My kids took such pleasure in making fun of me. They were sure I was the last person on earth (besides Grandma and Grandpa) who didn’t have a smart phone. Honestly, I didn’t care. My beat-up old phone met my needs. I could make phone calls. I could send texts. I could even take slightly blurry, mediocre pictures. 

I’ll admit, sometimes I felt a tad jealous when other moms whipped out their sleek little gadgets and checked their email or logged onto Facebook. 

But oh well. Who needs gadgets anyway?

Apparently Curt thought I did, because guess what I got for my birthday? My very own iPhone 6! Finally, if for only a moment, my kids thought I was cool. 

It was a great gift. It had a cute purple case and tons of nifty features. There was only one problem. I didn’t use any of those features.  

Yep. This phone offered the world at my fingertips, but I used it only to text my kids and call my mom. I definitely wasn’t using it for what it was made for. (Steve Jobs would be so disappointed.)

Finally after a week or two, I started exploring my options. I downloaded a few Apps. I subscribed to some podcasts. And, just to see what all the fuss is about, I took a few selfies. After all, this phone was a gift; I should use it to its potential! 
                                                                                             
You know, God gives us great gifts too. Unfortunately; like my cell phone, we tend to ignore them. 

Sounds crazy doesn't it? What if God Himself handed you a beautiful present – and you refused to open it? What if you just threw it in a closet and shut the door?

I mean seriously, who would ignore a gift from God?

Well … me, I guess.

When I first started writing for the church newsletter, sweet elderly ladies tried to encourage me. They'd stop me after church and say the nicest things.

“I really enjoy your writing, Sheri. God has given you a gift.”

I’d smile and thank them, but inside I didn’t believe it. What? A gift? Nah! Writing is just my silly little hobby.

For nine years I was more than happy to write for the church. It was fun. It was fulfilling. And it felt safe.

Then Madison started kindergarten, and I began feeling like I should step out of my safe comfort zone. After all, God says if we are faithful with the little things, He will trust us with big things.

And He proved it to me.

The more I trusted Him with my writing, the bigger my audience became. Today I write for Guideposts Magazine. Guideposts generally has two million subscribers – which translates to around six million readers.

Whew! The thought of six million people reading my words … only God could do that!

So how about you? What do you enjoy doing? Is there something you seem to be naturally good at? It’s not a matter of pride; it’s about exploring the gift God gave you. He decides what gifts to give; but only we can decide what to do with those gifts.

Let me encourage you. If you're faithful to use what God has given you - either big or small – He will be faithful to put opportunities in your path. He proved it to me. Let Him prove it to you.


“Your talent is God’s gift to you. What you do with it is your gift back to God.”
- Leo Buscaglia

I tried to enjoy my new-found freedom after my third and final daughter started kindergarten. Instead, I felt lost. Mundane days drifted into weeks. Of course I was still a mom, but my job had changed drastically. One day I shared my frustrations with my husband. 

“After all these years, this was supposed to be my time to pursue my dreams,” I said, plopping onto the couch, “but I can't even remember my dreams.”

Curt sat down next to me as I rattled on. ‘I mean, what am I supposed to do? Return to college? Go back to my old job? Pursue a new career?”

“You should do whatever you want,” he said, “but don’t settle for any job. Do something you really enjoy – something you feel passionate about.”

In my heart, I knew my passion … writing. It seemed like I was always writing something. Stories for my girls. Family Christmas letters. Articles for the church newsletter. But trying to get published? Now that scared me. After all, I wasn't a real writer. What if I wasn't good enough?

I tried to reassure myself. What’s the worst thing that could happen? An annoying voice inside my head spoke up. 

Others will discover you have no idea what you're doing. You could fail.

So I ignored the dream. I tucked it away and tried to forget it. Until a few weeks later when my pastor shared a message I couldn't ignore.  

“How many times do we limit ourselves because of fear?” My pastor’s eyes scanned our congregation. “How often do we miss what God has for us because we fear rejection and worry too much about what others might think?”

I fidgeted in my chair. How did he know I was struggling with fear?

“If you believe God put a desire in your heart, don't let feelings of fear stop you.”

I nodded to myself and scribbled notes in my bulletin.

“It’s okay to be afraid. In fact, it’s normal to feel fear. Just don't let fear control you. Trust God with that fear and He'll walk with you through your fear.”

