I’ve never watched the VMA awards before.
I don’t even know what VMA stands for. And I don’t really care.
But this week has been overshadowed by the latest shocking event on this show. Why? Because my daughter is mortified.
My girls grew up watching Hannah Montana. They’d finish their homework, and run to the television to watch the latest show. And all of us moms were like, “How cool is this? A wholesome show, where a daughter and her dad work together. This is great!”
My daughter reminded me today that her dad, AKA Chief, did not allow her to buy the Miley Cyrus CD. She was heartbroken.
I hadn’t remembered this.
But once I recalled the situation, I think I didn’t really agree with him. I didn’t see the harm in “Nobody’s Perfect.” But he set his foot down, and I let it go.
Today, I watched “Hannah Montana” in action again, only this time I was absolutely appalled.
My girls and I watched her new video for her song, “We Can’t Stop.” We looked at one another and my oldest responded, “What happened to her?”
That’s what I’m wondering, too. What happened to her?
She’s beautiful. She used to have amazing long, flowing hair. She has a flawless voice. She has money, and fame. She was smart, and funny, with some country, down home roots.
This week, as I watched her stick her tongue out KISS-style, shaved head with hair-ears, gyrating with a foam finger, freak dancing on a married man (oh, they call it twerking now), and generally making a first-class fool of herself, my first thought was, she’s reduced herself to her crotch.
I know that’s harsh. I’m sorry.
Yep, I’m sorry for her. And her dad. And for my girls to see such a gifted girl objectify herself for shock factor, or money, or ratings. It’s really sad. Because she is really so much more than that.
My “adopted” daughter (she’s like family) posted on her Instagram yesterday the photo you see above, a quote from Audrey Hepburn: “There is more to sex appeal than just measurements. I don’t need a bedroom to prove my womanliness. I can convey just as much sex appeal, picking apples off a tree or standing in the rain…” and the comment: “This is the obvious difference between a timeless Oscar winner and a little girl in desperate need of a daddy willing to pull his baby off that stage and remind her she’s beautiful…”
I’m not bagging on Billy Ray Cyrus – I have no idea what goes on in their home, what the dynamics are, and who exactly is making the decisions for his daughter, who is only 20. I just keep thinking of Chief and his unpopular decision to ban the music. Knowing what I know now, his spidey-cop-sense was pinging back then. Little Miley has been on a downward spiral for quite a while now. He didn’t think it prudent for our young girls to listen to the boy-centered lyrics over and over and over. I didn’t catch on right away, but he was protective. It’s a cop thing. Our kids need us to protect them from the world. Sometimes they need protection from themselves. It’s a loving thing for a daddy to step in and say no – no matter what the reaction.
Never underestimate the power of a dad who protects his kids.
And ladies, never undermine the value of a dad who protects his kids.
Chief has made some decisions that our kids thought were too strict at the time. Music. Places. Clothes. Friends. He said no when it wasn’t popular. He knows that our girls are smart, and beautiful, and have value and worth, and he has told them this for years. The boys round here know they have to go through Dad to get a date. Believe it or not, they appreciate this.
When I was a little younger than Miley Cyrus, I was out of control too. For me, I had the love and support of a family at home, and a dad who loved and protected me the best he knew how. But I needed to make sure that my family’s values were to be valued. At 16, it seemed that they were more of a hindrance to my fun than protection. So I was one person at home, and a very different person at the parties. Soon, I found myself in a downward spiral. I was miserable, even a little desperate. Then, in a great crescendo of foolishness, I went completely berserk and suddenly even the bad company thought I’d gone too far.
It was enough to slap me into reality. I looked in the mirror and saw that my beauty was fading, my body was weak, and there was no light in my eyes. I left the party scene for good. I went back to church. I apologized to my parents, and to God. And my dignity was returned. Their God-inspired family values became my own.
Because our kids have parents who love them enough to cherish and set boundaries to protect them, they’ve developed an inner value and peace. When I was that wayward, self-destructive teenager, my mom was on her knees in prayer, and my father set the standards. When my actions reaped their natural consequences, their love wooed me back home. And I found peace.
