It seemed like the perfect, romantic evening. I held Curt’s arm as we strolled through the quaint little village in British Columbia. He took my hand and we watched the beautiful sunset reflect off the snow-capped mountains. I could only imagine what nearby onlookers were thinking.

Awww. Isn’t that sweet? Look at that couple. They must be so in love. 

And they would be partly right.

I do love my husband. But that’s not why I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. Truth was, I was having a bad MS day. I was tired. My body hurt and I felt weak. The pretty (but unsymmetrical) cobblestone streets constantly made me trip. I felt dizzy and I accidentally bumped into people.

This is my life with MS. Lesions on my brain wreak havoc on my body, which show up in a number of different, unpredictable ways. I’m learning to deal with it. But there’s one particular symptom I really hate. Tripping. Especially in public.

My neurologist says I have “foot drop,” which basically means it’s difficult for me to lift the front part of my right foot. This makes walking with dignity difficult. Now, if you add foot drop to a couple more symptoms, (like fatigue, blurred vision, loss of balance, numbness or tingling) walking normally becomes a real challenge.   

I hate tripping in front of people. It’s embarrassing. I feel clumsy. I look like a klutz.

A few weeks ago, I was climbing the gymnasium bleachers at my daughter’s band concert. I stumbled up the steps and totally lost my balance. I nearly landed in another mom’s lap.  

“I swear I’m not drunk.” I said with a nervous laugh.

During the concert, I began to think about it. The whole embarrassing incident could’ve been avoided if I would’ve just reached out and touched someone’s shoulder when I started to feel dizzy. I knew the people around me. I could’ve easily asked for a hand. But I didn’t want to touch anyone. I didn’t want help. And then it hit me. This was an issue of pride ...Maybe I should worry less about the lesions on my brain and a little more about the condition of my heart.

It felt like God was sending me a message. “You need to let go of pride and learn how to lean on others.”  

Yep, sometimes I stumble. But how about you? Maybe you also have something that's tripping you up in life right now. Do you need to let go of pride and learn how to lean on others? If so, take heart. You are not alone!

Sometimes we ask God to change our situation, not knowing He put us in the situation to change us.

Madison ripped open the envelope and pulled out a gift certificate. Her eyes widened as she read the print. With a joyful squeal, she launched both arms into the air. “Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” 

It was the reaction I was hoping for. 

Birthday shopping for Maddie had become a challenge. She’s too old for toys. She’s too young for an Iphone. She likes cute clothes, but that’s not really her thing. I wanted to give her something she’d love. 

What did she love? 

Well, she loved gymnastics, but lately that wasn’t going so well. For several weeks she had complained of back pain during practice. I took her to our family doctor who called it a muscle strain. She recommended rest – and no gymnastics for two weeks. Maddie was not pleased. 

After two weeks, the pain continued. I made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon who ordered an Xray. Thankfully, he found nothing wrong with her spine. He recommended Ibuprofen and more rest. 
                            
A few days before Maddie’s birthday, I stumbled across a picture of our family horseback riding in Colorado. I remembered how much Madison had loved it. Suddenly, I knew what to get for her birthday. After a quick internet search, I found a horse stable that offered trail rides. They had an opening in three weeks. Three weeks? Patience didn’t come easily for Maddie. At least she’d have something to look forward to. 

Taking a break from gymnastics also didn’t come easily. Madison felt lost. She normally practiced four times a week, three hours a day. But what do you do when suddenly it all stops? 

Instead of the gym, we headed to Grandma’s. Maddie loves animals and Grandma’s farm has an abundance of them. They were a welcomed distraction.  

Though I was grateful Maddie’s back didn’t hurt constantly, it still hurt when she ran or moved a particular way. Finally, I’d had enough. I called back the orthopedic surgeon and asked for more tests. He ordered a bone scan. Within a few days, we got the results.
 
“It looks like Madison has a bilateral stress fracture.” The doctor turned to Maddie with a sympathetic look. “This means absolutely no physical activity – no gymnastics, no volleyball, no running, no pitching lessons, no PE, nothing – until your back is completely healed.”
 
I couldn’t imagine Maddie’s emotions. Anger? Grief? Frustration? But I knew what I felt: sadness. Not because my daughter could no longer do gymnastics, but because she could no longer do the things she loved.