I wrote down three simple words and underlined them.

Do it afraid. 

Over the following months those words became my motto as I stepped out of my comfort zone and into the wonderful, yet overwhelming world of writing. 

First, I read every book I could find on improving my craft. Then I worked up the courage to submit articles for publication – and had plenty of practice learning to cope with rejection.

Meanwhile, the relentless voice in my head worked hard to discourage me. But I didn’t give up. “Do it afraid,” I said as I pushed myself to write another article. “Do it afraid,” I thought as I emailed a magazine editor. “Do it afraid,” I said as I signed up for a writer’s conference.

And afraid I was.

I remember sitting in the van that morning, wiping my sweaty palms against my khakis. I glanced at the dashboard clock: 7:58 AM. Across the parking lot, a young woman carried an armful of books and headed toward the front doors. Should I go in? Registration began at 8:00, but the first speaker didn’t start for a few more minutes. I’d wait. Right now conference attendees were probably mixing and mingling, sipping their lattes and discussing their latest novels.

I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, trying to ignore the voice inside my head.

Writing for the church newsletter doesn't make you a writer. Anyone can write for a church newsletter.

I watched a couple more conference-goers weave their way through the parking lot and disappear through the front doors. My stomach flip-flopped. Maybe I should forget this silly notion and go home.

But I didn't forget it. I walked into the first workshop with my heart pounding hard inside my chest. Like the new kid in a junior high cafeteria, I searched for a seat among strangers. But by the end of the workshop, I felt at home.     

In the months after the conference, I continued to follow my pastor’s simple yet powerful advice. I joined a critique group, entered a writing contest and started a blog. I surrounded myself with people that encouraged me – and ignored the ones that didn’t.

Each time I stepped out of my comfort zone, God opened another door of opportunity. Eventually as my skills and confidence grew, “doing it afraid” led me down the path to publication.

Then one afternoon I got a phone call.

“Hello, am I speaking to Sheri?”

I exhaled a heavy sigh. “Yes, this is Sheri.” Telemarketers are so annoying.

“I’m calling from Guideposts Magazine and I wanted to let you know that your story was chosen as one of the winners of our writer’s contest.”

I couldn't believe it! And for about a week I couldn't stop smiling. If you'd like to read more about the day I got that phone call, click here. 

It was an wonderful opportunity. Guideposts flew me and eleven other writers to Seattle for a five-day workshop. Their editors taught us how to write inspirational articles for the magazine, and as an added bonus, I made lots of new friendships with other writers across the country. (I also got to meet bestselling author, Debbie Macomber! You can read about that here.

That was two years ago; and there are still times when my insecurities creep back and try to discourage me. That’s when I have to remind myself that the only way I'll fail is to quit.

I feel so blessed to be able to do what I find extremely fulfilling. As I continue on this journey, who knows how far I’ll go when I keep doing it afraid? I may have butterflies in my stomach and trembling knees along the way, but I'm excited to see my destination. 

Hi everyone!

I've had a fun (and somewhat frightening) week. Do you remember my post from last week on the Quad City Moms Blog? It was called, How to be a Better Wife: Five Great Reminders from My Three Little Girls. Well, the day after it was published I was asked to talk about it on a local TV program, Paula Sands Live.  

Now wait just a minute! I'm sharing tips on how to be a better wife? Yep. My hubby got a chuckle out of that one. 

So here's the thing. I really debated about sharing this experience with you. I mean, is it just me, or does everyone hate to watch and listen to themselves on video? 

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized something. I have wonderful blog readers. You guys have always been encouraging to me! 

So finally I thought, nah, get over yourself Sheri. Your friends will understand your nervous jitters. 

So I'm going to share it. It's about five minutes long. (Though it felt like five hours.) Just kidding. It was actually over before I knew what hit me. 

When you open the link, just click "next" on the right side directly under the video. Find the Sept 23rd program and click on it. My segment actually starts at about 8:20 on the counter if you'd like to skip the other stuff and get to me. :-)

Click here to watch me on PSL.

By the way, the whole experience was so much sweeter because a special friend of mine was able to come with me. She cheered me on, took a couple of pictures, and even helped me celebrate afterwards with a big 'ol Reese's Peanut Butter Cup malt. Well okay, I got the malt. She was a good girl and got a single scoop. 
(Thanks for everything, Brenda. You are the best!)

