Curt slammed the door and tossed his keys on the counter. The expression on his face said it all. Frustration. Discouragement. Disappointment. I’d seen it every Friday night for weeks.
 
“There’s another week without a paycheck,” he said.
 
“Surely things will pick up,” I said. “What about that couple looking for a house? How’s it going with them?”
 
Curt pressed his hands against his temples. “That deal fell through. They couldn’t get financing.”
 
It seemed like everyone struggled with finances these days – including us. For our family, it began a couple years ago.
 
After sixteen years at the same company, Curt was considering a career change. He liked his job but wasn’t sure he would ever reach his ultimate goals at the company. He was a Type-A personality, constantly pushing himself toward more challenges and responsibility. Someday he hoped to be in a position to help make major company decisions.
 
Quitting a perfectly good job was a big decision. We prayed about it. We asked for advice from friends we respected. Finally, we decided to go for it. Curt quit his job and began his new career in real estate.

Four months later we learned that his former company had been bought out. We felt like we had dodged a bullet. Many folks lost their jobs.  
 
Curt’s first year in real estate went well. Business was good and he enjoyed the new challenge. We needed to move closer to his office, so we sold our house, moved into a rental and made plans to build our dream home. We were excited about our new adventure. Until the following year – in 2008 – when the economy crashed.
 
At that point the real estate market came to a standstill. Our excitement turned into anxiety. Week after week my normally upbeat husband came home discouraged. Now here we were again, another week and no paycheck.
 
I squeezed Curt’s shoulder. “You’re a hard worker and a smart businessman. Things will turn around.” I tried to sound confident, but inside, I worried. And those worries multiplied in the upcoming weeks.
 
It wasn’t easy, cramming our family of five into a tiny rental house. Most of our belongings were packed away in storage. The kids missed our old home and struggled to adjust to a new school. And then there was the stress of building a house.
 
We had broken ground and started construction earlier that year. Now we worried if we could even afford it. Each time we met with our builder we made changes to cut costs. We held off on finishing the basement. We decided against a three-season porch. We waited to finish the landscaping. I tried not to complain, but it was hard to stay positive while our dreams slipped away.

One Sunday morning I was in church by myself. Curt was upstairs teaching Sunday school. Our girls were in their classes. The worship service began and song lyrics flashed onto the screen. I opened my mouth, attempting to sing, but the words felt lodged in my throat. I thought back to life before Curt quit his job. We were doing fine financially. Our kids had felt safe and secure. Life was comfortable. Then everything got messed up. We did what we thought God wanted us to do. We took a leap of faith. And for what? Now we could barely pay our bills and my husband felt like a failure. Why did God lead us into this heartache?
 
A few days later, we decided it was time. Time to swallow our pride and dust-off Curt’s resume.
 
“It’ll be fine,” I’d said, giving him a hug. “Someone with your education and experience won’t have trouble finding a job.” But we both knew it wasn’t that simple. In this economy, companies weren’t even hiring.
 
But even before Curt had the chance to start his job search, something amazing happened. Curt got a phone call from a local insurance company. Apparently, someone who had worked with him at his previous company had given them his name. They had a job opening and asked if Curt would be interested in submitting a resume. Curt interviewed for the job and the rest is history.
 
The day after we moved into our new house, Curt headed off to work at his new job. That was ten years ago. Today, he finds his position as Chief Information Officer very rewarding.
 
God knew the market was going to crash. Nothing surprises Him. But even when things don’t go as planned, He can also work everything out for good. He holds every single day in His hands. We just need to focus on today and leave the rest to Him.

I wiped my sweaty palms against my khakis and 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 annoying 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. How did I get myself into this? Instantly, I knew. It began several months ago, when my pastor preached a sermon I couldn’t ignore.
 
It was a time of transition in my life. After ten years of full-time motherhood, my youngest had started kindergarten – and I felt lost.

You might look like a fool. Others will discover you have no idea what you’re doing. You could fail.
 
So, I ignored the dream, tucking it away – until the next Sunday morning.  
 
“How many times do we limit ourselves because of fear?” My pastor’s eyes scanned the 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’d been struggling with fear?
 
Over the next several minutes I scribbled down notes and words of encouragement. But I’ll never forget what he said as he concluded.  
 
“If you believe God put a desire in your heart, don’t let feelings of fear stop you.”
 
I caught myself nodding in agreement.
 
“It’s okay to be afraid,” he said. “In fact, it’s normal to feel fear. Just don’t let fear control you. Trust God with that fear. God will walk with you through your fear.”
 
I wrote down three simple words and underlined them as my pastor spoke.
 
“Do it afraid.”

Over the following months those three words became my motto as I stepped out of my comfort zone and into the wonderful, yet overwhelming world of writing. I began reading every book I could find on improving my craft. In time, I worked up the courage to submit articles for publication – and had lots 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.
 
My heart thumped in my chest as I walked into the first workshop of the conference. Like the new kid in a junior high cafeteria, I searched for a seat in a room full of strangers. But those awkward feelings didn’t last long. By the end of the workshop, I felt at home. The speakers shared valuable tools for improving my writing. They also challenged and inspired me to persevere.   
 
Perhaps even better, I formed new friendships. Meeting other people with a heart for writing energized me. These were my people. As someone who does her best work secluded in her office, it was nice to know I was not alone. Especially when I realized I wasn’t the only one with an annoying inner voice.
 
In the months after the conference, I continued to follow my pastor’s simple, but powerful advice. I joined a critique group, entered a writing contest and signed up for another conference. Each time I pushed myself, my confidence grew. Eventually, doing it afraid led me down a path to publication.
 