After a tough couple of days, Madison accepted the doctor’s orders. Each day was a little better – until she remembered the gift certificate.
                                                                                       
“Do you know what I’m excited for?” She asked unexpectedly one day.
 
Suddenly I felt like a heavy weight had dropped onto my chest. I knew what was coming.
 
“I’m excited to go horseback riding.”
 
The look on my face said it all. There could be no horseback riding. Tears streamed down Maddie’s cheeks and my heart ached again.
 
Over the next several days I couldn’t get her look of disappointment out of my mind. I had to fix this. Surely there was something I could do. If she couldn’t ride a horse, maybe she could at least spend some time with one. I called my aunt, who was the owner of two sweet ponies and three beautiful horses. She was happy to help.

​One night I stopped by Maddie’s room to tell her goodnight. She sat up in bed.   

“Mama, she began, “Do you think we could go to a gymnastics meet and watch my teammates? I think we might have a pretty good team this year.” 

A strange mix of relief, pride and contentment swept over me. “Maddie,” I said. “I think that’s a great idea.”

I suppose it's a lesson we all have to learn; how to let go of our own plan and trust that God has another. It's not easy. I mean, what do you do when you can no longer do the things you love? 

You find something new to love.

​Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. – Isaiah 43:19

It’s that time of year again. If it hasn't happened yet, it probably will. You'll open your mailbox, pull out the mail, and find a bright red envelope amidst the holiday catalogs and department store flyers. A Christmas card. There might even be a letter inside. 

Yes, I know. People have strong opinions about family Christmas letters. Some think they're nothing more than a way for people to brag about the trips they’ve taken or gush over their little star athlete and honor student.

And then there’s the other kind of Christmas letters. Maybe you've seen them. They're so full of complaints and self-pity, you wonder if you should send a Christmas (or a sympathy) card in return.  

But on the most part, I think Christmas letters get a bum rap. Yes, I confess. I send one of those “dreaded letters” to friends and relatives every year. (Hey, I'm a writer. What did you expect?)

The other day I sat down at my desk, ready to dive into issue #12 of the “Zeck Zone Newsletter.” But I was easily distracted. I soon found myself skimming through old copies of our newsletters from years past. Memories of moments – both significant and trivial – flooded my mind.

There seems to be a fine line between “bragging” and sharing the good stuff God’s been doing. Of course life isn’t perfect. But in a world so full of negativity, what’s wrong with focusing on the good? Isn’t the Christmas season the perfect time to appreciate our blessings? 

Okay, I'll admit it. I've wondered if friends and relatives roll their eyes when they read our letters. I guess I’ll never know. But the truth is, I don't write them for others. I write them for us. 

It forces us to slow down and appreciate the positive things in life. 

It records our family history. 

It’s a keepsake for our kids.

So while I hope our friends and relatives look forward to our letters, it really doesn't matter. I'll keep writing them just the same.

“I'll take a half-pound of honey ham, please.” 

The skinny kid behind the counter gave me a nod and grabbed a plastic glove.                                              

“Ma'am, do you think you're in a rut?”       

What did he say? I looked up from my grocery list. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Um … it’s just that uh … you always get honey ham.” 

“Yes, I do. My family likes honey ham.” I sounded like a commercial. Choosy moms choose honey ham. 

He shrugged and handed over the ham. I grabbed my cart and left. But I couldn't get his remark out of my head. 

Why did this guy notice – or even care about – my deli meat preferences? Did he think he was being clever? In-tune with the customer? Just because I like honey ham doesn't mean I'm in a rut! 

That night we went out for Mexican food. When the waiter brought our menus I pushed mine aside. No need to look at it. I always ordered the same thing. 

“I’ll take one medium shell beef taco with sour cream and tomatoes.” 

Come to think of it, I always order the same things at all my favorite restaurants. It’s no big deal. I like to know what to expect. I enjoy predictability. Routine. Oh man, maybe I am in a rut! 

I've got to break free from the daily routine of life. I need to get out of my comfort zone. Do something out-of-the-ordinary. Something fun. Maybe even something unpredictable! 

