Crotch Rockets and Pick Up Trucks

As I kept pondering what to do with my life I came across my friend Laurie.  She was 19 and just had a baby girl. Karissa was a perfect little angel in head band instead of a halo. I realized, I could solve all of my problems with this one thing. Even if Jimmy did leave me at some point, a child never would. I always wanted to be a mom and a wife someday. If I couldn’t have everything I could at least have this. I devised a plan to obtain some sort of control over my life.

Dysfunctional as it was, it made perfect sense in my mind. Jimmy had dropped out of high school and was making a decent living as a timber faller.  I knew he had been with other girls and I was not going to be his first. I also knew it was important for me to only be with one person. I proposed to my mother that she allow Jimmy and I to get married. Like any good mom she quickly shot down the idea.  As the summer was coming to an end I had made up my mind.

Every year the Trinity County Fair brought in people from all over the county.  Even those who had moved out of the area would come back to our small town for the week long fun. The deli sandwiches and hand scoped ice cream consumed at The Dairy Store boosted the towns economy. Live stock filled the stalls with 4H and FFA animals ready to go to auction. Even across town you could hear the rawr of the crowd at the Saturday night rodeo and ACDC’s Thunderstruck at Sunday’s demolition derby.

 As we were hangout I turned on the charm. It didn’t take much, Jimmy to get the hint.  We left the fair grounds in his truck, looking for a place to release all our pint up hormones. Aroused and frustrated, we tried every “parking” spot within proximity. Crowds were everywhere. Finally, I suggested we go to my house. I remembered my parents were on the road and no one was home. We ventured to my bedroom and I laid down. As quick as he got on top of me I was shoving him off.  

 It was the most mortifying experience of my life. Instantly I began crying. I could not understand why people enjoyed sex. It was painful in ever since of the word.  Jimmy became confused. He had heard rumors that I had slept around. Discouraged, I now found myself explaining to him, if I wasn’t having sex with him, why would I be having sex with anyone else?!? He handle the situation well and did not pressure or force me into anything I was not ready for. I was filled with sorrow, inundated with shame, and humiliated for pushing him away before he got all the way inside. Jimmy passed out within moments of our discussion.  I, on the other hand sat on my couch sobbing my eyes out pleading for forgiveness. I remained there for hours starring at the rain outside the window picturing God crying with me.

A couple of weeks passed. A group of friends including myself were hanging out at the park. Most everyone was drinking when our friend Ryan rode up on his brand new motor cycle. We all began taking turns on it, riding at extreme speeds. 

My curfew approached, so Jimmy took me home.  Per usual, he dropped me off and went back to hang out with everyone else.  After I had got my pajama’s on I walked into the kitchen were my mom sat at the table reading her bible. She noticed the concerned look on my face and asked me if I was alright. I told her what was going on at the park.  She offered to pray with me and send out angels to protect our loved ones.  

As we sat there hand in hand and with our heads bowed, my friend Joaquin ran into the room shouting, “There has been an accident!”  Due to recent pranks the boys had played on me, I thought he was messing with us and I giggled. I turned my head towards him and suddenly realized he was covered in blood. Terrified, I badgered him with questions. My mother and I ran outside searching for a vehicle.  Neither one of ours would start. I ran down our driveway barefoot as adrenaline began pumping through my veins. I headed towards the main road and ran in the direction of town. Jimmy’s truck sat wrapped around a large oak tree. Screaming, I bolted towards the vehicle.

There was no ambulance, no first responders, and no police.  I opened the passenger door.  My brother Monroe, who had been sitting there had his head tucked under Jimmy’s backside. He wasn’t moving. Jimmy’s head was resting up against the tree trunk and the steering wheel jammed into his stomach. I pulled Monroe upright, “Wake up!” I slapped him, “You are not going to die on me!” 

Flashing lights filled the cab, the paramedics pulled me out of the vehicle. I watched closely as they laid Monroe on a stretcher. Incoherent, he thought they were trying to choke him. My mom stood there praying in tongues. I heard her pray for peace, for wisdom, and for protection. They were comforting words in that moment and my soul quieted.  They loaded Monroe in the ambulance and then began cutting the steering wheel off of Jimmy who remained unconscious. There were no words coming out of his mouth, nor a response coming from his body.