And thank you, for stopping by today. I'll see you next week!

Sheri

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 

I was in for a busy night, but I had a plan. I could get all three girls where they needed to be – and on time – but I needed to hurry. Unfortunately something ruined my plan: a little gray car.

“I can’t believe this. They’re driving 40 miles an hour.” I shook my head and whacked the palm of my hand against the wheel.

Emily looked up from her phone. “What’s the speed limit?”

“Fifty-five, and I can’t pass because we’re approaching a hill.” I gauged the oncoming traffic and tightened my grip on the wheel. “Come on gray car, can’t you pick up the pace?”

We came to a stop sign and I flicked my turn signal. Then I stared at the back of the gray car. “Please-don’t-turn-right, please-don’t-turn-right.” Their turn signal blinked. I threw my hands in the air.

As they made a leisurely right turn I glanced at my dashboard clock. We’re going to be late. My shoulders tightened. "As soon as we get around this curve, I am passing that car." Then I spotted something that grabbed my attention: a black and white car with lights on top.

"Oh."

Emily raised an eyebrow and gave me a look she probably learned from me.

“Okay, okay.” I exhaled. “Thank you gray car. I think you just saved me a ticket.”

As we continued on our way, I couldn't help but wonder if God had a message for me in this. Because honestly, I've been feeling a little frustrated and impatient in another area of my life: my writing.

For a while it seemed like my writing was really going places. I’d won a contest. I was getting lots of stories published. But lately, things have been moving more slowly. I've struggled with writer’s block. I've had rejections. My wheels are spinning, but I'm going nowhere. And it seems like God is saying, “Slow down; not so fast.”

But He knows what’s around the corner for me and I can trust in His plan. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. I am impatient. I want things my way, in my timing. Can you relate? But I’ll take that little gray car as a reminder. Sometimes I just need to sit back, relax and remember who’s actually in the driver’s seat.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

Hi. My name is Sheri and I’m a people watcher. There, I've said it. Maybe it’s the writer in me, but I just can’t resist. It doesn't matter if I’m at the mall, sitting in church or waiting my turn at the doctor’s office. I like to observe people. I notice their mannerisms. I wonder about their stories.

Last week I had yet another opportunity when my oldest daughter and I stopped by our local driver services facility. Now that’s a people-watcher’s paradise. One step inside and you’re “trapped” in a giant room full of strangers.

We stepped up to the counter. “My daughter needs a permit.”

“Take a number.”

Emily and I glanced at the paper … number 50.  

Across the room, a lady’s voice yelled above the noise. “Number 38?”

Oh well, I thought. May as well make ourselves comfortable. I took a seat and checked out my surroundings.

Sitting nearby, a petite grandma adjusted her glasses and squinted at some paperwork. I pictured her driving, perched on a pile of pillows and straining to see over the wheel. 

Standing in line, a bald guy stroked his long, braided beard. Interestingly, the stretchy rubber band he’d chosen for his beard looked much like the ones I find all over my house.

Across the room, a teenage boy flipped through a Rules of the Road handbook. Every now and then, he’d run his fingers through a mop of greasy hair and tug at the back of his jeans, which relentlessly slid down his backside.

A few seats over, a young boy with bright red sneakers sat by his mom and kicked his legs back-and-forth. When he grew tired of that, he turned around, propped his chin on the back of his chair and stared at Mr. Braided Beard.

And then there was the young lady sitting next to me. I loved watching her. In fact, I've been watching her for years.

At one time I watched her stretch little arms out to me when she took her first steps. I watched her ride a bike for the first time. I watched her lug a Princess backpack up the wide steps of a big, yellow bus. I watched her get teeth, and then later, pull those teeth. I watched her get braces, and then later, get rid of those braces.

I've watched this girl go through fifteen years worth of milestones. And today was another.  

“Number 50?”

We stood to our feet and stepped up to the counter. As Emily finished her eye test, I noticed a box of pens on the counter. I took three.

“Mom!” She looked at me like I’d committed a crime.

“What? They’re free – and I need a couple extra for my purse.

“This is a government building,” she said with a smile. “There are cameras everywhere. You’re probably being watched.”

Probably, I thought. Seems like wherever you go these days, somebody’s always watching. 

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.

