Fast forward to January 2017.

As Roger headed out for the frozen tundra of Eastern Oregon on a Chukar bird hunting trip, I made it my mission to pray for a miracle. I asked God to reach out and touch Roger’s heart; to give him the inspiration he needed to get happy, to find the joy he so deserves and seemed to have lost over the past couple of years. I trusted God for a miracle. I promised I would do anything to help. I prayed off and on throughout the days and nights. I even brought one of his shirts to a Healing Mass, believing, miracles do happen! In my creative mind, God had the power to find Roger in the snow and to speak directly to him, in words only he could understand, even, perhaps, through the soft warblings of a Chukar bird.

​The mighty hunter returned home several days later, tired and empty handed. It was not the reunion my expectant heart anticipated. I waited until he had showered and shaved before I told him about my prayers for a miracle. When the time felt right we spoke.
​
“I prayed for you while you were gone. “ I said. “I have to know, while you were away, Did God speak to you? Did you hear anything?”
​
Roger answered simply, “No.” 

Genuinely surprised I threw back a barrage of questions; 

“No?” What do you mean, No? You heard nothing… not even a word? Not even a single thought came to mind, an idea or inspiration?” His response remained the same, only this time he added, “I’m sorry… but no.”  
​
I wondered aloud, “How could I have prayed so hard and received nothing?”

Though wisdom and experience have taught me not to doubt, I was still disappointed. I assured myself that God hears every prayer, and answers them. 
“Well, Roger,” I said “I guess I’ll just have to wait, this time.” 
​

The next evening, we went to dinner at that familiar restaurant down the street. Roger and I knew his brother was thinking of selling the place. After thirty-four years in the same business, David was ready to “retire.” 

As Roger and I sat across from each other, at a table, in the bar, we held hands. Roger got that dreamy, slightly mischievious look on his face, the same look he gets when he daydreams about winning the lottery and what he might do with all that money.

Pretty much out of nowhere Roger asked, “What would you think if we took out our retirement and offered to buy this place from Dave?” 

I paused for just a moment and thought to myself, “Holy (expletive).” What if this is the miracle? I promised God I would do anything and this might be it!”

Roger and I agreed to take this possibility one step at a time. One step at a time quickly turned into a one hundred yard dash and on June 1, 2017 we became the new owners of Geppetto’s Italian Restaurant. Located at: 616 Lancaster Dr. NE in Salem, Oregon, Geppetto’s has been serving up Chicago Style Pizza & Pasta dishes since 1974. We are open seven days a week. Monday through Friday 11:00am-10:00pm, Saturday and Sunday 4:00pm-10:00pm. Dine In. Take Out. Or call for Delivery!

Making an investment like this requires intel, otherwise known as; due diligence.

I recall the first meeting we had with our banker, Randy, who knows my music ministry very well. He told us he never recommends people go into the restaurant business, especially people he cares about. 

“But, Randy said, “I think you guys are going to be really good at this.” 
​
From that point on Roger and Randy began to talk about “the numbers.” I kinda checked out of the conversation for a bit. Suddenly, I spoke. As though I was talking to myself but accidentally said it out loud.”

“What is this going to do to me?”

As both Randy and Roger turned to look at me, Randy reached out and put his hand on my arm. His wise words and kind voice spoke to my heart; “Julie, just because you do this, doesn’t change your ministry. You are who you are no matter where God takes you.”

Randy was right. Opportunities to minister abound in the restaurant business. Discernment is paramount. Rest assured, I continue to be who God called me to be, using the gifts I’ve been given. I will go as God calls.

​What has happened since the start of this new venture will be the subject matter of blog posts to follow. Stay tuned!

Please pray for me as I pray for you. Come and see us if you can. At Geppetto's we are maintaining tradition through one of Salem's longest held and best kept secrets. 

With Love and Blessings,

Julie

SCRIPTURALLY SPEAKING:

Joshua 1:9
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.

“I love you and I miss you so much.” I said. 
He spoke, his voice soft like a whisper, “I love you too.”

I could feel his hands on my back and his back in my hands. So real was the warmth of his neck against my cheek.