After the paramedics got him out of the vehicle and loaded into the ambulance, they drove off. I rushed home to grab a change of clothes and jumped in a car with a couple friends.  The closest hospital was an hour and a half away. We made it in fifty-five minutes. Later I learned, Joaquin had been riding between Monroe and Jimmy.  He skated off with only minor injuries, yet Monroe remained in the hospital for a couple of weeks. His broken ribs had punctured his lungs. Every time he would slip in and out of consciousness he would implore where he was and then he would ask about Jimmy. People would visit often, none of which he would remembered. I saw him several times a day.  I would go in help him eat and talk to all of our friends about the crash. He was struggling with short term memory loss and ask where he was and then ask about Jimmy.

To be continued…

Jimmy, Joy, and Jack Daniels…Continue!

Jimmy and I’s relationship had been rocky from the very beginning. He had never been faithful. I broke up with him many times. Every time he would cry and tell me how much he loved me and how much he couldn’t live without me.  I had developed a pattern of co-dependency and would eventually cave in. No matter how much he devalued me, I allowed it to happen. I felt a sense of responsibility for his heart. His mother died when he was eight years old and his father was sixty-six at the time.  I rationalized that Jimmy “needed” me to take care of him. 

There I was, fifteen years old and in many ways I had experienced so much life already.  My family moved often. At times it was like a constant adventure. It also created A LOT of instability. I found that I did not fit in any particular stereotype or age group either. I was raised around a lot of boys and adults. I loved my femininity. Pink was my favorite color and like my grandma Wanda, I loved makeup. I also enjoyed climbing trees, building forts, and racing cars. The redneck lifestyle was fun to me. We would jump our bicycles at the old sawmill into a giant pile of sawdust or go swimming in the cold SouthFork river. On the other hand, I deeply enjoyed learning, having meaningful philosophical conversations, and dreaming about entrepreneurial endeavors. While constantly being surrounded by people I felt loneliness grip my soul. I thought I was too unique and questioned why no one understood me.

Jimmy filled my need to be wanted. He provided me with the illusion of stability. His family had lived in the community for generations. His grandfather was the first Forest Service Ranger in the area and his grandmother was from the local Nor Rel Muk Wintu Nation tribe that originally occupied the land at Natural Bridge. Jimmy swore he would never move. Those mountains were his home. Though he had been cheating on me, I came to the erroneous conclusion that it was because I was still a virgin and he didn’t have the same morals. Every time I would try to end the relationship with Jimmy, I seemed to get deeper involved.  

Summer quickly approached. Daddy worked for Allied Van Lines crisscrossing the country constantly. In May, Mom decided to join him on the road for a few months. My parents were at the tail end of a rough patch and could use some time together. Before they took off mom took me to a prophetic conference. A prophet named Dick Mills was speaking and she believed I would benefit from what he had to say. Concerned about my spiritual life, mom made sure to take me to church and attend these types of conferences regularly.  

My mother bought me a new Spirit Filled Life Bible and after the service, Dick prayed for me. He wrote in the new bible, “June 14th 1993, Psalms 37:4.” This was exactly 2 years from the day Jimmy and I had met. Dick looked me in the eyes and said, “Make a list, make a big list. God is going to give you all the desires of your heart.”  My spirit leapt to his words, but my mind couldn’t fathom that God would really “give” me the desires of my heart. As long as I could remember, I had been taught to work for everything I ever had. Nothing was ever handed to me. I knew I had some crazy big dreams but these were not yet turned into goals. Sure God loved me. But did He love me enough to turn them into reality? Nevertheless, I went home and started on the list.  I began with practical things, things I could make happen. I did put a few big things on the list, but nothing outrageous.    

Mom and dad ended up traveling the nation while I stayed with a family friend in a near by town. This was a great opportunity for me.  I was able to get away from Jimmy and see what other options were out there for my life.  The family I was staying with were middle class. They had pool, a trampoline, and finances beyond what I was used to. They bought me “girl” clothes. I was so excited to get out of boy hand me downs. They took me on their family vacation to Hearst Castle where I learned about art, history, and culture. The downside? They didn’t have the same boundaries as my parents. For the first time, I had more freedom than I could handle.

Because we moved so much, developing long term and meaningful relationships was hard. My brother Monroe had a new girl friend named Stephanie who lived in the area. She was nineteen and we became friends. She was the only person I knew in town. She would pick me and take me to her “high school” friend’s house. They were kind and accepting — they just happened to be drug dealers. I enjoyed their company and for the most part I overlooked their life style. While I had started smoking marijuana, I was terrified of hard drugs.

