. 

This book touches on some topics that have made me wonder over the years, “What on earth is she thinking?”  Mark told me and clarified the misconceptions behind some of this toxic thinking.  Women of all ages, marital status and income levels need to grab a copy of this book.  Let’s spend our lives being so much more than sexy!

AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:

<

For Marilyn, Michelle, and Alyssa,

who make me so much more than happy.

Gene Fowler said, “Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.”1 A little melodramatic perhaps. On the other hand, there are days when he doesn’t seem that far off base. Because writing is so hard, you need people in your life who make it easier. I am blessed to have a lot of them. Here are a few I would be ashamed not to mention.

Marilyn, my wife, who helps me in so many ways, I couldn’t begin to enumerate them. As the business aspect of my life accelerates, she keeps me organized and pointed in the right direction without ever letting any of it get in the way of our romance.

Lee Hough, my agent, who represents me with integrity and class. Long ago we moved beyond being author and agent and just became friends. We spend as much time laughing, telling stories, and sharing prayer requests as we do talking about my book projects.

Dr. Les Hardin, my friend and “Bible scholar of choice” when I need some deeper insights into a difficult passage of Scripture. He’s forgotten more about the Bible than I will ever know.

Dale Reeves, Lindsay Black, Sarah Felkey, and Lynn Pratt, my friends at Standard Publishing, who are true professionals in every sense of the word . . . and fun too. They somehow plucked a concept out of my head and turned it into something you can hold in your hands.

Diane Stortz, my editor, who blew me away with her keen insights. She understood what I was aiming at in this book and helped me zero in on the target.

Kelsey Kingsbury (yes, that Kingsbury), who wrote the foreword. Kelsey is a beautiful young woman who epitomizes the message of this book. I am so honored that her first published words are in my book. I doubt they’ll be her last.

Karen Kingsbury, a dear friend who gets the credit (or the blame) for my being a published author.

And you, my readers, who always inspire me with your kind e-mails.

Foreword

I grew up always performing. As a little girl I would gracefully dance across our living room floor while loudly singing a beautiful song to Jesus. I really believed that I would grow up to become a beautiful princess, meet my perfect and handsome prince, and we would live happily ever after. And I still do. The Bible says, “‘I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’” (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV). My parents gave this verse to me when I was a little girl, and I still cling to the powerful message it holds. God truly has an amazing plan for my future handsome prince and me as long as I keep my eyes toward him.

When I was a freshman in high school, I made the cheerleading team, along with all of my very best friends. I soon realized that others around me considered cheerleaders as uneducated and simply sexy. But I desired to be an example of how a cheerleader—or any woman—really can be so much more than sexy.

Being female isn’t easy. Getting ready in the morning can be a huge battle, and ladies, you know exactly what I am talking about! First we take a shower, then we attempt to blow-dry and style our hair, and last but not least is putting on makeup and choosing an outfit—and don’t forget, we need to complete this mission in warp time. The time it takes a guy to get ready is no time at all (and trust me, I have five brothers!).

Women face a lot of pressure to look a certain way. We live in a celebrity-obsessed world, and we tend to look up to the stick-thin models we read about in gossip magazines. This unhealthy way of thinking is completely damaging to us personally and, in the end, to our society. I have gone through the many ups and downs of being a young woman. I’ve had guy problems, makeup problems, days when I felt fat, clothes problems, cravings for material things, and all of these incidents have left me feeling empty and never good enough.

Mark Atteberry’s book explains the importance of beauty coming not only from the outside but most significantly from inside, from our hearts. (My dad has always called me his precious princess, and I think all Christian women should look at themselves as God’s princesses.) While reading this book, I found that every chapter delivers an amazing truth I needed to hear. The way Mark breaks down these everyday issues of always trying to be sexy is brilliant. He gives us an inside look at a guy’s brain and promises us that there are real godly guys holding out for you and me. This book is a great reminder for all women to always hold a high standard for ourselves when dealing with men, dating, marriage, and especially our self-image. God made us in his perfect image; let’s cling to that truth. Whatever our age, we are so much more than sexy!