I've never cared about being the center of attention. The mere thought of public speaking makes my hands sweat and heart race. In fact, I’m perfectly content spending time alone with my thoughts in my nice, peaceful office. 

There. I've said it. I enjoy my quiet, comfy life.

But sometimes God takes my comfortable life and stirs it up a bit. After all, He knows me so well. He knows if I didn't have a little push every now and then, I’d never leave my comfort zone. Well, last week, God gave me a push – and sent me straight into panic mode. I immediately called Curt at work.

“I just got an email from the producer at Paula Sands. They want to know if I’ll come on the show and talk about last week's blog.”

Curt burst out laughing.  

“Thanks a lot,” I said, feeling a tad bit offended. “You don’t think I could do it?”

“Sorry,” he said, “I know you could do it.” He paused, trying to restrain his laughter. “It's just, there are people that would love to be in the spotlight like that. And of all people, they asked you!”                             

Yep, Curt knows me well, too.

I’m not too proud to admit I was completely flustered. Did I mention the name of the program? Paula Sands LIVE. Yes, the show broadcasts live.

Speaking on live TV just seems crazy. There’s no time to mull over my thoughts. No checking a thesaurus for the perfect word. No hitting the “delete” key.

I knew it was a great opportunity. I just didn't know if I could do it. Then I remembered the pact I made with God when I first started writing. It went something like this:

“Okay God, if you’re gracious enough to open doors of opportunity for me, I’ll do my best to walk through them.”

So there I stood, staring at an open door.

Amid all my hand-wringing, I called my mom. “It’s funny,” I said, “I tell my girls to ‘get out of your comfort zone and do it afraid,’ but when it’s about me, it’s not that easy!”

I hung up the phone with a groan. That’s the tough part about parenting. You have to practice what you preach. My mind drifted to each of my girls.

If Madison can crawl onto a four-inch beam, leap through the air, spin around and do handstands while judges study her every move ... I can do this. 

If Taylor can stand at the pitcher’s mound during the last inning of a play-off game and pitch three beautiful strikes right over home plate ... I can do this.

If Emily can walk into a school full of strangers, make new friends and try stuff she’s never done before like volleyball, worship arts and cheerleading ... I can do this.

So there it was. I wanted to inspire my girls, but they had already inspired me.

“I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish He didn’t trust me so much.”  
- Mother Teresa

Last week on the blog I shared a story about my friend Grace. This week I’m celebrating because that story was published in the book, Chicken Soup for the Soul: Just Us Girls. Here’s what the folks at Chicken Soup had to say about the book:

A woman’s friends are the family she picks herself. This collection of 101 touching and amusing stories celebrates all that is special about the bonds that women share with their friends - the unique spirit of female friendship.

Whether it’s about something funny or serious, our friends are the first ones we think to call. They are a constant source of support and encouragement. This book is filled with great friendship stories that you’ll love reading and sharing with your friends.

So I’ve decided to share copies of the book with my blog friends! Just leave me a comment before Monday, November 25th. Then check back on Tuesday because I'll be announcing the winners.

But wait, there’s more! If you mention the name of a friend in your comment, both you and your friend will receive a copy of the book.

Don’t forget … Christmas is coming! Wouldn’t this book make a great gift idea?

I’ll look forward to hearing about your friend!

Good luck. See you next week!

Nervous anticipation fluttered through my stomach as I ripped open the envelope. Yes! I clutched the letter triumphantly. I’m finally going to be published!

That night as I cleared the dinner table, a rush of excitement hit me. I tossed the dishcloth toward the sink and raced to the computer. “I’ve gotta’ tell Grace!” I hollered back to my husband still standing by the sink.   

I typed “Guess what!” on the email subject line. Then I paused, remembering when I first met Grace. It was an unexpected friendship, and it all began with an email.

Grace and I attended the same church for several years, but our paths never crossed. Why would they? I was a young mom; she was a grandmother. I sat in the balcony in case my fussy baby required a quick escape; she sat in the front row. My wardrobe included a handy burp cloth draped over my shoulder. She wore lovely scarves from Talbots. I couldn’t imagine what Grace and I might have in common – until the church newsletter.

As a full-time mom, the church newsletter satisfied my creative cravings. Each afternoon I tucked my babies in for naps and tiptoed to my office. Then I cranked up the baby monitor and escaped for a few hours, writing articles and designing page layouts. When the need for a new proofreader arose, the church secretary suggested I contact Grace.