I struggled to make friends with people that had good educations, a stabile home life, and goals for their future. While my parents were involved and active in our lives, the constant moving was a complete upheaval just when I began making solid relationships. This was in an era before cell phones and the Internet. I would simply lose all contact and connection with anyone I began caring about.

My summer was spent in a lot of introspection.  I earnestly sought God in my prayer life. On one hand I was keenly aware of my life choices.  On the other I felt powerless to change my circumstances.  Each time I endeavored to reached beyond mediocrity, like crabs in a bucket, everyone including myself pulled me back down.

I had several “literal” dreams about owning property, companies, and about being successful.  When I would share them with people they would make fun of me and tell me to get my head out of the clouds.  I was mocked for being a daydreamer.  Discouraged and hopeless, I laid down my ambitions for what I believed I was in control of. I was stuck in a fixed mindset and struggled to find my place in the world. I felt like life was slipping through my hands like sand through an hour glass.  It was as if the inevitable was going to happen no matter what. While I was grasping at straws to get ahold of a different plight I also felt I was unable to prevent the lot that I was dealt as if I had been born into a cast system.  I would think, “someone, anyone, please throw me a lifeline, I am sinking.” 

I remained to wrestle with questions about what the prophet had said of what God thought of me.  Apparently God had plans that were good, plans that would make me prosper and plans that would not harm me.  However, I didn’t sufficiently get the answer to those questions at the time. It seemed like everyone was too busy with their own issues to notice what was gong on in my world. Apparently, I was never going to amount to much because everything I wanted was unattainable. My heart was torn.

When I returned to Hayfork in August I was more confused than ever.  My brother Bob notified me that while I was gone Jimmy had been sleeping around. I was contemplating what to do. I had excused his actions before and now found myself justifying them again. When a girl friend of mine came over and apologized for having sex with Jimmy, I knew I had to call it quits. 

The next day he and I were hanging out. I kept trying to muster enough courage to confront the situation.  We were sitting in the back of his 1971 small box Chevy. It was cold outside. I had goose bumps on my skin and sprinkles of rain misting my hair. In a futile attempt, I tried to brake off our relationship. I pushed past the knots in my stomach. I made valid points, trying not to hurt him. Per usual he began crying begging me not to leave, repeating how his mom left him and vowing he would never leave me.

Misguided as it was, when he said he’d never leave me, I knew it to be true. To this day, were he still alive, he would have never left me. In my immature mind, he was the answer I was searching for… and I was his. I really did enjoy his company and I had fallen in love with him. He gave me a sense of purpose. I was going to help him through this. I was going to heal his pain. 

To be continued… up next GEORGIA ON MY MIND

I Can Only Imagine

I Can Only Imagine

I called to ask him if I could go not anticipating he would say yes. He was dying. Why would he want me to leave now? He knew all the responsibilities I had with my severely disabled son, let alone helping to take care of him during his last few months here on earth. He was my best friend and I was going to miss him terribly. I had always imagined him doing life with me until I was old… and he would be really old.

He was so much fun! Not like a little bit of fun every once in a while, but fun all of the time. He was constantly doing something to make you laugh; it might be a goofy chicken dance, a funny joke, or a story he had told a million times before. He also gave the best hugs… and not just to me. I watched him give those big, comfy, cozy hugs to full grown men that would make them break down in healthy tears.

Daddy was a large man. Growing up some of my friends were afraid to come over because he was so big. I couldn’t figure out why anyone ever thought he was scary. He was a giant teddybear. Granted he was a strong teddybear, none the less his eyes were kind and his smile put people at ease. His heart was as big a Seabiscuits and he loved well.

Daddy taught me how to drive a full sized Chevy pickup when I was only eight years old. He grew my skills with a riding mower by turning lawn mowing into a game. He taught me to race over California State highway 3 like we were in the Rally Monte Carlo. In our dirt floor garage he showed me how to fix the engine under dingy incandescent lights. Daddy taught me how to check the tread on my tires and how to change out a transmission. I can still hear his voice in my head when the first rain of the season would fall, “Go slow out there, it’s the first rain and the oil on the road is going to be slick.”