In God’s love,

Kelsey Kingsbury

daughter of #1 inspirational fiction author Karen Kingsbury

Introduction

“All men think about is sex!”

You’ve heard it a thousand times.

If you’re a woman, you’ve probably said it a thousand times.

But I’m here to tell you it isn’t true. My purpose in this book is to slide a stick of dynamite under this long-held misconception and light the fuse. I think it’s high time to explode this lie and let you in on a dynamic, life-changing secret: millions of men in this world are looking for so much more than sex.

Oh, I can understand why you wouldn’t think so. Sadly, there are just enough classless, immature men out there to make it seem true, and pop culture constantly portrays men in the tawdriest terms possible. In the movie Bruce Almighty, for example, Jim Carrey plays an ordinary guy who gets to possess all the powers of God. And what does he do? Wipe out poverty? Put an end to oppression? Bring peace to the Middle East? Of course not! Instead, he sends a perfectly timed gust of wind so he can get a peek under a pretty girl’s skirt. Then with the snickering glee of a hormone-crazed teenager, he has the brilliant idea of making his wife’s breasts larger.

Tacky, you say?

Of course, but what do you expect? He’s a guy!

Or maybe you remember the beer ad that shows two guys sitting in a crowded bar, dreaming up the perfect Miller Lite commercial. Their naughty little minds conjure up a couple of gorgeous women who start arguing about whether the beer is better tasting or less filling. Before you can say bimbo, the two women are pulling hair, ripping clothes, and tumbling nearly naked into a public fountain. As the scene fades, our typical males are shown back in the bar, nodding in hearty approval, hefting their brewskies, and pronouncing their fantasy a true work of art.

Oh yes, I can understand why you would think that sex is all men care about. But speaking as a man—and one who’s met and talked to thousands of other men across the country—I’m convinced there’s a lie being perpetrated here. I believe that Satan, the father of lies (John 8:44), has three reasons for working overtime to hoodwink you.

First, he wants to sow seeds of disrespect toward men in the hearts of women of all ages. God has given men great leadership responsibilities in the home, the church, and the world. Therefore, anything Satan can do to make it harder for women and girls to respect men strikes a mighty blow against God’s plan.

Satan also wants to sow seeds of sensuality in our culture. If he can convince you—especially when you’re young—that sex is all men care about, it’s inevitable that talking, acting, and dressing provocatively will seem the thing to do. And I can’t think of a word that better describes our culture than provocative. Bare midriffs, plunging necklines, and low-riding, skin-tight jeans are the order of the day. Even preteen girls dress (and sometimes act) like the pop culture divas they idolize.

Third, Satan wants to sow seeds of hopelessness in marriages. Every time a clueless husband is preoccupied, inattentive, or rude all day long and then suddenly morphs into Prince Charming when he crawls under the covers, he unwittingly reinforces the man-as-insensitive-sex-maniac stereotype that culture has already planted in his wife’s mind. She may give in to his advances, but it will likely be with a halfhearted, let’s-just-hurry-up-and-get-it-over-with attitude. Pile enough of those heartless, robotic exercises on top of each other, and any woman would feel empty and hopeless.

When I started writing books several years ago, I never dreamed I’d write one for women. I’m not into Bath & Body Works, HGTV, or any of the other girlie things I see my wife and daughter enjoying. To be honest, I don’t even pretend to understand women. After being married for more than thirty years, raising a daughter, and being a pastor to thousands of women, I still find them infinitely and wonderfully mysterious. I wholeheartedly agree with author Angela Thomas, who writes, “The woman is a mystery that the man can’t unlock. Her desires seem to him like a moving target.”2

But that doesn’t mean I’m blind.