Outside there was a large crowd. George stood atop some sort of scaffolding. The people were climbing to reach him. Everyone was dressed in white, not a “hurt your eyes kind of white” but a soft, warm, cream color white, the kind of color easy to look at. Everything seemed to glow with light. So many were there to see him. I couldn’t tell if we had come to him or he had come to us. It didn’t matter. We were all together after too long apart.

Then I woke up.

I sat up in the bed and looked around. I was a little shocked and disappointed to find it was only a dream.

I went to the kitchen to brew some coffee. As happens sometimes, our fancy coffee maker malfunctioned. Hot coffee and grounds poured out all over the counter top. As I cleaned up the mess, my mind, still reeling from the intensity of my dream, I wondered aloud, “Well, George, what did you think of Lady Gaga’s performance at the Super Bowl yesterday?”  Out of habit, I then reached for my phone to check Facebook. Not that George’s reaction to the Super Bowl Half Time Show would be there but I figured the rest of the world might have had something to say about it overnight and I was curious. 

​I logged in and right off the bat Facebook did as Facebook does these days and brought up a memory. To my amazement it was a photo of George together with our family. It was taken when he blessed our marriage on the occasion of our 10th wedding anniversary.  ​

Just then I received a text from my sister, Jane. It was a video link to a new Reba Macintyre song called, Back to God. No kidding, I thought.

As I listened I wondered, “George, what do you think about the state of our world right now… about all the strange stuff going on? And by the way, could you please do something about it?” In my heart all he really said, as he touched his fingers to his brow and shook his head was; “Wow. Just wow.”

I talked with my sister Jane for a while when another sister beeped in. I merged the calls hoping she had good news to report about her seemingly never ending job hunt. After months and months of prayers without ceasing we were so happy to hear, “I got the job.” I thought to myself, I wonder if George had anything to do with this? I knew I had asked for his help. Maybe everything was finally going to fall in to place. Maybe he really was interceding for us.

I hung up the phone and said, “George, if you had anything to do with this, thanks.”

Then, suddenly, it hit me. What day is it? Answering my own question by looking at the calendar, It’s February 6th, 2017. I wondered, when did George die? I had to Google his obituary to confirm. In fact, it was today. Three years ago today, February 6th, 2014. Unbelievable. Wow. Just wow.

My dream felt like deep grief. I felt it in my gut. I didn’t realize I carried so much. At first I thought, maybe I should blog about this. On second thought, maybe it’s too sad a topic. Then a third thought came to me, it’s okay to grieve. I have been reminded that grief doesn’t end it just changes. It ebbs and flows with life. I was deeply consoled by the opportunity to see and feel the presence of my dear friend. I am so thankful and inspired to continue this walk of faith toward eternity. 

Dear God, Thank you for the opportunity to see my friend and to feel him present. 

Below you will find the YouTube video for; White Collar Blues. It's a little song I wrote for Fr. George for the 25th Anniversary of his ordination into the priesthood. It features the fantastic harmonica stylings of Greg McManus and the enthusiasm of a great crowd at Ilahee Hills Country Club.

SCRIPTURALLY SPEAKING:
1 Corinthians 15:51-57
51 Behold, I tell you a mystery; we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed, 52 in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet; for the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. 53 For this perishable must put on the imperishable, and this mortal must put on immortality. 54 But when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, then will come about the saying that is written, “Death is swallowed up in victory. 55 O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” 56 The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law; 57 but thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 
(NASB)

One of the strange benefits of being a tow truck driver is finding fun stuff. When vehicles are abandoned so are their contents. If the owner wants their personal property back they can have it but if they don't come and get what they left behind it becomes free game. Being a tow truck driver, Alex, our son, has found and brought home some pretty interesting items.

A couple of weeks before Christmas Alex called to tell me he'd found a guitar in an abandoned car. "It's got eight strings and it's got the words Zim Gar on it." I'm bringing it home, he said. It's pretty messed up but I think it's cool and I can't wait for you to see it."

At first glance I knew Alex was right. It was pretty messed up. It was an old twelve string steel that had certainly seen better days.