Bungee jumping wasn't my thing, so I made myself a promise. I'll at least take advantage of the little opportunities that come along and make life more interesting. So here’s what I did:

I did something fun. 
When the eighth-grade volleyball girls challenged us parents to a game, I was a little apprehensive. I mean, I played volleyball in school, but that was a long time ago. Then I thought about it. This could be fun. Instead of sitting on the bleachers, I’d be right in the action. And guess what? It was fun – especially when we won!

I got out of my comfort zone.
If you've read my blog very long, you know how much I enjoy public speaking. (Not!) Last week I was invited to talk on live, local television about one of my recent blog posts. If you missed that post, you can read it here: If I Could Bubble-Wrap Her Heart. Talking on TV was nerve-wracking, but it was also a great way to get out of my comfort zone. 

I did something out-of-the-ordinary.
I reconnected with a friend I hadn't seen in twenty years. It was wonderful. We laughed. We cried. We giggled like teenagers. And we promised not to wait another twenty years to do it again.

And then I did something unpredictable.
I saw them from a distance while strolling through the mall. A cute pair of boots. A small voice spoke up inside my head. You are a grown woman and you've never owned a cute pair of boots. It’s true. I've had tennis shoes, black, brown and blue loafers – even my fair share of ugly pumps from the 90’s – but I've never owned a stylish pair of boots. (No Curt, my snow boots don’t count.) It suddenly became clear. Buying these boots would be perfectly unpredictable. Besides, as I was standing in line, a sweet old lady slipped me her coupon so I knew it was God's will. 

Last week at the grocery store I looked for my young outspoken friend. He was nowhere to be found. Didn't matter, I was on a mission. I was taking charge. I was busting out of that rut! A lady behind the counter interrupted my thoughts.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes,” I said with a grin. “I'll take a quarter-pound of sweet maple turkey breast.” I felt empowered.

She wrapped it up and set it on the counter.

“Anything else?”

“Yes...” I tapped my finger against my lips, pondering. “Give me a half-pound of honey ham.”

I mean seriously, let’s not get crazy. These things take time.

Have you ever felt like you were just going through the motions in life? I think everyone feels that way sometimes. So tell me, what have you done lately to get out of the rut? Leave me a comment and let me know!

Also, I've got some exciting news!
Are you on Facebook? Do you like my writing? Well I would LOVE for you to LIKE my new Facebook page! 
Visit me here: https://www.facebook.com/SheriZeckWrites. I'll keep you updated about all my writing endeavors! 

Normally I don’t notice real estate signs. After all, I’m not in the market for a new house. But the other day on my way home from the store a sign caught my eye. Actually, it was the smaller sign on top of the sign.

It said, “I’m gorgeous inside.”

My first thought? That must be one ugly house!

I couldn't resist. I made a sharp right turn, sending soup cans rolling across the back of the van. I cruised through the neighborhood and found the house. Turns out, I had totally misjudged it.

The house was nice. Maybe it lacked a little curb-appeal, but it certainly wasn't the dump I’d pictured. I wondered what it looked like inside. Was it really gorgeous? I imagined that cozy home pleading with potential buyers as they drove by. “Please, just give me a chance. You’d be surprised if you’d take a closer look.”

Suddenly, a strange thought went through my mind. What if people came with signs like that? 

We live in a world obsessed with physical appearance. I remember my adolescent years when I went through an awkward stage. Okay, I went through several awkward stages. I had my share of bad perms. I wore wire-framed glasses. My teeth were crooked. And I hated my freckles.

Back then, I didn't know what God had to say about judging ourselves (and others) by their appearance.

“The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)

You've probably heard the expression, “beauty is more than what meets the eye.” I think that’s true. I’ve seen a lot of “beautiful” people who look gorgeous at first glance. Then, after a closer look they became very unattractive. A pretty face is nothing if you have an ugly heart.

Now that I’m 40-something and the mom of three girls, I want to remind them to focus more on their inner beauty. But it’s tough to teach a lesson that I’m still learning.

When I spot that occasional (gasp!) gray hair or when our bathroom light shines a little too brightly, revealing another wrinkle – I mean laugh line – I’m tempted to scream, “Somebody help me! I need more curb-appeal!”