As a pastor I’ve been observing this devilish lie about men and watching it undermine God’s plan for male-female relationships for a long, long time. I’ve finally come to the place where I have to speak up.

In this book I’m going to challenge you to reconsider some things you may have always believed about men and the best way to interact with them. No, I’m not going to try to sell you on the notion that all men are gentlemen. Clearly, many are not. But I do know without a doubt that there are still a lot of us left who can see beyond the swell of a woman’s breast.

Imagine how this new understanding could profoundly change your life.

For one thing, it would take some pressure off. It would allow you to be more real, to concentrate more on the development of your inner qualities rather than always thinking you have to compete with the pretty blonde in the deep V-neck who works in your boyfriend’s or husband’s office. For another, your relationship with your man could be invigorated if, instead of trying to breathe new life into your wheezing relationship with skimpy outfits and the latest perfumes, you started to build some new, more meaningful bridges from your heart to his.

If you’re skeptical, I’m not surprised. I know that many women have experienced the very worst that testosterone has to offer. If you’ve pretty much lost all respect for men and are thinking this book is a monumental waste of paper, I plead with you to keep an open mind.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with being sexy. (Actually, I’m very much in favor of it!) I’m just saying that many women aim too low . . . that there’s something much higher and much more wonderful for you to shoot for.

Something millions of guys would give anything to find.

Something so much more than sexy.

1

The Myths in the Mirror

Tracy, I’m in love with you, no matter what you weigh.

—Link Larkin in Hairspray

I wouldn’t want to be a woman.

No way.

I wouldn’t be able to take the pressure to always look beautiful. A guy can have a paunch, wrinkles, thinning hair, gray hair, or even no hair, and still be cast as the romantic lead in a Hollywood blockbuster, but any woman with the same physical traits will end up playing the senile grandma with an afghan over her lap, spitting out saucy one-liners between slobbers.

And this foolishness all starts at birth.

Just listen to those proud relatives pressing their noses up against the hospital nursery window. If the baby is wrapped in a pink blanket, they’ll call her beautiful, gorgeous, a little doll, or a real heartbreaker one of these days. But if the baby’s wrapped in blue, they’ll likely predict a college scholarship for the little linebacker. I have no doubt that if you wrapped the girl baby in blue and the boy baby in pink, you’d get the same color-coded comments.

And the pressure builds from there.

It isn’t long before a little girl becomes enamored with the Disney princesses, all beautifully and flawlessly rendered, and ends up shrieking with delight when her parents give her princess paraphernalia for Christmas. You can bet that even before the wrapping paper is carted away, she’ll be stylin’—click-clacking through the house in her plastic high heels and sparkly dress, soaking up oohs and aahs from everyone except her bratty little brother, who’s too busy blowing things up on his new computer game to notice.

Then of course, there’s high school, where so much of the popularity pecking order is based on looks. It’s the pretty girls who are the best bets to be cheerleaders, homecoming queens, and Saturday-night dates for quarterbacks and cleanup hitters.

And don’t even get me started on the many doodads women use on a daily basis to ready themselves for public scrutiny. We guys only need five things in our bathrooms: a comb, a razor, a toothbrush, some toilet paper, and the sports page. We can knock off our whiskers with a dull razor, run a comb through our hair (even this is optional nowadays), brush our teeth, and we’re good to go. Ten minutes tops. But you are expected to address the cosmetic needs of every feature, from head to toe.

The hair has to be perfectly mussed.

The eyebrows have to be plucked or waxed.

The eyes themselves have to be lined and shadowed.

The nose has to be powdered so it won’t shine.

The lips have to be glossed so they will.

The ears have to have the proper bangle (or two or three) dangling from them.

The bra has to perform miracles.

The outfit has to coordinate.

And the shoes have to be cute or sexy. (It doesn’t matter if they cause excruciating pain, just so they’re cute or sexy.)