I soon learned that Grace was a fabulous proofreader. But her knack for spotting a typo wasn’t the only quality I liked about her. When it came to encouraging others, Grace had a gift – and impeccable timing. I remember one morning, struggling to start an article after a sleepless night with a cranky baby.  

I plopped into my chair and stared at the computer. My mind felt as blank as the screen. I knew I shouldn’t let my lack of sleep and raging hormones dictate my disposition, but I didn’t care. How did I ever think I could write? Looking for an excuse to procrastinate, I opened an email from Grace.

Hi Sheri! I just finished reading the final copy of the newsletter. Another great job! Thank you for all the time and thought you put into it. You are one special gal!

I smiled. Maybe Grace scrutinized the newsletter with a critical eye, but she always looked for the best in me.    

In time, our email topics expanded beyond the newsletter. We chatted about marriage, realizing we both chose ambitious, professionally-driven men. We talked about motherhood. Grace offered a different perspective from friends my own age. She empathized with my struggles, but reminded me to enjoy every passing stage. We discussed our faith, our families – even our love of shopping. Then one day we realized we shared something else.  

“Imagine that,” Grace smiled, “born on the same day, only three decades apart. We should meet for lunch!”

Over the years, our birthday lunches became a tradition. We kept them simple; just getting together and exchanging cards. Except one year when I couldn’t resist a little surprise.

I stepped inside Applebee’s, scanning the busy lunch crowd. Grace waved from a table near the windows. As usual, she looked like a stylish grandmother in a ruffled cardigan and sparkly beaded necklace. I scooted into the booth, discretely placing a gift bag beside me.

“Happy birthday!” Grace reached into her leather handbag and gave me a pink envelope.

“Happy birthday.” I said, passing her gift over the table.

Grace raised an eyebrow and gave me a lighthearted “shame on you” look.

“It’s no big deal.” I fidgeted with my napkin. “I just saw it and thought of you.”

Grace drew back the tissue paper and uncovered a small stuffed teddy bear in a red cheerleading outfit.  

“You’re always so encouraging to me,” I said, hoping my unexpected gift didn’t embarrass her. “You’re a great cheerleader.”  

Grace’s blue eyes glistened as she propped the bear on the table. “Well these days I’m not sure I’ve got the energy to be a cheerleader.” She dabbed her eyes and laughed. “I can’t believe I’m seventy!”  

“Me either.” I plunked my water glass on the table. “You certainly don’t act like you’re seventy. Aren’t you supposed to dress like an old lady and drive a white Buick?” I teased. “I wish I had your wardrobe, and you drive a red corvette for heaven’s sake!”    

Grace knew I was teasing, but in some aspects I was serious. For years I had watched her, and I was impressed. It wasn’t the clothes she wore or the car she drove. It was her attitude. Even at seventy, Grace never stopped learning, never stopped growing and never stopped giving. She didn’t care for the spotlight, but was content connecting with people one-on-one in her own soft-spoken way. During a phase of life when she could easily focus on herself, she intentionally touched the lives of others.

That year I also began a new phase of life. After devoting ten years to full-time motherhood, my youngest started kindergarten. At first I felt lost. My days had revolved around three little girls for so long. Now what would I do?

 I took my first small step out of my comfort zone and signed up for a writer’s conference. Then I finally worked up the nerve to tell someone besides my mom and husband about my aspirations to write. I told Grace.

“So … how was the conference?” Grace leaned forward, resting her elbows on the restaurant table.

“I loved it,” I said without hesitation.

Grace nodded as I rambled on.

“The speakers were excellent. They shared great tips for improving my writing, and I got to meet other women who also love to write and …” I stopped for a moment, hoping my enthusiastic chattering wasn’t disturbing the stuffy-looking businessmen at a nearby table. I took a deep breath and softened my voice. “I just felt like I was right where I was supposed to be.”  

“That’s wonderful!” Grace said.

 “I know, but me? A writer?” I said. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

Grace straightened in her chair. “Apparently God thinks you do.”  

So when I learned that I would be published, I couldn’t wait to tell Grace. And when my article came out, I gave one to her. A few days later a group of ladies gathered around my dining room table.

“How exciting! What page is it on?” one lady asked, thumbing through the table of contents.

I thought for a moment, but Grace answered immediately.