"Can you play it?" He asked. 

There were eight of the twelve strings present but only seven tuners would turn. The screws in the headstock were stripped so the tuners themselves were actually bent and popping off. There was no way to tune it. Even the eight strings that were there could not be made to make music. I felt bad for Alex. He was disappointed when I told him I thought it would take somebody who knows what they're doing and a good deal of money to repair it.

Curious, we Googled the model and brand name and found out just about nothing. We did gather that it was made in Japan, probably some time in the sixties. It had been without a case, in an abandoned vehicle full of trash, for God knows how long. It was one sorry guitar. The old strap was tied on with one of the broken steel strings to the broken peg at the bottom end. I told Alex, "We should wash our hands." There was something sticky all over it and the strings smelled funny. God only knew where it had been or what it might have been through. It was sad and cold and had certainly been left for dead.

A couple of days later, unbeknownced to Alex, I took the guitar to a local music store to have it evaluated. The guy I spoke with was very helpful and rather interested in the instrument and it's unique qualities. He said it was an old sixties twelve string steel. "It's just a plywood top, he said, but that's the old kind of plywood, good, solid and strong." He also told me I would likely never find a set of replacement keys for it, "Because they don't make twelve string guitars with slotted heads anymore." My dad had a twelve string when I was little but never having owned one myself... I didn't know, "They don't make them like that anymore." 

I told the guy I wanted to make it play in time for Christmas morning. I mostly wanted Alex to be able to hear what the twelve string steel guitar he'd rescued sounded like. The guy liked the idea but spoke honestly, "You can leave it here if you want but it will take a good deal of time and probably hundreds of dollars to fix it. Certainly more money than it is worth, he said, and with no guarantee that it will ever play." 

I made the decision to buy a set of strings and see what I could do myself. I left the store a little sad but inspired to try. I wasn't about to give up on the bedraggled foundling. So, back in the car it went. Still without a case we headed for home. Out loud, I thought, "I'm not giving up on you yet." I knew nothing except that I would do my best.

I took the strings off first. That took a while and grossed me out a little. I wondered who might have touched those strings last and what were they smoking as they did. I worried a little when I was stuck a few times by the metal and started to bleed. Hand sanitizer, Neosporin and bandaids became an important part of my repair kit.

Having played accoustic, classical guitar since I was a little kid, I had plenty of experience changing strings. In my younger years, without supervision, changing strings led to taking the whole guitar apart every time; screws, keys, strings and all, just because I could. I don't know why I thought I should do that but it felt good. I enjoyed cleaning and polishing every inch of my guitar and putting it back together again. Perhaps my youthful experience was about to come in handy.

I removed the tuners and keys from the headstock, put toothpicks and wood glue in all the stripped screw holes and straightened the metal pieces. I used a solvent called Oops to remove paint splatters and Goo Gone took care of the rest of the unidentifiable sticky stuff. Even without strings this projects looks were improving.

The dining room table became my workshop. Each time Alex came in the house I shut the lights off and threw a blanket over the whole mess; the Dremel, the drill, the pliers, the Goo Gone, Oops, razor blades, tooth picks, glue and sand paper all made a difference.

The next day I reinstalled the tuners. I was surprised a generous helping of valve oil and some slight adjustments got the keys moving again. I thought getting the keys to move would certainly be a skill above my pay grade. One very major hurdle behind me, I was greatly encouraged. 

Next step the next day; strings. I'd never strung a set of steel strings before... let alone twelve of them. For me, three nylon classical strings and three wound steel were no problem. Steel strings on the other hand, were a whole different animal, at least for me. 

Note: steel strings are sharp. I stuck the heck out of my hands and fingers along the way but persevered. The process took so long my hands hurt from winding.

With one final string to go, the lowest one, I said a little prayer, blessed myself and began to wind. Inching ever closer to being in tune, the winding suddenly stopped. I tried one more time to turn the key and "Snap! Bang!" The stinking string BROKE!

I let out kind of a growl, an expletive and a sigh. Not knowing if I had done something wrong or if there was something wrong with the guitar, I hoped a new string would be the answer.