My prayer is that this latest event will be what slaps Miley Cyrus into reality, and she will return to her Southern roots, return to dignity, and finally become who she was born to be. It’s never too late to go home.
Victoria Newman - "A CHiP on My Shoulder" August 28th, 2013
Posted In: Uncategorized
The thunder rumbled and the room lit up. She sighed heavily, leaning over to see that her husband was not in bed. And then she remembered where he was. Sadness. Anger. Grief.
She pulled herself from under the covers. She couldn’t sleep anyway. Between the physical storm that presently ripped through the sky, and the storm that had crashed in on their world just a few hours earlier, there was no peace in slumber. There was no peace anywhere.
She stumbled to her computer and that’s when she saw my message. Emotion bubbled up inside, and she replied, “There is no chapter in a book that prepared me for this…”
My mind went back to many years ago when I got a phone call. I just returned from a weekend away and was on cloud nine. But then I heard the words, “Cammie was in a plane crash… and died…”
My body was thrown to the floor like I’d been punched in the stomach. Pain gripped me from the inside out and hurled itself through my veins, and then out of my mouth in an incomprehensible scream.
Cammie was my best friend.
The next few days were a blur. I somehow showed up on the family’s doorstep one dark night. We watched the news together after barely talking. The story blared from the set, and they showed footage of the plane. Her sister started screaming, the reality of horror setting in. We consoled her, and cried with her. It was all too much for me.
I then went to a friend’s home who did not know Cammie. I stayed there for hours, crying, reminiscing, talking, and being silent. The guys in the house did nothing but listen. They didn’t know what to say, but that was fine. Their silence was sacred to me. And my healing began.
I learned this past year in chaplaincy training that there is a name for this: ministry of presence. We can provide comfort just by being present.
When the shock and grief hits head on like a Mack truck, there are no words. The body is reeling from shock and numb with pain, the mind is a jumbled mess of questions and rationalizations and disbelief, and the spirit is injured. The survivor simply can’t hear anything.
They don’t want to hear you’re sorry. Everybody says that.
They don’t need to hear the upside view of things. At this moment there is no bright perspective – their lives have been forever changed. They will resent your minimizing of their loss.
They don’t need someone to force them to eat. The body shuts down the need for food in the initial stages of shock and grief. They will eat eventually. Hand them a bottle of cold water instead.
They don’t need advice. Solutions will present themselves soon enough. Let the grief have its moments.
They don’t need you to pass judgment on how they grieve. Every person grieves differently.
They do need someone who will allow them to talk without interruption, cry as softly or loudly as need be, be silent and quiet as thoughts untangle, and to offer a comforting touch or hug if appropriate.
They do want to hear short positive memories or compliments of the person lost when appropriate.
They will appreciate happy photos of the deceased.
Then, after the funeral and burial have passed and the world moves on, they will appreciate your acknowledgement that you are still thinking about them, they are not alone, and they are not forgotten. Cards are best sent a month or two after the death. Flowers at Christmas in memory of the loss, or a tribute of some kind, or a phone call – it’s never too late to reach out to the survivor.
On the third of every month, my daughter (who lost a close friend on Super Bowl Sunday of this year) will come in and announce how long it’s been since Morgan died. We share a moment eye to eye, and I am silent to allow her to comment. Sometimes I give her a hug. Sometimes she’s quiet, sometimes she sheds a tear.
It’s all good.
Grief, in all its anguish, is a normal, natural part of life. It is not something to avoid, but to make time to embrace and work through unhurried. Our loved ones who pass away are worth it.
Victoria Newman - "A CHiP on My Shoulder" August 20th, 2013
Posted In: Uncategorized
Tags: Death of a Loved One, Fallen Officer, Grief, police
This is not a political post. The one thing I dislike about politics is that people are divided, placed into different groups and sometimes pitted against each other. If you’ve read my posts for very long, you understand that I advocate bringing people together despite their differences, learning to communicate in a way that brings about unity. So, with that said, I’d like to tell you a story about a man who has made a difference in my life.