He modeled the value of hard work and in his boisterous voice, he quoted the scripture, “If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones. But if you are dishonest in little things, you won’t be honest with greater responsibilities.” – Luke 16:10

He made me believe I could do anything I wanted to do or be anyone I wanted to be when I grew up, as long as I diligently pursued my goals. While my dream was to be a actress some day, unfortunately, I had made a few poor decisions along the way and had many major setbacks. Despite all of that, I had finished high school at home with my daughter in tow. After many years of struggle and perseverance I eventually graduated college with my degree in media communications.

Over time Daddy would drive my son and I to Los Angeles while my mom watched the girls. He would take care of all of Sawyer’s needs while I auditioned for the role of Esther in ONE NIGHT WITH THE KING or took production courses to get industry experience. Once I remarried and started a commercial video production company, he would help in whatever manner I needed.

Finally came the opportunity for me to go work on the feature film, I CAN ONLY IMAGINE. But now, daddy was dying of cancer and I was not only my son’s caregiver, I was also assisting with Daddy’s care. I was certain I shouldn’t go. I had never left my son before and I wasn’t about to leave my father during this time. When my business coach, my husband, and the producer all challenged me to tell Dad about the film, I reluctantly gave him a call. His response took me by surprise and yet it also didn’t. “I didn’t work this hard to help you come this far to not see you accomplish your dreams… and you tell Trace Adkins that he is a good man,” Daddy confidently said.

I mustered as much courage as possible and caught a flight that forever changed my life. I buried my emotions in long hours of work. The only one on set that knew my father was dying was my friend who was the producer of film, Daryl. While I had produced thousands of corporate and commercial videos, short films, documentaries, and five film festivals, this was the first time I was on a feature film set. I got the best hands on mentorship anyone could ever ask for. Daryl being a seasoned professional with the highest integrity trained me in every aspect of producing the feature film. I soaked up as much knowledge and wisdom that I could.

Suddenly, I got the call I had been dreading. Daddy was slipping into a comma and I needed to go home. I told Daryl and he let me leave early for the day. Later he found me at “Put A Cork In It” wine bar. Daryl sat patiently listening to me as I cried the snottiest cry I ever cried in my life and bared my soul like I had never done before. I was hurting and my world felt like it was caving in. I hired my production coordinator to take my position on set and flew home just in time to spend Christmas with my family over the winter break.

I had never before seen my father in his underwear and now here I was changing his diaper with my oldest brother. Daddy’s bed sore had deteriorated and rotted his tissue all the way to his spine. As he was being lifted forward his back fell off in my hands. The stench of dead flesh penetrated my nostrils. Even though daddy was heavily medicated at this point, he would still murmur in pain. As I look back on this memory, I see Christ with me guiding my actions. We didn’t have time to panic. We had to keep calm and attend to sterilizing his body to prevent further infection. Managing Daddy’s pain and protecting his dignity was of highest priority.  

Day after day he kept holding on for dear life. His spirit was not ready to leave this planet, however his body was failing. His one request was that we would all have fun and that no one would cry when he finally went home to be with Jesus. The whole family gathered around him for Christmas. We all celebrated his life together along with the birth of our Lord and Savior. It was a priceless holiday.

Two days later was my husband Matt and I’s wedding anniversary. Daddy was a hopeless romantic. He and my mom had been married for over four and a half decades. They always celebrated love and commitment. My mom encouraged my husband and I to take a break and go out to dinner assuring me that Daddy would have wanted us to honor each other. I had not left Daddy’s bedside since I came back. To this day my mother believes Daddy waited for me to leave the house to finally let go. He passed away while our order was being brought to our table. I wailed all the way back to my parents house. I was absolutely heart broken. Though I was relieved he was finally out of pain, I knew I had measures of emotional anguish I had yet to feel.

I went back to work the first chance I got to finish the job I had started. Albeit, my position was no longer available, I served in any capacity I was given. I took business calls while driving errands. I prayed while waiting on cast members. I would breathe through the distress of loss in the bathroom and come out to be a present host when I was asked to entertain investors. I had the opportunity to meet some of the greatest people on the planet while working on that film. I was also able to tell Trace Adkins what Daddy thought of him… and I came to find out, Trace truly is a good man.