​So close to done I made my way back to the music store to buy a single string. I was disappointed to be met by the store's owner. I call him, Mr. Scrooge. He's always crabby, impatient and condescending. For over twenty years I have tried to shop at his store because I like to support local business. As long as I don't encounter him all is well. Alas, there I was, stuck.  As he was discouraging me, judging my project and my progress. I watched in silence determined to learn from his technique. With one last question from me and one last blank stare from him, I knew I would never be back. I was due a nickle in change. I told him to keep it. I retrieved my guitar from the counter and left the store. Although I was upset by the experience, at least the last string was installed. First thing I did when I returned to my "workshop" was post a scathing review of Mr. Scrooge and his ways.

I sat to make the last turn in tuning and believe it or not the same, dang thing happened again. Key stuck. "Snap! Bang!" The replacement string broke! I growled again. This time a little louder. I cursed Mr. Scrooge and headed to Guitar Center, a music super store at the mall not too far from my house. I purchased three single strings as potential replacement and an extra complete set just in case. In faith, hoping I would ultimately be successful, I bought a case for it. I spent considerably less money than I would have at Scrooge's place and left with wonderful encouragement and advice from the Guitar Center clerk. "Check for any rough spots." He said. It doesn't take much to break a string. He added, "That's a super special thing you're doing there, for your son and the guitar. Good luck and Merry Christmas."

I returned home and sat quietly for a moment. I felt for rough spots and couldn't find any. Slightly battered and a little exhausted, I said another prayer and tried again.   

It worked! It not only played, it played beautifully.

Truthfully it sounds great. Actually... it sings!

On Christmas Eve night I opened the case. I admit I half expected to find strings snapped or the saddle separated from the body. No such thing. All was well. I fine tuned it a little and set it aside for the big surprise Christmas morning. 

After all the other gifts were opened we told Alex he needed to close his eyes. My husband brought the guitar out, laid it on the floor and told him to have a look. When Alex opened his eyes he looked, at first, to be a little confused. When he opened the case his mouth dropped and he said... "What the heck?!"  Is this that guitar? Did you have it repaired?"

"Nope, I said. I did it myself."

Alex suspected nothing, I'm sure, except for the fact that I had most likely tucked his "find" away in the basement in order to get it "out of the way" for Christmas.

Alex asked, "Will you play it for me, mom?" 

I played it but couldn't sing through the lump in my throat. It was the strangest thing... not only was Alex floored but there was a feeling in the room that the guitar had found a family. A new home, new life and the opportunity to sing again. It was as though we had all found each other.

Here in lies proof that we get out of life what we put into it. Fixing up that guitar was not on my to do list for Christmas. I thought there was no way I would have the time or ability but I responded, "yes." When invited to enter the scene I entered with everything I had to give. The result has been one of heartfelt joy and great satisfaction. Another wonderful bonus... Alex wants to learn how to play and he asked me to give him lessons.

My advice:

• Care about people and things. ​
  
• Don't be afraid to try... even if you don't feel quallified.
• Jump in with hope and joy.
• As my good friend Fr. Ray Carey says, "Enter the scene fully and completely."
• Bring something. ​
• Don't be a Scrooge no matter what time of year or what your business.
• Step out and see what happens.
• Never, ever give up. You just might find new life and somewhere wonderful to belong. ​

Adapted Liturgy is an opportunity for anyone and everyone.

It is a place for those with special needs, both seen and unseen, to celebrate and participate in the Mass as we are able.

Adapted Liturgy is a safe place to come as you are. It is Mass simplified to facilitate love for each other, acceptance and freedom to be who we are, as we are able. It is a wonderful, refreshing place to share God’s word in love joy and the gift of Holy Eucharist.

For more info email me: julie@juliehoy.com
You may also contact Kelsey Rea: krea@archdpdx.org
Or visit: http://specialneeds.archdpdx.org/adapted-liturgies

SCRIPTURALLY SPEAKING:
Luke 9:48
48 and said to them, “Whoever receives this child in My name receives Me, and whoever receives Me receives Him who sent Me; for the one who is least among all of you, this is the one who is great.”