My family and I went to the Reagan Library yesterday, and though we’d been there before, I was surprised to learn a few things.
When I was born 47 years ago, Ronald Reagan was finishing up the last few months of his successful campaign for Governor of California. From that point on, he was someone from a distance who overshadowed my life.
Reagan was my first vote for President at 18 – even though I had no idea what he stood for politically. He was respected and handsome and was doing a great job already, so I voted for him.
Then, a few years later, I was in the country of Hungary, on my way to Romania for the summer. My friend and I had gone into a bathroom on a pitstop near the train. The bathroom attendant was a short old woman in a tunic and scarf. Lines were etched on her face and she was missing several teeth. She heard my friend and I talking, and asked, “Polis?” “No,” I replied. “American.” At that point she said a few things in her own language, approached me and took me by the arms. “Awwww….” she smiled and looked up into my eyes. “Reagan….” she giggled. “REAGAN!!!”
I nodded, not understanding what the heck was going on. We returned to the train, and journeyed into a dark place… Romania.
It was very different back then, in Eastern Europe. It was as if World War II was still a luminous shadow upon the land – communism had beaten the people down for decades, and there was military and government control over the people. They had no freedom, no choices, no voice, and no hope.
In Romania, the militia were armed with Uzis on every corner, striking fear in all of those around. The Romanian government was starving it’s people – we witnessed fights in bread lines, and their meat was unrecognizable; there were stores only foreigners could buy food from. At night, the people were only aloud one small light in their homes, and the length of that was rationed. Although the Romanian people were very proud of their medical care, we saw horribly diseased people. I saw one man whose legs were missing from high thigh. He “walked” on them, using wooden blocks to protect his hands, and his suit pants dragged behind. We were told of failed escape attempts, where people were shot as they ran for the razor-wire fences. If you were a person of faith, you were considered an enemy of the state. We talked with people who were beaten, starved and imprisoned for years because they dared to meet together to worship God and receive teaching from the Bible. We heard stories of the cruelty of the Dictator and his wife, and saw from a distance the palace he was building for himself – stealing the country’s food supply and selling it to other countries to pay for it. It was later shown that even bathroom fixtures were gilded in gold. The royal couple were absolutely hated, yet the factory workers were forced to clap, sing and wave flags when they showed up with cameras. We saw these staged rallies on television often during our stay.
These images jarred me out of my young careless stupor of what the world held outside American borders. As I saw the oppression of the people and was witness to the sobbing prayers of people crying for relief, I began to feel their pain.
That trip forever changed me. I came back extremely thankful I was an American.
What I didn’t know is that at the same time I was traveling to Eastern Europe, President Reagan, angry after Gorbachev pulled a fast one in their peace talks, challenged him in a speech near the Berlin Wall. “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!” It was a challenge from a brave man who dared to speak of things that shouldn’t be, and against the recommendations of his Cabinet. He’d been given the opportunity by God to speak – and he didn’t back down. It was the beginning of the end of communism in Eastern Europe.
That little old lady in the bathroom in Hungary had been given HOPE, and she was celebrating it with a 20-year-old American who didn’t yet have a clue.
Two years later, on Christmas Day 1989, I watched on television as the people of Romania, with help from their own militia, captured Dictator Ceaucescu and his wife, and executed them. The Berlin Wall was torn down several weeks earlier by the German people. Families were reunited after decades of living on opposite sides of the wall. Though Reagan had already concluded his presidency, the movement he set in motion had come to the people.
This is a great inspiration to me. To see injustices cease; to see people rising in freedom and hope, was deeply meaningful. It made me believe that anything was possible.
Yesterday I sat in a garden in the Simi Valley, gazing upon a section of the Berlin Wall that was given to Ronald Reagan as a gift. I took a picture of my kids next to it – an image that speaks to me of the victories over oppression. Having dwelt in the shadows of this oppression for two months, it is deeply satisfying.