I have grieved many a loved one, but none like Daddy. His absence is still felt to this day and maybe even more so now than ever. I am constantly reminded about how precious this life is and how temporal. The most important lessons I learned from my father were the ones about living from an eternal perspective. He taught me the significance of laying up treasures in heaven and not placing too much value on earthly matters. He taught me to seek God’s approval and not look for it from mankind. He regularly brought my attention to place more worth on humility than desiring honor.

There could not have been a more perfect title for the film inspired by the song, I CAN ONLY IMAGINE. I hope when I finally get to be with Daddy again, that we will be worshiping together. I truly can only imagine what it’s going to be like when I arrive in heaven. In the meantime, today is my 16th wedding anniversary, and the 7th year since Daddy has been gone. I am going to chose yet again to celebrate love and life in the midst uncertainty. I miss him dearly and am grateful that he was my Daddy. I am also thankful for all of the friends, family, and loved ones that remain here on earth. I pray our time spent here is as meaningful as Daddy’s was. May we be a blessing to all we come in contact with and may we love with the heart of sincerity. May we live life to its fullest until our last breathe and may we kick the devil’s ass for taking those before their time.

Jimmy, Joy, & Jack Daniels

Most people called him Jim or Jimmy.  I would eventually come to call him James Henry.  We met in Mr. Barroneon’s class during the fifth grade. However, my family and I moved away at the end of the school year. It wasn’t until the summer before ninth grade that we came back to Hayfork to visit my oldest brother Monroe. After he moved out of the house Monroe returned to the small town to live.  During that time Monroe had become very close to the Patton family. He and Jimmy were best friends and became inseparable.

June 14 1992 Monroe picked me up in his tiny chocolate brown Datsun pick-up. Reno Patton sat shot gun and Jimmy was squished between the two straddling the stick shift.  I was told to hop in and grab a lap. Jimmy widened his stance and pushed his leg up against Reno. I climbed in and sat down on his grease stained jeans. He smelled of sawdust and motor oil with a hint of whiskey.

We drove to Murison’s gas station at the edge of town. Monroe ran in to purchase some Keystone and I innocently awaited my brother’s return. Reno Patton leaned over and exclaimed, “Hey, you two can get married someday and we can slaughter a cow for your wedding!”  I chuckled and passed off his odd comment. Jimmy made small talk until Monroe returned with the beer.

That night at Monroe’s girlfriend’s house Jimmy pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “You need to help me.”  Puzzled and curious, I sought clarification to his blunt statement,  “help you with what?”  “I’m an alcoholic,” Jimmy responded. He laughed it off and said, “It’s my birthday tomorrow.” I didn’t quite know how to respond. I had never met anyone like him before. He intrigued me.  He turned sixteen that year and eventually we became bosom buddies.

We ended up making out and the next thing I knew his hands were down my pants.  This was all happening so fast and I wasn’t ready for what was taking place. I put a stop to it before things went any further. We hung out for several hours before we finally fell asleep in a tent in the front yard.  Early the next morning my dad came to pick me up. Ashamed of what I had done I wrote about Jimmy in my journal. He was never on the attractive side but he wasn’t ugly either. I loved his eyes and his adventurous personality.

Uncomfortable with what had happened, I would avoid Jimmy every time we came to town.  He heard I was hanging out with some friends at the park and sought me out to show off his fully restored Cobalt blue 1965 Oldsmobile his grandfather had given him. He knew I was a sucker for automobiles and convinced me to take ride around town. It wasn’t too long after that we moved back to Hayfork and I could no longer dodge running into him. 

I found myself veering more and more from my moral convictions. Jimmy was becoming my closest friend. I felt safe when he was around. He had an air of confidence about him that I was drawn to. He was the life of the party and was always trying to find ways to make me laugh. It was my brother Bob that didn’t like us spending time together. Even though Bob wasn’t living an exemplary lifestyle at the time, he was also my big brother and was trying to look out for me. Bob constantly warned me to stay away from Jimmy. He told me he was not good for me.  Deep down I knew that to be true.  I just didn’t seem to care. I liked Jimmy. He made me feel good about myself. He filled a void of loneliness that I had struggled with for a long time. 

My mother also saw straight through Jimmy’s charisma and charm. It was obvious to her that he was a dysfunctional boy who wasn’t going to lead me in the right direction. My parents tried to set out healthy boundaries, but my daddy was a long haul truck driver and was rarely home to enforce the rules. Momma did her best, but this red headed girl had a mind of her own. What she did teach me was the power of prayer and the reality of the spirit realm.