Until this morning... I'd never gone to the doctor and asked, "What am I having done and how much is it gonna cost me?" 

This was my first visit to the doctor in a year. Again... I thank God I am healthy and that we did not meet our $13,000 deductible for 2016. 

"$258.00, without any lab work or other diagnostics." She said.

The thought of a bill in December for a minimum of $258.00 on top of our $914.00 monthly health insurance premium (for myself and my two children) was too much. 

Fortunately, my health care provider is kind and smart. She managed to eliminate (or postpone) three procedures I was scheduled for today. Don't know exactly how much money I saved... but I'm sure it is significant.

I hope the insurance plan I find for 2017 will be better. 

I just hung up with a broker. He assured me... "It won't."

Our health insurance situation is an absolute mess. No matter how you look at it, or try to justify it, it's one hundred ways to wrong. Middle class people like me pay the big bucks while emergency rooms and urgent care facilities are filled with huge amounts of people who will never pay a dime.
The change isn't working. The situation is worse. 

And so... here comes 2017. I guess premiums are going up. Oh, okay. Sure. Whatever you need. 

Btw.. I don't blame the broker. He's just the messenger. It's the people in those meetings... probably somewhere warm and tropical... where our insurance fate is determined... in terms of cost and benefit. Those people... the lobbyists and politicians who keep insurance companies in the money... they are the ones who should be held accountable. 

What about a "Good Health" policy; something like a "Good Driver" policy, where if you didn't use the coverage you were forced to pay for... you get some back at the end of the year?

If you know me... you know I don't care for buffets. That said, I want my cafeteria plan back! I know what my needs are and I did just fine trusting God for the rest.

SCRIPTURALLY SPEAKING:
Genesis 50:21 
So therefore, do not be afraid; I will provide for you and your little ones.” So he comforted them and spoke kindly to them.

When the clouds finally cleared, after all the liability paperwork was filled out, three hours of waiting and some shared snacks, my husband Roger and I were cleared to jump. While jumping out of a plane at 13,000 feet got me a little closer to Heaven, the fact that I was pretty near certain I would die that day brought me even closer to God.

For eleven months I processed through the fear of what I thought would be every step of the experience. At first I couldn’t comprehend the moment where you jump out of the plane. But as time moved on I got better at visualizing the possibility. Then my fear moved to equipment failure. Not much I could do about that, I thought. I was counting on the company we were jumping with to do their job right. One of the last points of fear for me, on the way to the airport that day, was whether or not the guy strapped to my back would have hooked us up right. I wondered, would we fall out and become separated? Again, nothing I could do about that. I would have to count on him. Well, sort of. Ultimately, I had to count on God’s plan for my life.

I enjoy flying, so take off didn’t bother me a bit. When the door opened at 13,000 feet and tandem pairs of perfectly good people started dropping out one after the other, I think I went into shock. My one and only expletive was uttered in that moment. I could not believe what we had long anticipated was about to happen. Surrendered to my faith in God and my new human savior, Josiah, we sat together in the doorway of the plane. As instructed, I wrapped my lower legs under the body of the plane. “Put your head back.” Josiah said. I did... and as promised he rolled us forward out of the plane.

Nothing could have prepared me for free fall. It  was crazy! While Josiah and I fell together through the sky at about 200 miles an hour, for 8,000 feet, I couldn’t process what was happening fast enough. I was determined though to make good on a promise to my friend, Pam, to keep my eyes open. My eyes were open alright and if you look at the photos or watch the video, you can see that they were filled with fear. My mouth, on the other hand, was filled with air. I couldn’t keep my lips from flapping or my teeth from drying out. That made for some lovely images.

To my delight, after free fall, the parachute opened. The shift in speed was abrupt but very welcome. I uttered some unintelligible words of excitement and continued to do everything Josiah told me to do.