But it’s easy for me to see the qualities that make my daughters beautiful. Compassion. Kindness. Creativity. Determination. A witty sense of humor. Curiosity. Courage.

I want my girls to understand what truly makes them beautiful. I want them to take pride in their accomplishments instead of their appearance. But most of all, I want to tell their future boyfriends this …

Take time to get to know her. She's more than her appearance. Look a little closer - you'll be surprised at what you see. Because she’s not only beautiful on the outside, she’s gorgeous on the inside. 

My husband smiled and shook the landlord’s hand. “We’ll take it.” I couldn't even fake a smile. I just hoped the next few months would fly by quickly.

“It’s not that bad,” Curt said during the car ride home.

“Not that bad? Didn't you notice that weird smell in the basement? And the house is so small. How are we going to squeeze a family of five into a place like that?”

“We’ll make it work.” Curt said, unshaken. “Remember, it’s only temporary.”

I exhaled a long, cleansing breath. Maybe he was right. It wasn't ideal, but we’d definitely seen worse. We just needed a place to stay while we built our new house.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll work on my attitude. I promise.”

Unfortunately, I broke that promise only two days after we moved in. It all started one morning when my oldest daughter wandered into the kitchen.

“Morning,” I said, setting a box of Apple Jacks on the table. “How’d you sleep?”

Emily rubbed her eyes. “Not good. Taylor wouldn't stop talking last night.”

I grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge. “You girls will have to get used to sharing a room.” 

Emily pulled open a drawer. “Where are the spoons?” She opened another drawer. All of a sudden she let out a sharp, piercing scream. I glanced up just as a little gray mouse leaped out of the drawer onto Emily’s chest. It raced down her pajamas and scurried off behind the stove.

Pale-faced and shaking, Emily couldn't hold back the tears. She flapped her hands in utter disgust.

Well great, I thought, my heart pounding in my chest. Now I had another reason I didn't like the house. Unfortunately, that little gray mouse wasn't the only critter we’d encounter while staying at the rental house.   

One Sunday morning Taylor rushed into the living room. Her eyes wide, she insisted she’d caught a glimpse of something with a long, bushy tail. 

“Oh Taylor,” I said, “You probably saw a mouse. Dad needs to set another trap.”   

But Taylor persisted and Curt soon confirmed it. This time the problem was bigger than a mouse.

“What? A ground squirrel? Call animal control!” I paced the floor, trying to stay calm.

Curt took matters into his own hands. He grabbed a cardboard box and shoved a towel under the bedroom door. Then he and Madison went to work. The two older girls and I listened from the hallway. I had to admit, all the commotion was kind of exciting.

“There he is!” Madison yelled. We heard a scuffle and a thump; then the sound of my husband scrambling over a bed. For a moment, there was silence. The girls and I leaned in, listening. I pressed my ear against the door.

“Did you get him?” I yelled.

Suddenly Madison shrieked. “Over there Daddy! Get ‘em!”

And the excitement began again. Every time we thought they’d caught him, Madison shouted another command.

Finally, the door swung open. With wide smiles and chins held high, Curt and Madison presented the box. We peeked over the edge. Then we all cheered. 

Life settled down for a while after that. Though I tried not to complain, I still had days I broke my promise.

Then early one morning I woke to the sound of loud, crashing thunder. I tried to ignore it, but the howling winds shook the windows. Sheets of rain pounded the roof. I crawled out of bed and pulled back the curtain. Through dark shadows, I saw a massive oak tree bowing overtop the house.

“Curt,” I nudged him awake, “I think we should get the girls and go to the basement.” I flinched at the sound of a tree limb rolling across the roof.  

We gathered pillows, blankets and girls and headed to the basement. As we snuggled close, I realized that I didn’t care if the basement had a weird smell – or even if it had mice. I was just glad to have a basement.

After the storm, many people questioned whether a tornado had hit the area. The National Weather Service called it widespread, slow-moving, straight-line winds. Whatever it was, those winds had reached 95-miles-per-hour and left our area looking like a war zone.

Later that day we drove through several nearby neighborhoods. We couldn’t believe the damage. Traffic poles snapped in half. Huge trees uprooted – some of them on top of cars and homes. Thousands of people were without electricity for days – including us.