I was told if there is drinking involved, you can’t go. This was a small town; everyone drank… especially Jimmy. Somehow, I regularly made my way out of the house anyway. At party’s you could find me holding a girl’s hair out of her face while she puked her guts out. I would be telling her how much Jesus loved her and praying out loud over her the entire time. On many occasions I would be the sober driver. Now fourteen years old I would find myself racing the locals with two or three drunk friends in the vehicle making sure everyone got home “safe.”

It had been a year since Jimmy I first hung out and now we were officially dating. He was my happy place. I would brag about hanging out with Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, and James Henry Patton. Jimmy loved my fiery spirit and risk taking personality. I could take shots of whiskey with a straight face until a whole bottle was polished off. We would hoop and holler until we had more than our fill. I was never afraid of much besides being alone and not doing something significant with my life. Despite my actions at the time, the party culture never really suited me. Adventure, fun, and meaningful relationships were what I was sincerely seeking. At that point in my life Jimmy was the epitome of those things. Looking back, we were just two broken kids trying to find love in all the wrong places.

To be continued…

Go Stuff Yourself

His long grey bushy eyebrows and pot belly told a story of one who had seen a thing or two and lived to tell the tell. This kind old codger full of sage wisdom with adages such as, “little flake, big snow, big flake, little snow,” understood the patterns of the coming weather better than the meteorologist on the six o’clock news. He could tell how many cows were around the bend by the hoof prints in the dirt. His calming presence and gentle spirit could tame a wild horse or frightened human. He never locked his front door and it was always open to anyone who stopped by. He made all who entered feel loved and accepted.

Honored to have known this gracious Native American, he taught me life lessons that I will pass down to his ancestors for generations to come. Some of these lessons were practical in nature while others were more meaningful and substantial. It was thirty years ago this Thanksgiving when he taught me how to make his homemade stuffing. I was pregnant with his granddaughter who would come to be his name sake. At only fifteen years old, I was still a child myself, and he took me under his wing. We hosted the largest, most meaningful thanksgiving of my life that year.

He showed me how to prep the turkey with salt, garlic, and a whole apple. I squeamishly learned how to remove the neck and the gizzards. He had me fry those up in a pan with butter and a Walla Walla onion. Once the savory aroma filled the kitchen, I was prompted to add mushroom caps, freshly cut carrots, celery, and black olives. As those cooked down he had me add even more butter and hot water to the pan. Then came the Western Family bread crumbs with the dried sage. After the bread crumbs soaked up all of the liquid, he showed me how to spoon every ounce into the twenty-seven pound turkey. This was not your store bought ‘Stouffers’ stuffing. This was a cowboy’s personal recipe that could rival Julia Child.

We had much to be thankful that year. New friends, new family, and new traditions. We feasted for hours on mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade dinner roles, and pumpkin pie made from pumpkins straight from the garden. It is a memory I hold dear every year and a recipe I continue to use. I fondly remember George each thanksgiving and am reminded of all the stories he would tell. Some of his stories were full of hardships and pain. Others were filled with fun and adventure. However, all of them were filled with hope and gratitude.

I pray you and your family have your own inspirational stories to share. I also pray we all find reasons to be generous everyday. May we live a life well-lived like George did. May we live from a place of grace, forgiveness, hard work and love. May we feast on all of the goodness of God and may we take the best traits of this amazing soul and stuff life full of thankfulness.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Joy =)

Stick Handling

My friend Mike often refers to business leadership as stick handling. When I first heard him use the term the image that crossed my mind was one that appeared to be jousting. I pictured two adult men playing with sticks like large children. “Whack,” one man said to the other as he lunges towards him. “Thump,” the other replied as he returned a blow to the man’s side. I imagined them attempting to hit one another as if they were trying to win a fantastical sword fight. Neither party was in real danger, however, they were working against each other when they could have found a common goal. The innate need to protect ones property has become such a strong self storytelling component that often we misapply a good principle in the wrong situation. While my vivid imagination could have taken this whimsical scene in my head a myriad of directions, I wanted to understand why the term was being applied to a team leader in business.