The feeling of dangling from a parachute was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Turning was a rush. Imagine rounding a sharp corner while gravity is pulling you downward. From the moment we left the plane I had no idea where we were in the sky. I had no idea where we were in relation to where we needed to land either. I found out later, at about that same time, our daughter, Madeline, looked up from her safe place on the ground and asked, “Why is mom so far away from the rest of the group?” I was the one steering but I could not have been held responsible for where we were. Josiah knew just when to take control. My only responsibility was to enjoy every remaining moment of the experience and to stretch them for as long as possible.

Landing was sweet, gentle and easy. Josiah said we would land seated if need be. “But if I say stand”, he told me, Just step with me.”

When the time came and Josiah said, “Stand.” I stepped with him. In a flash we were two separate individuals again, safely on the ground. I casually walked away, my arms raised in victory!

Roger and I high fived, hugged and kissed right there in the landing zone. We scooted over to our waiting family members, answered questions and stood for photos. We then returned to the dressing room, surrendered our jump suits, goggles and hats. It felt good to get back down to my faith-filled shirt. I thanked the “packers” as they call them in the skydiving business. They’re the guys who pack the parachutes for every jump. I didn't realize until then we were counting on them too! Everybody did their job well. We go on to live our faith another day!

Skydiving reminded me that life and living are filled with opportunities to exercise our faith. As I saw it that day, my skydiving experience boiled down to three kinds of faith; Faith in self, e.g., confidence, trust, courage and willingness, Faith in others, e.g.,  Sometimes we have to rely on others, we have to trust their skills and knowledge to keep us safe. Faith in God - i.e., The ultimate safety net, e.g., never ending hope found in the promise of Eternity

​Unlike the hand game; Rock Paper, Scissors, where one thing will always have power over another, or where, when two like things meet, it’s a wash, A life lived in faith has a supreme force. Two of the three kinds of faith I have mentioned here can be beat. We all know; humans will, at some point, disappoint. Faith in God will infinitely out perform any amount of faith we have in ourselves or others.

It was most certainly my faith which gave me the courage to jump and the ability to trust. It was my faith that gave me the ultimate safety net. It didn’t matter how it ended. I knew, no matter what, I was going to be okay. Because of my faith, I'm gonna be okay, every moment of every day. I don't think we all have to go skydiving to figure that out. This experience increased the knowledge I have about my faith, the confidence I have in myself and the reality that there are times when we simply have to rely on others. For all of  that… I am thankful.

Roger and I paid a little extra to memorialize our jumps with video. Using Apple’s iMovie (thank you Steve Jobs) and some of my own music, I created a joint video. Roger and I hope you enjoy. See below... A Leap of Faith.

Scripturally Speaking: 

Joshua 1:9 (Thanks David... this is a great one.) 
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

Hebrews 11:1
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

Proverbs 3:5
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
And do not lean on your own understanding.

Hebrews 11:7
By faith Noah, being warned by God about things not yet seen, in reverence prepared an ark for the salvation of his household, by which he condemned the world, and became an heir of the righteousness which is according to faith.

Pictured above is an Italian Roast Beef Sandwich from Chicago's famous, Giordano's. YUM!

Be where you are supposed to be and you just might help to save a life.

Before the first pitch was thrown (as I was wondering how soon we might be able to leave) my friend had to use the bathroom. I didn't have to go so I waited with her daughter outside the restroom.

Within seconds a frantic man approached, grabbed my arm and told me he needed me to go into the ladies restroom for him. At first I thought he might be joking but the look on his face told me something was wrong. He continued, "I need you to go into the restroom and get me the wheel chair. There is a man choking!"

I darted into the restroom, quickly looked around and located the wheel chair. Not realizing it was one of those chairs that had a release handle, I lifted it up and swung it around toward the door. (no easy task.) I then saw the release lever and was able to shoot the chair back out through the restroom entrance. The man took the chair and disappeared. 

There we were, left not knowing the choking man's fate. We had to let it go. A little shocked, we continued waiting. 

Strangely, a bratwurst with mustard was the next order of business. In my head I kept telling myself, "Remember to chew your food."

Suddenly, I spotted the man who asked me to get the wheel chair. I jetted over and inquired about the choking man.

"Is the guy who was choking okay?" I asked.