Today, I am still pursuing my dream. When insecurities creep in, I remind myself that the only way I can truly fail is to quit. Being successful is more than hitting a bestseller list. Real success is doing what I love. I may have sweaty palms and butterflies in my stomach, but I will succeed when I keep doing it afraid.  

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Have you ever experienced this scenario? You have a thought—and you intend to verbalize that thought in a clear, concise manner. But somehow, as the words leave your brain and travel to your mouth, there’s a glitch—and your words come out completely wrong. If so, this post is for you.

This happens to me far too often. When my girls were young, I blamed it on “Mommy Brain.” Someday I’ll probably call it a “Senior Moment.” For now, I’ll stand firm that I’m a writer—not a speaker.
Anyway, a few years ago, I suffered through one of those dreadful moments. I’m not sure it was an all-time, most embarrassing moment, but it definitely ranks among the top ten.

At the time, Curt and I were building a house and facing the monumental task of picking out lights. One day, while browsing at a home lighting store, “mother nature” gave me a call. I left the girls with Curt while I searched for a bathroom.

After finishing my business, I washed my hands and reached for a paper towel. Nothing. I looked under the sink and peeked into a cabinet. Still nothing. I shook my wet hands and returned to the store.

I found Curt and the girls talking with a salesman. As I approached, Curt looked up. “Oh, this is my wife,” Curt said. The salesman extended his hand.  

Immediately, a thought crossed my mind. I can’t shake his hand; I still have dripping wet hands from no paper towels in the restroom. But when the words left my mouth, they came out all wrong. 

“Sorry,” I said. “I can’t shake your hand. I was in the bathroom and there wasn’t any toilet paper.”

Wait! What did I just say?

The salesman’s jaw dropped along with his hand. Curt busted out laughing. My girls looked horrified. I wanted to crawl under a table. 

“Paper towels! Paper towels!” I blurted out. My face burned hot. “You’re out of paper towels!”

Years later, my husband still teases me about it.

So how do you recover from a moment like that? You can do what I did: gasp in horror, turn bright red, and kick yourself for being such a dork. I also never returned to that store.

Since then I’ve had plenty of practice handling embarrassing moments. Usually, it’s after I’ve tripped. (Thank you, multiple sclerosis.) How do I respond? There’s the ever-popular, “Another one bites the dust,” or my personal favorite, “I’m not drunk, I just have MS.”

I’ve also found the following techniques work beautifully:

1. Change the subject. Pronto!
   Your first instinct may be to find the closest exit and make a break for it. But in that moment, the best thing you can do is take a deep breath, dust yourself off and move on. The sooner you push past an awkward moment, the sooner everyone else will too.  
   
   
2. Keep it in perspective.
   In the whole scheme of things, how much will this one little incident affect the rest of your life? Not much. Who cares if that salesman went home and had a good chuckle with his wife at my expense? I’ll probably never see him again. Besides, he probably needed a good laugh. You’re welcome, mister.
   
   
3. Laugh at yourself.
   Seriously, nobody’s perfect. People say and do dumb things ALL the TIME. Laugh at yourself, and that embarrassing moment will lose its power over you.  
   
   
4. Commiserate with a friend.
   If it continues to bother you, call a good friend. (Don’t call my husband; he’d probably still be laughing.) Call someone who loves your dorky-little-self unconditionally. Share and compare embarrassing stories. You should feel better in no time.  
   
   
5. Blog about it.
   Yep. That's right. If sharing my own humiliating blunder can help even one person overcome their own face-reddening awkwardness, it was all totally worth it. Sort of.       

 
How about you? Would any of you dare to share your embarrassing moment with the world? How did you handle it? Do tell! I may need some advice.

It was shaping up to be one of those weekends. Two kids had important activities they were required to attend. Taylor had a volleyball tournament in Indianapolis. Closer to home, Madison had a music contest on Saturday. Curt and I decided to divide and conquer. He’d take Taylor. I’d stay with Madison.

Then the snowstorm hit. Yep, I know it’s the end of March. Welcome to Illinois.

At first, I was bummed. (We could’ve gone to Taylor’s tournament!) Then I looked on the bright side. I would be home ALL weekend – with nowhere to go on Saturday!

My mind raced with all the glorious things I could accomplish. First, I’d start reading a book that’s been patiently waiting for me on the top of the pile. Then, I’d write. I had several nonfiction stories brewing. Or I could work on my novel. I’m still trying to figure out my characters. Maybe I’d start plotting. Also, a whole weekend would give me plenty of time to dig into spring cleaning – even if it did look more like Christmas outside.

But somewhere in the midst of my plans, I realized something. I had an entire weekend with my 13-year-old ahead of me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a whole weekend alone with this kid. Who knew if it would ever happen again?

I thought of my firstborn, away at college. And my 16-year-old, who will be a senior next year. I’ll always have stories to write or housework to do. But I won’t always have a 13-year-old all to myself for the entire weekend.

So, what did we do?

We watched chick flicks like Steel Magnolias and The Help. (Who doesn’t like a reminder that they are “kind, smart and important"?) We played with the puppy. We baked chocolate chip cookies. We slept in late. Wore pajamas all day. Took naps.  

And, thanks to technology, I watched Taylor play volleyball at her tournament. I can’t say I had a productive weekend, but I can say this:

It was practically perfect.    

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I’ve always been a little envious of my fiction-writing friends. They can twist and turn their stories in whatever direction their imaginations take them. If the plot seems boring, they can change it. If a character is annoying, they can kill him. Meanwhile, I am stuck in my factual, nonfiction box, only allowed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 
 
Don’t get me wrong. I love real-life inspirational stories. But every no