Much to my amusement, I discovered stick handling is a hockey term referring to how a player handles their hockey stick. At the face off the puck is dropped between the two players who use their hockey sticks to acquire control of the puck. Stick handling is also referred to when a hockey player is “dribbling” the puck down the ice or “stick handling” it to achieve seamless and beautiful strokes in the direction of the goal. In both cases, stick handling is a skill honed over time with dedication and cemetery.

I came to realize Mike keenly recognized that people need someone to not only get the puck, they need to head it in the direction of the desired goal. All too often there are opposing factors trying to derail a project, a team, or a intended outcome. A quality leader is someone not afraid to get on the ice, in the chaos and get the puck where it ultimately needs go… “SCORE! and the crowd goes wild.”

Business can be much like hockey; emotions are high, egos are huge, and occasionally people run into their own teammates. Anyone can act like a leader for a movement when adrenaline kicks in. People can get hyper focused and have a burst of courage and energy. It is when they are coming down from the rush that everyone including themselves feel the emotional whiplash. The key to keeping your whits about you is to keep calm. A good leader needs to think clearly in high stress situation. It is the time you spend practicing your skills that come into play when you need to use them the most.

Stick handling in leadership looks like having crucial conversations that are brave, honest, and respectful. It is about taking ownership for decisions made for the team, especially when those decisions go awry. Stick handling is not about taking over, it is about ensuring success for everyone involved. It is about passing off authority to the best person suited for the situation. Not everyone is going to make the goal, but it does take each individual bringing their A game to the rink to in ensure it has the very best chance of getting there.

My prayer is that we become disciplined in life at stick handling whatever we seek to be proficient in. As leaders in all areas of life may we strive to learn how to be the best spouse possible, the best parent we can be, and a skilled craftsman at our job. May we aspire to bring out the greatest in those around us and fervently practice humility. May this year be unrivaled thus far in life and may we go from glory to glory as we consistently guide our metaphorical sticks through the various obstacles life throws our way.

Grace & Hustle,

Joy =)

Sad coffee

Good morning world!

I have my sad cup of black coffee on the end table by my husband’s favorite reading chair. Link, my comfort dog lays beside my legs as I am reclined with my laptop lounging across my mid section. Gosh really I miss my husband… for one thing, my coffee would not be sad if he were here. He makes the best cup of coffee and delivers it to my bedside in the mornings.

He has been out of town for almost a month now working with our editor on yet another documentary project. I’ll be watching the review link once I return from my morning walk. The last review I watched the project was going well. The refining process is the key to any good film project. I am a perphectionist and love the craftsmanship that goes into filmmaking. 

I know it has forever been our ambition to be making scripted narrative projects. However, the documentary space is much more cost effective for investors/donors and a quicker way to get out expository content. In the Christian and conservative space we have experienced investors and donors as risk adverse. I conclude that is because the quality and attention to detail has not brought in the same return on investment that most secular programming have. 

It is our goal to change that. We have gathered together a network of skilled professionals and artisans that honor God with their words, their actions, and skillsets. We are stepping into some of the most uncertain times in history. Yet, God has a plan and will redeem all things. We must be courageous with our faith in Him and lay everything at His feet. Our dreams and ambition need to be fully surrendered to Him. Now more than ever, we must seek first His kingdom and shepherd His sheep. 

This is so much easier said than done. It is one thing to type this while I am bundled up in the comfort of my soft blanket. It is another thing to truly live this as a lifestyle. When we go to make decisions is where the abundance of our hearts are truly revealed. I know arts and entertainment help people grapple with ideas and form their worldview. If we as God fearing people are not at the forefront of storytelling, we have given over the hearts and minds of humanity to the snake that manipulated Eve in the Garden of Eden. 

Today our cross may be easy to bear as it merely requires us to let go of our offenses, our ego and our pride. Tomorrow God may ask us to risk our careers and livelihood to follow Him into the great unknown. My prayer is to always answer His call. I hope you join me as I step out of the warmth and comfort of this chair and into the tumultuous wind and waves reaching for the hand of the lover of my soul. May we find our hope, strength, and courage in Him. May we join Him in commanding the storms of this world to stop.

Grace & Hustle,

Joy

Letting Go

Letting go. 

When you have fought with all your might, when you have altered your entire life, letting go is more than a cliché. It means you have to give up your desire for control. You must consciously chose to live in the discomfort of process. You willing decide not to ruminate on feelings of powerlessness.