Finally, there’s the weight issue. It’s much easier to be a little overweight if you’re a guy. Among other things, you’ll be called strapping instead of fat (I don’t know what strapping means, but it definitely sounds better than fat), you’ll get to hit cleanup on the softball team, and no one will dare pick a fight with you—because heavy guys are assumed to be tough, whether they are or not.

But if you’re what the fashion mags call curvy or plus size, the pressure’s on . . . to buy a ThighMaster, to eat like a rabbit, to actually use your ThighMaster, to eat like a rabbit, to walk twenty miles a day, to eat like a rabbit, to sweat to the oldies, and to eat like a rabbit. If you fail to do these things with the fervor of an Olympic athlete in training, or—Heaven forbid—if you’re ever seen eating a doughnut in public, someone (probably a woman who’s never had a weight problem) will comment on how sad it is that you’ve given up or let yourself go.

Somebody, somewhere dubbed women the fair sex. I think maybe the unfair sex would be more appropriate because of the outrageous pressure you are under to live up to culture’s current definition of beauty. I say “current definition” because the standard constantly changes.

The very first Miss America, sixteen-year-old Margaret Gorman, won her crown in 1921. I assume men back then considered Margaret to be a babe, yet any man looking at her picture today would have a hard time controlling snickers.

In the 1950s, all eyes were on a voluptuous Marilyn Monroe. Ten years later, all the magazine covers featured ninety-five-pound Twiggy. Fifty-year-old women were once considered way over the hill, but now women such as Michelle Pfeiffer, Oprah Winfrey, and Lauren Hutton—all over fifty—epitomize beauty, grace, and style. In fact, in 2005 Big magazine invited Lauren Hutton, at the age of sixty-one, to appear in its pages nude, something that would have been unthinkable a few years earlier.

No one can predict how beauty will be defined by our culture ten or twenty years from now. Who knows? Shaved heads might be the hot new trend. Absolutely nothing will surprise me. The only thing I’ll bet on is that whatever culture is demanding, women will still feel pressure to try and deliver it.

[A head] Mirror Myths

Lest you misunderstand, let me say emphatically that I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with a woman wanting to look and feel attractive. In the musical West Side Story, Maria sings with exuberance about how pretty she feels. It’s a joyous, refreshingly innocent moment in the story. There’s no haughtiness. No panting sexuality. Just a young woman experiencing what every woman seems to long for. “I truly believe that the longing to be known as beautiful is part of our design as women,” Angela Thomas writes. “God put us together this way on purpose. We are wired to long for beauty and to be known as beautiful.”3 Nothing in my experience with women would lead me to disagree.

And yet . . . I know that what you believe when you look in the mirror can be a myth. In fact, there are three spiritually and emotionally debilitating mirror myths I’d like to explode right now.

[B head] Myth #1: What You See Is What You Are

Wicked Queen Jezebel knew her days as the matriarch of Israel were numbered (2 Kings 9). Her idiot husband, Ahab, was dead, and God had chosen a young man named Jehu to replace her son Joram as king. And not only had God chosen Jehu to be king, he instructed Jehu to wipe out Jezebel and her entire family as punishment for their many sins.

Jezebel knew that Jehu and his men were coming. They had killed her sons and she was next. So what did she do? Run for her life? Assemble her bodyguards and batten down the hatches? Drink the Kool-Aid? No. “She painted her eyelids and fixed her hair and sat at a window” (v. 30).

Interesting, don’t you think?

Did she get herself all dolled up in an effort to seduce Jehu and perhaps change his mind about killing her? Possibly, but I doubt it. More likely she simply thought, If I’m going out, I’m going to go out looking good! And keep in mind, she was the queen. She would have owned the finest garments and the most expensive jewels. When she put the finishing touches on her do and pirouetted in front of the mirror, I’m sure she was pleased with what she saw.

But she was still a hag, and everybody knew it.