Frantic man replied, "Oh, you're the lady who got the wheel chair. "Jeeze, he said, the guy was choking real bad. He was turning blue and purple and all kind of colors. Emergency personnel hadn't made it to the upper levels yet, so we needed the wheel chair to get the man down to the lower level to find help. EMTs were able to help him and get him off to the hospital. He's gonna be okay. Thanks for your help. Glad you were there."

Me too. You never know what might happen. It's good to be where you're supposed to be. Might be wherever you are right now.

The Cubs won, by the way. Sorry to the Dodger fans who sat in front of us. It was a great game and a beautiful day for baseball!

Below is a little video clip for your enjoyment.

​Where else can you go, except for Wrigley Field, to watch your favorite Criminal Minds cast member, Joe Mantegna, belt out Take Me Out To The Ball Game during the Seventh Inning Stretch?! 

SCRIPTURALLY SPEAKING:

Matthew 15:17
Do you not see that whatever goes into the mouth passes into the stomach and is expelled?
(Or not... winky face.)

Colossians 3:23
23 Whatever you do, do your work heartily, as for the Lord rather than for men,
NASB

Scripturally Speaking:
Psalm 147:3
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
NASB

The day after my fiftieth birthday I found myself surrounded by death. In our circle of friends and family, three great people had passed within a week. I was having difficulty being everywhere for everyone but I knew I just needed to have faith and keep moving forward, one responsibility at a time.

I was experiencing what I thought to be double vision at the time. I  made the mistake of searching the internet for a cause. My search ended with enough information to believe I was having a stroke. A blood pressure reading of 185/100 at my local clinic earned me a fancy ambulance ride to the hospital. It was a difficult moment which changed my life for the better.

Life is forever changing. If you're anything like me, there are times when you wish it wouldn't. I wish life could run smoothly day after day but it won't. I wish the good times could always outweigh the bad but sometimes they just don't. That's life, forever changing; for the better, for the worse.

I wish the people we love didn't have to die... but they do. I wish age didn't bring limitations... but it does. How we choose to live makes a difference as to how we live and how we die. If we have the power to change how we live in order to positively impact the living and dying parts, I think we should. It just might be; life changing. It certainly has been for me.

I turned fifty in September, 2015. Six months prior, I had made a visit to my primary care doctor. The words he said impacted me quite negatively at first but in the long run I found them to be an inspiration.

"You know, my doctor said, your blood pressure has been high the last few times I've seen you. I think it's time to think about blood pressure medication. I'd like you to monitor your blood pressure daily for the next six weeks and then come back in for a re-check."

I tried to make good on his orders but couldn't. I found checking my blood pressure stressful. My numbers just kept going higher and higher. I cancelled my appointment six weeks later and every six weeks until until November when I felt I was ready to return.

I knew I hadn't done a dang thing as far as diet and exercise were concerned. I wanted to do something to help myself before I returned to his office. I also knew I didn't want begin a regiment of  high blood pressure medication. I would do anything to change myself before taking a pill that would change my situation for me. I thought to myself, If I have high blood pressure, it’s my own fault. I've always eaten whatever I wanted to eat. Salted whatever needed salting and not since high school, had I participated in any form of physical activity with regularity. My stress level was high and my effort to help myself feel better was non existent.

As I made the ambulance ride to the hospital on the first day of my fiftieth year, I overheard the EMT announce to the dispatcher that he had “a fifty year old female on board,” with this vital sign and that. It was weird to hear my name with that age. I was sure to let him know that I had only been fifty for about a day and that it seemed like he was having an awful lot of fun announcing it. Upon arrival in the Emergency Room, I received no special testing. I needed no special attention or drastic measures. After many hours of waiting and plenty of time to consider every terrifying possibility, a very nice doctor returned to my room and informed me, to my surprise, that after his assessment he did not think I had high blood pressure but rather a vision problem. He wanted me to make an appointment with an eye doctor and that was all. I was encouraged and relieved.