So, why am I writing this in a blog to police families? What does the inspiration of Ronald Reagan have to do with those in uniform?
We as police families have been given key positions in our communities. Our spouses – and by extension, us – have the ability to affect change. Through the work that is done every day, every night, they keep the peace, making sure that anarchy does not reign in America. Peace officers have the opportunity to take criminals off the streets, speak a word in a crucial moment, open the eyes of careless citizens, and even to show kindness to those who are rarely shown kindness. Even a little of each of these can give people hope, improving the lives of Americans. It’s an amazing responsibility we have as crucial parts of America’s communities.
With that responsibility comes sacrifice. And those of us who support officers from home can name those sacrifices and tell stories about those sacrifices, and sometimes even resent those sacrifices. Ronald Reagan was one who understood the responsibility of his position, and with the love of his wife, courageously set forth to change the world.
May we do the same.
Victoria Newman - "A CHiP on My Shoulder" August 4th, 2013
Posted In: Uncategorized
Tags: Berlin Wall, change, communism, police families, police wives, Ronald Reagan
It was a beautiful day in Yosemite National Park and about fifteen of us decided to take an easy, one-hour hike around Mirror Lake.
Little did we know it would take us most of the day.
We started out, a motley crew of family and friends ranging in age from six weeks to 80 years, conversing along the paved way. We leisurely hiked about two-thirds around the lake when we came to a barricade that said, “Warning! Landslide damage. Trail ends here.” Being the adventurous type and rationalizing it would take twice as long to turn back, we said to each other, “How bad could it be?”
We forged ahead until we came to the actual landslide. White rocks ranging in size from toasters to houses were toppled upon one another, with huge trees laying on their sides at the bottom. The area covered about three acres. To traverse over this seemed a daunting task with the small children and elderly present. Unbelievably, we went for it. Up and down, rock to rock, tree to tree, we got all fifteen of us across the debris with only minor scrapes. We regrouped on the other side, taking swigs of water and eating trail mix, chuckling about our ordeal, and amazed everyone made it intact.
On the journey through life, there will be hazards that show up along the way. They may seem impossible, but the only way to go is through them. I’ve pulled a few principles from our Yosemite hike that I think are very applicable to hard times in our lives.
First, we got through the debris one step at a time. There were rocks upon rocks, and some of them were not steady. We had to test each rock as we moved forward and side to side, taking the most sure and stable route. When life gets tough, maneuvering through pain and consequences can be pretty tricky. You may see where you hope to be at the end, but the path to get there may be riddled with uncertainty. Taking each step slowly and steadily minimizes pitfalls that come with a difficult journey.
Second, some hikers needed help to get across. We took turns carrying the two-year-old and lending extra support to the mom who had the six-week-old baby strapped to her front as well as the grandparents. When things get tough, we need to lean on our support systems to get us safely to the other side. Sharing each other’s loads is not only necessary for survival, but bonding can be a byproduct. By the end of the day we felt a special kinship with each other through what we’d been through.
One of the hikers was really fearful for the children. She was really angry at why we were in this situation. I was a little surprised, because she is usually very level-headed. My husband told me later that just a week earlier her son slipped and fell with his newborn son in his arms and dropped the baby. She saw the whole thing happen. The trauma of that situation carried over into seeing another grandchild in potential danger. The third thing to remember is when we go through tough times, past hurts may ignite anger or fear. Past hurts tend to complicate things. Understanding, acknowledging and communicating this will help you navigate your response.
No sooner did we rejoin the trail, when we heard a huge crack and rumble from above. Thunder and lightening filled the sky, and then the downpour started. We were soaked to the bone by the time we reached our bus stop. Sometimes, when one trial ends, another one begins. And then another. It’s just the way life happens sometimes. We dealt with this by laughing. Most of us kept our sense of humor intact. Just moments before we got soaked, we were all sweaty from climbing over rocks and trees. We joked about not needing showers anymore. When life is one trouble after another, sometimes it’s just good to laugh in the midst of it. Laughter is also contagious.