A beautiful face or body doesn’t make you a beautiful person, because your character is always going to trump your looks. Think about Britney Spears, once considered one of the hottest-looking females in America. There was even a TV commercial that showed a geeky, fast-food burger flipper allowing his burgers to burst into flames while he stared, open mouthed, at an overhead TV monitor where a scantily clad Britney was bumping and grinding like a cheap stripper.

But that was before her life began to unravel.

Britney’s foolish choices and reckless—even brainless—behavior made her a national joke. Her endorsement contracts and public appearances dried up, not because she suddenly became physically ugly, but because her character trumped her looks.

Have you ever wondered why many of the most beautiful Hollywood actors and actresses can’t stay married? You’d think if a guy was fortunate enough to marry a glamorous woman with centerfold looks . . . or if a woman snagged a hunky athlete or matinee idol, they’d never want to let go. Yet many such marriages last only a year or two and often end with much bitterness and hateful mudslinging.

Once again, character trumps looks. The person hasn’t been born who is gorgeous enough to overcome a corrupt heart.

Mark it down: what you see when you look in a mirror is not what you are. What’s in your heart is what you are. That’s why wise King Solomon did not say, “Above all else, make sure your eyeliner isn’t smudged and there’s no lipstick on your teeth.” Instead, he said, “Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life” (Proverbs 4:23).

[B head] Myth #2: What You See Is What Others See

Check out these words from plastic surgeon Michelle Copeland. I found them right at the beginning of chapter 1 of her book Change Your Looks, Change Your Life:

Take a long, honest look in the mirror. You can do it for real (turn on that harsh overhead light and peel off some clothing), but my bet is that you’ve done it often enough to know what it is about your body or face that you’d like to change.

What is it, for you? Maybe you’ve caught sight of that wattle that blurs your chin line (or worse, that hangs over your crisp white collar) too many times. Maybe it’s the crow’s-feet that grab makeup and make a spray of fright lines at the corners of your eyes. Maybe it’s your nose or earlobes, both of which sag as we age. Maybe it’s your “Hi Janes” (the fleshy underside of the arm that continues to wiggle after you’ve stopped waving hello to your friend Jane); do they make you avoid wearing your favorite sleeveless blouse or halter top? Maybe it’s your breasts—how far down has gravity pulled them? Maybe it’s your stomach—are you willing to expose your midriff? . . . Maybe it’s your hips: Is there no A-line skirt out there that can hide hips that bear witness to every Krispy Kreme you’ve wolfed down? Maybe it’s those pesky spider veins, crisscrossing the backs of your legs like road maps of the East Coast. I could go on and on. . . .

That’s the bad news. But we’re positive thinkers here, and we’re going to leave harsh reality behind. Instead, let’s conjure that wonderful phrase again: “What if?”4

This does indeed seem to be how many of you look at yourselves. You ignore the big picture (which can be very attractive) and become obsessed with the details (which are never ever going to be perfect). I’ve listened to many beautiful women put themselves down because of this or that flaw. Sometimes I’ve stared and thought, Huh? What are you talking about? I literally could not see what they believed to be so obvious.

I once heard a young woman talking about how fat she was and how she needed to go on a diet. I asked her how much she weighed (yes, she was a good friend or I wouldn’t have dared), and she said, “I’m up to 120.” I shook my head. “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” I asked her. “There’s not another person on this planet who would call you fat.” And she began to argue with me, explaining that her clothes were tight and she had flab on her rear end and the backs of her thighs.

Please get this: what you see when you look in a mirror is not what everyone else sees. (Unless, of course, you’re the world’s tallest woman, but that’s another story.) Most people—guys especially—see the big picture. Yes, we are famous for checking out certain parts of the female anatomy, but that’s in our God-given DNA. I still contend that most of us are not looking for or expecting perfection. We’re smart enough to know that the glossy centerfold has had her pimples and moles and cellulite airbrushed into oblivion . . . and without her makeup on looks pretty much like any other woman.