I had just picked up a new pair of glasses two weeks prior to that time so I headed straight to Costco to have my prescription verified. Turned out my prescription was fine but my lenses were not sitting straight. Apparently, with an astigmatism as severe as mine, twisted lenses can cause your eyes to pull to the point of crossing. Once my lenses were straightened out, my vision problems were gone. One major problem solved. Another issue yet to be confronted, more change was necessary. I just needed to figure out how to do the changing.

In the days which followed my ER visit, I had a regularly scheduled appointment with my hairdresser. There really is nothing like a great cut and color to make a girl feel young and beautiful. It was certainly an appointment I was not afraid to keep.

If your hairdresser or barber is anything like mine, your time spent together is as much about great conversation and laughter, as it is about your hair. I’ve been seeing Pam since our girls were in pre-school together. So, for about seventeen years we have come together over a chair, a bowl, scissors and a blow dryer to discuss the worlds problems, including a few of our own. Our conversation that day was more than chatter, it was absolutely life changing.

Pam listened to the latest story of my heart and as she often does with clients said what she thought might help. She dared me to join her for a fitness class which started the following Monday. Titled; 28 Days to Sexy Slim and Strong, it would cost $137.00 and would include 3-4 days of workout a week, regular weigh ins and a meal plan. I discussed the idea with my husband when he got home that evening. He said, “With everything you’ve been through lately, I think the class would be well worth it.”

I’d never been a part of a work out group. Heck, I’d never been inside a fitness center. So, I did the only thing I could, what any good green horn would do, I begged my daughter for help in finding something appropriate to wear.

I had to miss the weigh in on Sunday. Because that detail seemed to go unnoticed, I decided for myself I would not take on the meal plan aspect of the class. I committed to watching what I ate and when I ate it. I gave up drinks other than water and committed to making work outs 3-4 times a week.

The class kicked off the following Monday and kicked my butt for 28 days. I found muscle groups which had long been forgotten. I didn’t realize how set in my physical ways I had become. The class awakened a consciousness I did not know I had. I made a fool of myself more than once. Not knowing how to do a proper squat or lunge saw to that. Most of the people there had taken the class before. My inexperience was obvious but my will to continue on was far greater. It helped that Pam was there to cheer me on. The fast pace and circuit nature of the training really woke up my thinker; another gift I didn’t see coming.

Near the end of my 28 days, knowing I could not afford to take the class again, I began to take a look around the room. I wanted to take away every possible bit of knowledge and inspiration for my effort. I took note of the different shapes and sizes of the people, as well as the differing levels of skill and commitment. Because I’m not a large person people often assume I am healthy. It had been said to me before that I can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be overweight. It’s true. I did not have a great deal of weight to lose… but the distance between being unhealthy and doing something about it is really the same for everyone... no matter what your size.

Out of all I learned in those 28 days, that one thought was by far my greatest take away. Our issues may vary, but no matter what the circumstance, the distance between doing nothing and doing something about that which faces us is the same. Turns out… I’m much stronger than I thought.

The class ended but my commitment to better health continues. I met the holiday season with a new way of thinking. I did not abstain from my favorite things to eat but for the first time in my life, I thought about what I was eating and how many times I visited the hors d’oeuvre and dessert counter. Water is still my favorite drink of choice and moving the boxes of paper work from the treadmill gave me a place to get my heart rate up each day. Our son left enough free weights around after high school that I can keep up my reps and the yoga mat I got for Christmas years ago now gets a work out of it’s own.

I finally visited my primary care doctor in November. The threat of high blood pressure medication was lifted. I admitted I had been avoiding him because I knew I needed to change my way of living in order to find out what my body could do without medication. “Well,” he said.”You’ve done it.”

To think, a potential diagnosis was all I needed to change my life. Sure it took months to get started as well as the encouragement and accountability between friends but the outcome has been wonderfully satisfying, inspiring and life changing.

It's taken me a while to get to the point of sharing my personal journey publicly. I write all of this with a thankful heart.

Pamela Marthaller, Cosmos Deja Vu
Mah- Ann's Pro Fitness

SCRIPTURALLY SPEAKING:
Hebrews 12:12
12 Therefore, strengthen the hands that are weak and the knees that are feeble,
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1 Corinthians 3:16
Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you?
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