The last thing is we never gave up. We kept moving forward, helping each other, talking it through. Once we made it to some shelter to escape the downpour, some of the teenagers decided to run all the way back to our campground. We were all exhausted, but they made it fun by going that extra mile.
Don’t give up!
Victoria Newman - "A CHiP on My Shoulder" July 25th, 2013
Posted In: Uncategorized
Tags: Hard Times, law enforcement, police wives
Today is July 17, 2013, or 7-17, simply put.
Maybe this day means nothing to you. It’s just another day. It’s another day to live and breathe and move about. July 17th used to be that for me – not a significant day. None of my loved ones had a birthday (that I know of), nothing of distinction happened to me (that I remember).
But for twenty United States soldiers, this day is significant. July 17th is the anniversary of a miracle – where it seemed they had an appointment with doom, and the Grim Reaper had come to call.
It happened four years ago in the Watapur Valley of Afghanistan. Sixteen men went on a foot patrol, guns at the ready, and unbeknownst to them, they were being watched. Insurgents were hiding behind rocks and boulders above them, waiting patiently for them to enter the valley so they could close in around them. They wanted to capture at least one alive for God-knows-what, and the others would die swiftly. Young men, barely into their twenties, were walking into a death trap.
The first bullet was sent, and the barrage of deadly weapon fire began, quickly wounding three of the sixteen, one hit in the abdomen. Death was near.
The battle touched off the fate of four more men, older soldiers who had been working all night, gathering wounded from other areas in Afghanistan. These men were aboard a Medevac helicopter, and had the choice to intervene. At least one life depended on them, but they faced the reality they may have to give up their own.
July 17th, 2009, will live in the thoughts and minds of all twenty of these men. Though the chances were slim to none because of the circumstances, all twenty survived the battle. The men on the ground, the helicopter crew that flew in SIX times in the middle of unbelievable weapon fire, and the medic who dared to be hoisted down a thin cable into the fire to gather not three, but five men who could’ve perished in that valley.
That medic is wearing a beautiful navy blue Cavalry Stetson today in honor of the memory. If you see him, thank him.
There are many dates that mark the appearing of death: June 6, 1944. December 5, 1941. September 11, 2001. Many succumbed despite the efforts of the brave. But others did not because a brother or sister stepped in, overcoming fear with courage, and in heroic moments, laid it all on the line. They are living proof that from the battlefields from Afghanistan and Iraq to our cities and counties here in the States – there are courageous warriors who are willing to step up, step in, and live to commemorate dates like 7-17.
Note: This story is recounted in detail in Selfish Prayer, a book due to be released in August 2013 through Amazon.com.
Victoria Newman - "A CHiP on My Shoulder" July 17th, 2013
Posted In: Uncategorized
Tags: Afghanistan, flight medics, law enforcement, military, warriors
I was frustrated. My daughter rolled her eyes when I told her to do something she wanted me to do for her. Chief had a beef with several things that had fallen through the cracks. My marketing firm gave me an ultimatum. And I was living in a constant state of frustration, doing poorly in every area of my out-of-balance life.
Yet I trudged on. It felt like each day I pulled around a heavy ball and chain, and couldn’t get my act together. Nothing was working right. I couldn’t cross off items on my list to save my life!
Have you ever been there? Where you have a to do list as long as your arm, and at the end of each day, it’s a longer list than you started with? Yeah, me.
Then came Sunday.
I had one of those deeper, come to an understanding conversations with Chief. And suddenly it all came clear. I was involved in too many things. I’d chosen to sign up for too many good causes, and everyone around me was suffering because of it. I was suffering, too.
I made the choice to withdraw from the chaplaincy. Yep, I only had a small amount of hours to complete. Yep, I loved it. Yep, I didn’t want to step away. But when it came down to it, it was the well-being of my family, or the chaplaincy. No contest.
What finally stopped me in my tracks was when Chief mentioned the one year we have left with our 16-year-old. She will be the kid that packs up and heads for college near the beach, coming home for Christmas and spring break. Oof.