I believe one of the best and healthiest things you could do for yourself would be to give up the microscopic scrutiny of every square inch of your body . . . and the whining and complaining that go along with it. I also believe God would appreciate not having to listen to you dis his handiwork. Remember, that nose you hate is a one-of-a-kind original designed by the master artist himself.

[B head] Myth #3: What You See Makes or Breaks Your Love Life

The movie version of the Tony Award–winning Broadway musical Hairspray released in theaters all across America in July 2007. My wife, Marilyn, loves musicals and so do I, so we were among the first to see it. We enjoyed it, but what really blew us away was how stridently it contradicts the message pop culture tries to hammer into our heads.

Set in 1962, the story focuses on Tracy Turnblad, a high school girl with big hair and even bigger dreams. She fantasizes about being one of the featured dancers on a locally produced American Bandstand–style television show. She also happens to think the lead dancer, Link Larkin, is the hunk to end all hunks. But alas, Tracy is considerably overweight. All the other dancers on the show are slim and trim, especially Link’s girlfriend, a snooty, drop-dead gorgeous blonde who happens to be the lead dancer. Even Tracy’s overweight mother (played hilariously by John Travolta) discourages her from trying out for a spot on the show, because she fears Tracy will only be humiliated. And as far as Tracy’s crush on Link goes, everybody knows a good-looking guy would never be interested in a girl with a weight problem.

But two hours and several production numbers later, the movie closes with Tracy and Link kissing center screen while snooty Miss Drop-Dead Gorgeous pouts in the background. Final score: size 16–1, size 5–0.

Unrealistic, you say?

I beg to differ.

Open your eyes and look around. The world is full of Tracy Turnblads, women who are not prototypical beauties according to society’s standards but who more than make up for it with character and personality. They often end up riding into the sunset with the love of their lives, while more than a few so-called beauties in this world spend their lives bouncing from relationship to relationship and never find true happiness.

The other day Marilyn and I were in a restaurant when a family of four walked in and took a table nearby. Dad was a handsome guy, fit and clean-cut. The kids were preschoolers, cute as they could be. And mom was, well . . . let’s just say she wasn’t going to win the Mrs. America pageant anytime soon. But there she sat, with a handsome husband, two cute kids, and a smile on her face.

I looked at Marilyn and said, “There sits Tracy Turnblad.”

Don’t think for a minute that because you aren’t centerfold material you have no shot at love. It just isn’t true. The next time you’re in a restaurant, at a ball game, or strolling though the mall, just look around at the couples. You’ll see Tracy Turnblads everywhere.

[A head] Drawing the Line

This morning when I signed on to AOL, a link to seven “beauty secrets” for women appeared. With everything you’ve just read fresh on my mind, I had to click on it. What I found were some very interesting products. Among them:

Control-It! Omega3 Nail Biting Cream. It’s odorless, invisible, and will not stain. But it tastes bad. No way you’re going to munch your pinkies with this stuff on. They say it’s guaranteed to give you beautiful nails in no time. No self-discipline required.

Fake Bake, Sunless and Skinny. The name says it all. It’s a cream that promises to tan, firm, and tone you all at the same time while you kick back and relax. Must be the seaweed it contains that does the trick.

But my favorite was Poutrageous Lip Plumper, “the answer to achieving the perfectly plump pout seen in all the magazines.” That claim alone should guarantee millions in sales.

Knowing where to draw the line in the pursuit of beauty and romantic fulfillment is one of the biggest challenges you face as a woman. All kinds of products, treatments, and surgeries promise to work miracles on your appearance, and their suppliers will try everything they can think of (including trashing your self-esteem) to get you to fork over your hard-earned money. Let’s face it. It’s in their interest to keep you believing those mirror myths I just addressed. The uglier you think you are . . . the more desperate you feel . . . the more you believe your looks will determine your happiness . . . the more you feel compelled to compete with that saucy little number in the next cubicle—the better the chance they have of getting into your pocketbook.