As we drove back, I thought about the many surprises we’d had at the rental house. Mice. Squirrels. Storms.

But the biggest surprise came after the storm. That’s when my attitude changed about the house. Instead of my usual negativity, I suddenly felt blessed.

Even now years later, I am thankful for that tiny rental house. It stood strong during those powerful storms and protected the people I love. 

Hi Everyone,

Today I wanted to share a story I wrote for Guideposts Magazine. "Project Jimmy" was published in the April 2013 issue of Guideposts, but you can also read it online here.

As a side note ... This was the story I submitted for their biannual writers contest (and ended up winning a trip to Port Orchard, Washington for their five-day Writers Workshop.) 

Hope you enjoy it!

Until next week ... 

Sheri 

Hi Everyone!

If you're like me, housework tends to slip down the priority list during these busy summer months. (Okay, who am I kidding? It's not just during the summer!) 

But instead of feeling stressed, I'm trying to enjoy summer in the midst of the mess. It's a lesson I'm learning from my kids.

This week I'd love for you to pop over to the Quad City Moms Blog and check out the post I wrote. Thanks so much!

Have a great week,

Sheri

A couple of weeks ago we traveled to Chicago for a gymnastics meet. This meet was a little different than usual because there were two levels of gymnasts competing at the same time. On one side of the gym we had the beginners, the level threes. On the other side were level tens, the most advanced gymnasts.

As always, I loved watching Madison compete. But as the day continued, I found myself gazing toward the other side of the gym. I couldn't help it. Those level tens were impressive. They flipped, twisted and twirled. They soared through the air. Every move demonstrated power, flexibility and grace.

As I compared both sides of the gym, a thought occurred to me. Every one of those level ten gymnasts was once a beginner. I couldn't imagine how many hours they’d worked at their sport. I’m sure it wasn't always easy. Certainly there were times they’d wanted to quit.

Curt leaned over and interrupted my thoughts.

“Look at Maddie.”

I glanced toward the middle of the gym where Madison’s small group waited their turn on the beam. Madison sat motionless, completely captivated. Must be inspiring to watch someone excel at something you’d like to achieve, I thought.

But kids aren't the only ones that need inspiration. I mean, don’t we all need someone to look up to?

Take writing for example. I marvel at how my favorite authors can string words together and create beautiful, captivating stories. I especially love to hear how they began their career.

A couple of years ago I had the privilege of meeting bestselling author, Debbie Macomber during the Guideposts Writers Workshop. (Great lady, by the way. Very down-to-earth.) One evening Debbie shared some of the obstacles she has faced in her writing journey.  

First of all, she has dyslexia. As a child, she struggled in school and didn’t even learn to read until the fifth grade. But Debbie loved telling stories and dreamed of becoming a writer. At age 30, Debbie wrote her first manuscript while at home with four small children. Money was tight, so she rented a typewriter. 

For five years she submitted her work, but received only rejections. Finally, she saved enough money to attend a writers’ conference. During the conference, one of her manuscripts was selected for critique by an editor from Harlequin. But the editor picked it apart and recommended she throw it away.

Well, Debbie didn’t throw it away. Instead she mailed it to one of Harlequin’s rival publishers. They bought it – and it became her first novel. Today she is the New York Times bestselling author of more than 100 novels.

During our time with Debbie, she gave us a tour of her offices. As we headed upstairs to her personal office, she stopped and pointed out a number of framed photos and quotes which hung on the wall – all people who have inspired her.

So, how about that? Even Debbie Macomber – one of today’s most popular authors –surrounds herself with people that inspire her!

You may not care to be a writer. Or a gymnast. But whatever your hopes and dreams, don’t give up. Keep working toward your goals – and keep looking to those who inspire you.

As the mom of three girls, sometimes our home feels like an emotional roller coaster ride. So how can I help my daughters hold on through those crazy twists and turns of teenage emotions? And how do I make sure I don't go along for the ride?

This week I'm sharing some tips over at the Quad City Moms Blog.

Come join me there! 

http://www.quadcitymomsblog.com/2014/01/13/not-riding-that-roller-coaster/

Have a great week!

Sheri