Since I resigned from the chaplaincy (just a few days ago), every day is a new day of relief. More opportunities showed themselves: opportunities for relationship, opportunities to serve my family, and opportunities for contentment. The frustration level has decreased. I even exercised the last couple of days. And it feels great.
It’s about timing. We as women have so many choices and seasons, we are very capable. I thought this season was more about my career, as the kids are getting older. They don’t need me like they used to. But they still need me.
I don’t change diapers or pick up toys or help with homework anymore. But I do take phone calls and I do drive my younger two to events, and I need to remind my 13-year-old to wear sunscreen. I don’t stay up nights praying away monsters under the bed, but I do comfort my adult kids when they’ve had a bad day – at midnight, usually. I also wake up in the night praying for my son who doesn’t live with us anymore, but I know he may be sleepless with his chronic nightmares.
The kids are older, but I am still the heart of our home. And the choices I make with my time have a ripple effect on Chief and the four that God blessed us with. And for now, in this time, my availability for them is the most important choice I can make.
Victoria Newman - "A CHiP on My Shoulder" June 28th, 2013
Posted In: Uncategorized
Tags: choices, home, police wives
Recently Chief and I went to a co-worker’s wedding. During the ceremony, the couple braided three cords together as a symbol of their new marriage. One cord for the bride, one for the groom, and the third was symbolic of God. It was a Scottish/Irish tradition, and the pastor talked about how they were individuals coming together to make a new life, and God would be the third strand that would keep their marriage strong.
I’d never seen this before, even though I am Scottish/Irish and Chief has Irish roots. But as a couple who just celebrated our 25th year together, I can say that our third strand, Christ, has definitely made our marriage stronger, and in many ways.
First of all, the third strand strengthens us as individuals. My relationship with God is somewhat like a knight in shining armor story, as he rescued me from a destructive life at the age of nineteen. I was in a downward spiral, and in a really low moment, I called out to God for help. He reminded me of the love He has had for me since I was a small child, and welcomed me back into a relationship with Him that has grown in fervor ever since. My husband has had a relationship with God since he was a kid, and He has watched over him, given him wisdom, and guided his life and career to this day.
Second, the Third Strand meets needs that we can’t meet in each other. When I married Chief, I thought that he would meet all my relational needs. But that was completely unrealistic. No one can do that! And then he became a highway patrolman, and that made things even more difficult. In my lonely nights alone while Chief was working, the Third Strand was with me. In the times I feared my husband wouldn’t come home, the Third Strand comforted me with His promises (Psalm 91). In my clumsy miscommunication, the Third Strand gave me clarity of mind and new perspectives that would help me articulate my feelings and thoughts. In my fatigue of the days, months and years of constant battling for our marriage, the Third Strand gave me strength. And in my inadequacies, He somehow made up the difference. It’s kind of a mystery, but one I rely on to sustain me through the difficult days.
Lastly, the Third Strand holds us together even when we are frayed and strained in our relationship and life as a couple. We have a common faith, a commitment, and common values and goals. Even on the days that we get tired of each other, or situations, or the job – the Third Strand keeps us joined by being intimately involved in the smallest details of our lives.
As Chief and I celebrated our 25 years together a couple of weeks ago, we talked about the things that we change and not change, and then recommitted 25 more years together. I have confidence in this, knowing that with all that will happen, good and bad, the Third Strand, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, will be with us, help us, and continue to hold us together.
“A cord of three strands is not easily broken.” – Ecclesiastes 4:12
Victoria Newman - "A CHiP on My Shoulder" June 20th, 2013
Posted In: Uncategorized
Their faces showed slight surprise, eyes expectant. They shyly held onto to every word the police officer said, switching back from his face to the translator. Kids played nearby oblivious to the serious nature of the meeting. I soaked it all in, trying to read minds that thought in a different language. There was one unmistakable emotion, however, that betrayed each one. Fear.