Letting go is finding a place of peace amongst the pain. It is not closure. Letting go means you live in the present without seeking after escape fantasies. It means fully accepting the situation without constantly wishing it would be different.  While the heartache can be unmeasurable the fear begins to dissipate. You begin to accept yourself and your circumstances.

Letting go is focusing on areas you do have control and dismissing worry. As tragedy is apart of our world, we do not have to embrace it as a friend. You can live in the moment and find joy in gratitude. It is an internal process and requires participation. 

Letting go is about riding yourself of all of the guilt and shame you both knowingly and unknowingly hold onto. It’s about sharing with those who care about you. It’s about vulnerability. It’s about being honest with yourself and those who are around you. It’s about not hiding every deep dark thought. You may need to forgive yourself, other’s, and even God for how you perceive the situation.  

Letting go is no longer obsessing over the details. It means not holding onto grief, anxiety, and resentment. You must replace self-loathing with compassion. You have to force old narratives and insecurities out of your subconscious and into the light. 

Letting go is not about running from your problems. It is about acknowledging they exist, validating your feelings in the midst of them, and being mindful of what meaning you are attaching to your journey.  

Letting go is not typically a one step process. It is a constant choice and a continual reminder that you are alive. While letting go can be difficult to do, it creates a space in your heart to be able accept love where there trauma once clung on like a cancer. 

Letting go is not accepting defeat, it is embracing healing. 

Shirtless, gum chewing!

My father was the most generous and self-sacrificing human I have ever personally known. 

He made everyone feel known, seen, heard, and genuinely loved. He was present, attentive, and helpful. My father would give his last dollar away to someone in need. He would go without so others could have. He was the type of person who would literally give you the shirt off of his back during a blizzard.

I admired these qualities in him. Oftentimes, I felt like I couldn’t hold a candle to his standard of loving people. When I was a young, I remember he always carried around a pack of Double Mint gum. I had asked for a piece for myself and a friend. Sure enough Dad pulled out the pack in his pocket and gave us the very last piece. When I split it in half one side was larger than the other. My father leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Give the larger half to your friend.” 

This was such a pivotal moment in my life. I did just as he asked and remember feeling really good about myself. 

I find myself drawn to selfless acts of kindness. I enjoy books like “People Over Profit.”  Over the years I have been incredibly generous with my time, money, resources, food, and more. What I have also found is I tend to put myself last. I find myself in a regular state of lack. I am giving for a variety of reasons. I have a need to be needed. I have a strong desire to be liked. I like easing people’s pain, suffering, and discomfort. 

Up to this point, I have never thought of this a negative thing. I have viewed this as kindness and have aspired to achieve “saint-like” or “savior status” in my efforts to care for others. It was not until physical and emotional burnout slapped me in the face that I began to question these “selfless” acts.

I take on far too many of the responsibilities belonging to others. Why do I use the word “selfish” when I take care of my needs? This is taking a lot of exploration. 

After some processing, I remembered: my father died of prostate cancer. One the world’s most curable cancers. Why was this? By the time the doctors discovered my father had cancer, it had spread to his pelvic bone and lymphatic system. My father didn’t want to be bother. He did not tell people about his pain and discomfort. Other people and their needs were more important. He waited to get help, and by the time he did the cancer was past the point of no return. He sacrificed himself to make sure everyone else’s needs were met. So much so, he is now no longer here to take care of anyone. His life was cut drastically short because he was selfless at his own expense.

I now have to forgive him for not taking care of himself. For not putting his needs first so he could remain and continue loving others. He didn’t kill himself, but I have to forgive him for leaving me when he could still be here today. I have to forgive him for not taking care of his finances. I have to forgive him for not being responsible for himself. I have to forgive him for leaving his kids burdened by the traumatic events surrounding his death and paying for the cost of his death. 

I also now have to apply this truth to my own life. I have to start having boundaries like never before. I have to protect my self, listen to my needs, and not over extend myself. I need to be here to love those who benefit from my life in their world.  I have to cut off the generational puppet strings telling me all of my capacity belongs to those around me, and I am selfish to save any of that capacity for myself. 

I can still admire, aspire, and adhere to the ideals of loving kindness and self-sacrifice. However, I need not die on a self-made cross. There are times when caring for others means keeping my shirt on and chewing an entire piece of gum!

Heart Scars & Makeup Stains

via Heart Scars & Makeup Stains