You simply must draw a line.

No, I’m not saying your bathroom should look like a man’s. I realize a girl needs her stuff. But at some point you need to slam on the brakes and say, “Enough is enough. I can be happy, feel good about myself, and have an interesting love life whether or not I achieve the perfectly plump pout seen in all the magazines.”

The challenge is knowing where to draw the line.

Allow me to offer three suggestions.

[B head] Suggestion #1: Embrace Reality

Do not, under any circumstances, deny who and what you are. Not long ago MTV created a show called I Want a Famous Face. It featured young people who were willing to undergo plastic surgery in order to look like their favorite celebrities. Ridiculous, you say? Indeed! But before you bang the gavel and pronounce yourself innocent, realize that you can make the same mistake in nonsurgical ways.

In her book God Chicks, Holly Wagner talks about the time she abandoned her God-given nature in an effort to become like a couple of older women who were successful Bible teachers:

I imitated these women in their teaching styles, their mannerisms, and their dress—all because I felt that if they were successful, then I needed to become like them. What an idiot I was!! One day as I was wrestling with my fifth pair of panty hose, and I was complaining about the sadistic man (I’m sure it was a man!) who invented them, I heard the Spirit of God laughing at me. (He does laugh, you know!) I felt that God was asking me what I was doing. I assured Him that I was getting dressed so I could go teach, and I was putting on panty hose because my two heroes wore panty hose and I needed to be like them in order to fulfill my destiny on earth. The Father quickly assured me that He didn’t need me to be like them. They were fine being themselves, and He didn’t need anyone else doing their jobs. He did, however, have a job for me to do on the planet, and He would empower me as soon as I was comfortable being who He created me to be.5

It’s not unusual to see both men and women living in denial when it comes to their appearance. The guy who wears a severe comb-over or the woman who’s still squeezing herself into size 8 jeans even though she hasn’t actually been a size 8 since the first Bush became president—both are living in fantasy worlds. So is the sixty-year-old grandma with bleached blonde hair and short shorts. So is the teenage girl with the bare midriff who looks like she just swallowed a football. Holly Wagner says she sensed God laughing as she, a non-panty-hose kind of girl, wrestled her panty hose like a python.

I can buy the notion of him chuckling at some of our fashion misadventures, but I can’t help wondering if there comes a point where he finds it all a little heartbreaking. When we refuse to be ourselves, aren’t we saying something about his handiwork?

I speak for a whole bunch of guys when I say that a woman who recognizes and embraces her reality is far more attractive than a woman who goes around every day wearing what amounts to a Halloween costume.

[B head] Suggestion #2: Build Your Look from the Inside Out

The apostle Peter wrote, “Don’t be concerned about the outward beauty of fancy hairstyles, expensive jewelry, or beautiful clothes. You should clothe yourselves instead with the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God” (1 Peter 3:3, 4). When Peter says not to be concerned about outward beauty, I don’t believe he means you should get up and go to work with bed head and bad breath. He’s simply saying that true beauty flows from the inside out.

Isn’t it true that people get better looking on the outside when you get to know them and realize they are beautiful on the inside? And it works in reverse too. I’ve met many beautiful women who, when I realized they were self-centered or immoral, suddenly started looking very ordinary. I believe this explains how women who might be considered homely or unattractive end up having extraordinary romantic relationships. What they lack in outer beauty, they more than make up for with inner beauty. And because men are spiritual beings as well as physical, we’re powerfully drawn to those beautiful inner qualities.

Sadly, even though good character is the greatest beauty secret of them all, you will probably never see it listed alongside the lip plumpers and tanning creams, online or anywhere else. Oh, and one more thing—I don’t know what a six-month supply of Poutrageous Lip Plumper costs, but I know that good character is free.