A murder had taken place in their neighborhood. And they were terrified for their kids and for themselves, some leaving the comfort of their beds and sleeping together on the floor.
I’ve not been in their shoes. But I have fought with my own fears.
Fear of failure.
Fear of letting people down.
Fear of things I can’t control.
And sometimes, fear of success.
Two days earlier I sat with some friends who challenged me. They raised the bar for my business. They told me to move forward towards risk. They suggested I invest deeper into the dreams I have gotten a taste of.
It scared me. Because these people are lifelong friends, they recognized my hesitance. And then showed me a movie trailer.
Now, there’s something. In my years of dealing with those who are hurting, fearful, overwhelmed and devastated, I never thought of pulling out the iPhone and showing them a movie trailer. Not even close. But I watched, and was glad I did. Here it is:
Will Smith’s words spoke to me: “If we are going to survive this, you must realize that FEAR IS NOT REAL. It is a product of thoughts you create. Now, do not misunderstand me. Danger is very real, but FEAR IS A CHOICE.”
Fear is a choice?
I thought fear was an emotion. An emotion that has dominion over me because I perceive the danger to be real. My mind naturally plays tricks on me. I let my thoughts go to what could happen based on circumstances, based on real danger, or based on perceived danger. Life will hand us the unexpected, and because we are who we are, we try to ready ourselves for the unexpected by going to places in our minds that are imaginary. The result can be FEAR.
Violence is real, and at times visits our neighborhoods. It’s close. In response, our imaginations ignite fear – it may be our turn next.
But what if we band together and unite, keeping each other informed and accountable? What if we take a step towards the fear in daring boldness, and decide we will not be pushed around by those who seek to destroy?
Risks don’t always pan out. In response, our imaginations ignite fear in the risk – if it fails, I’ll lose everything. Maybe. But then again, sometimes losing everything is the beginning of real success. What if that risk is something that expands my business, carrying a message to the very people who need to hear it?
In either case, and in the case of fears that each of us carry, there are varying degrees of danger. But fear is not real – it is a product of thoughts we create.
Fear is a choice. What will you choose?
Victoria Newman - "A CHiP on My Shoulder" May 30th, 2013
Posted In: Uncategorized
Tags: After Earth, Fear, police wives, Violence, Will Smith
When I Moved In, I Brought My Baggage
Jim and Angie sat across from us, their meals barely touched. They recounted an issue that they couldn’t get past in their marriage, and it was huge. They were so concerned that they brought it to Brent and I, their mentors, to help them sort it out. About that time Brent asked, “Is this something that you struggled with in your home life growing up?” Jim’s face froze, and I could almost see the light bulb brighten above his head. He then recalled a story that had paralleled their issue to the tee. The core issue was apparent to each one of us, and they came up with a simple way to deal with it.
In this life journey you’ve been on, chances are you have picked up things along the way that aren’t so good. Someone hurt you. You have adopted others’ destructive messages about yourself. Perhaps you made poor choices in your past, and you are reaping the consequences now. Whatever the reason for the hurts in your life, if not dealt with, they can adversely affect your marriage.
Dr. Gil Stieglitz, in his book entitled Marital Intelligence – A Foolproof Guide to Saving and Strengthening Marriage, says that past baggage is one of five problems we face in marriage. He writes,
“We carry with us wounds and destructive internalized programming as well as guilt and consequences from our past actions. There is no way to seal off the past and have its unresolved issues stay away. At times the impact of unresolved past baggage is so strong that it must be dealt with before progress in marriage can be attempted… It will continue as is unless those wounds are exposed, grieved, and processed… People need to process their pain from the past.”[i]
Many are the hurts of those we know. Some heal, some don’t. Some make peace with their pain; others live in the past. If baggage is affecting your relationship, there are healthy ways to deal with it. Check your support system (see next chapter). Some things can be talked out with a wise friend. I also recommend going to an older, wiser couple with your husband. When Brent and I went through a tough time with one of our teenagers, we sought out the help of a couple we respected who’d gone through similar things with their son.
Counseling is also a great tool. I once heard a police officer say that when she needed help with plumbing she called a plumber. When she needed help with electrical, she called an electrician. So it only made sense when she needed help with some emotional issues she was facing, she called a counselor.
Victoria Newman - "A CHiP on My Shoulder" May 27th, 2013
Posted In: Uncategorized
Tags: communication, Expectations, law enforcement marriage, police marriage, police wives, relationships
Since this time last year, I’ve been working on a project called Selfish Prayer. I am the ghostwriter, which means that I write a book for someone else. That someone else is a member of the California National Guard, and served in Afghanistan in 2009 as a Medevac flight medic.
It’s been quite an education.
Previously my knowledge of the Armed Forces came from stories from my grandfather, a WWII veteran, a few conversations with my brother who fought in Panama in 1989, and the brief journey we endured with my son who went to Marine boot camp and came home early because of a medical discharge. I, like so many other Americans, hold a special place in my heart for the men and women who serve in the military. They have my respect, my support, and my gratitude.
But when a retired California Highway Patrolman who worked for my husband approached me about writing this story, I had no idea what lay in store.
My first exposure was to attend a speaking engagement to hear my client’s story. Wow – he recounted how he was lowered down from a helicopter in the midst of a fierce firefight to retrieve five wounded soldiers the age of his son and all those who were involved survived. He then loaded me up with newspaper clippings, magazines, pictures, and video that I spent the next year reviewing.
We then conducted interviews with medics, crew chiefs, pilots, and doctors, flying to the southern states and driving countless miles on the west coast to hear their stories face to face.
I looked into their eyes and heard the inflections in their voices. Anger. Hurt. Bravery. Camaraderie. Love.
At times I had to swallow the lump in my throat, and other times I couldn’t hold back the tears as most of them shed tears as they shared their memories. They gave me pictures, camera footage, raw recollections, and felt comfortable enough to speak freely, sometimes taking me aback.
Since then, I’ve gained a new and deeper appreciation for those who’ve been to battle. Because once they got on that plane and headed to the war torn fields of Iraq and Afghanistan, the war imbedded itself into their souls. There were horrors to witness. There was blood shed by brothers they loved. There were injuries and deaths and decisions and injustice and boredom and shock and smells and sounds and hate and ego and misunderstandings. And it was packed into a year or so and that year will never leave them. It is permanently etched into the fabric of their being.
When they get on the plane to come back to US soil, they bring the war back to us here at home. They try not to. They try to keep it hidden in some compartmentalized nightmare within their minds. But it’s left an indelible mark upon their souls, and it permeates their personalities and separates them from those who love them. I pray we have the courage to bridge that separation that naturally occurs.
Tomorrow is Memorial Day, where we remember those who’ve fallen on the battlegrounds of wars past and present. Their blood was spilled for our freedom. We are grateful for their sacrifice.
This Memorial Day I am also mourning the losses of those whose hearts did not stop beating, but have lost just the same. There are many who lost limbs, lost recognition from burns, lost brothers they loved, and still more who lost their marriages, lost mental footing, and in many cases, left pieces of their souls on the battlefield. Those of us who are carrying on with life in safety and security seriously do not have a clue as to the sacrifices and loss they have experienced.
As for me, I’ve heard soldiers cry. I’ve shared the memories that dance just behind the darkness in their eyes. I know that when I wake up in the night, there are thousands of veterans who are reliving their war in their dreams in homes across America.
Veterans, alive and gone, it isn’t enough to say thank you. I acknowledge your sacrifice, and I pray for your healing, and for all that you’ve done (even the unimaginable), I am grateful for you.
Selfish Prayer: How California National Guard Changed the Face of Medevac Amidst Chaos, Carnage and Politics of War will be released in July 2013. You will be able to purchase it via Amazon.com and will be available in paperback and ebook.
Victoria Newman - "A CHiP on My Shoulder" May 27th, 2013
Posted In: Uncategorized
Tags: Memorial Day, Veterans
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