[B head] Suggestion #3: Be Modest

I’ll talk more about this in the next chapter, but it bears mentioning here. As you try to decide where to draw the line in your pursuit of beauty and romantic fulfillment, you’re going to be tempted to believe that tighter and skimpier is sexier. Trust me when I tell you that every day we guys see women we wish would put more clothes on.

When I see a woman dressed immodestly, I wonder if she’s trying to fill a void in her life. Is she feeling insignificant and crying out to be noticed? Is loneliness driving her to pull out all the stops in an effort to snag a companion? Do the lustful stares of strangers help her stave off the whispers of tattered self-esteem? Perhaps not in every case, but it isn’t unusual for inner struggles to produce highly visible attitudes and behaviors.

The apostle Paul wrote, “I want women to be modest in their appearance. They should wear decent and appropriate clothing and not draw attention to themselves by the way they fix their hair or by wearing gold or pearls or expensive clothes. For women who claim to be devoted to God should make themselves attractive by the good things they do” (1 Timothy 2:9, 10). I once heard a woman who had just read those verses say, “It sounds like God wants us all to be frumpy.” (By frumpy she meant matronly, unattractive, the opposite of sexy.) This is a classic example of how Satan has brainwashed us. The very notion that modesty isn’t sexy has the devil’s fingerprints all over it. I’m convinced that there are millions of men who actually prefer a classy, modestly dressed woman to one who looks cheap and trashy. And the men who don’t aren’t worth your time anyway.

Jesus said, “The world would love you as one of its own if you belonged to it, but you are no longer part of the world. I chose you to come out of the world, so it hates you” (John 15:19). This business of coming out of the world is the real issue here. It could mean different things to different people, but for a woman in our modern culture it certainly means wrestling with that image in the mirror. And wrestling might even be an understatement if you’ve been plugged into the world’s mind-set your whole life and are just now starting to realize that God has a different plan for you. Breaking free of culture’s grip and adopting a whole new way of thinking, dressing, and acting might be the biggest challenge you’ll ever face. Old habits die kicking and screaming.

But they do die if someone cares enough to kill them.

And they need to die if you want to be free.

As long as you allow the myths in the mirror to dictate the way you dress, act, and feel about yourself, you will be ruling out a world of wonderful possibilities. You might feel that the more you doll yourself up, the more your horizons expand. But I believe the opposite is true. The more makeup you layer on, the shorter your hemline gets, the more risqué your conversations become, the fewer decent men will be interested in you. Oh sure, you’ll grab their attention; but just remember, the monkeys at the zoo grab their attention too. That doesn’t mean they want to take one home.

You have a choice. As a woman, you can work to become what culture says you ought to be or what God says you ought to be. Ultimately, your choice and your future will be determined by what you believe when you stand in front of that mirror.
So Much More Than Sexy

Do you feel anxious about your looks? Is there something (or maybe more than one thing) about your looks that you’ve always hated? Do you have a tendency to compare yourself to other women? What’s the most radical thing (funny or serious) you’ve ever done to try to improve your looks?

 

Do you agree that character is the greatest beauty secret of them all? Can you name people who have become more beautiful in your eyes as you have gotten to know their character? What improvements could you make in your character that might make you more beautiful?

 

Read 1 Peter 3:3, 4. Up to this point in your life, have you worked harder on your looks or your inner qualities? What are some specific inner qualities you could cultivate that would make you more beautiful?

So Much More Than Sexy

Mark Atteberry

Published by Standard Publishing, Cincinnati, Ohio

www.standardpub.com

Copyright © 2009 by Mark Atteberry

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in reviews, without the written permission of the publisher.

Substantive editor: Diane Stortz

Project editor: Lynn Lusby Pratt

Cover design: Susan Koski Zucker

Interior design:

All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation second edition. Copyright © 1996, 2004. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright© 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked (NKJV) are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc. 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, Colorado 80920.

ISBN 978-0-7847-2119-3

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