9/11/2001: I Will Forgive

I was going to write a less serious, more hilarious blog tonight. But this subject is heavy on my heart. I heard this song on Air1 today and it gave me goosebumps. I knew I had to write this tonight rather than wait until Sunday — the 10-year anniversary of the World Trade Center attacks.

Here's what I heard:

Can you believe its been ten years? I remember Sept. 11, 2001 like it was yesterday. I woke up to 99.1 KGGI blaring on my dorm radio at University of Redlands, but it wasn't music I heard, it was a newscast about the attack. It was right after the first plane hit the tower. I made a quick call home, including one to find a way to contact a childhood friend, Kristal, who was a flight attendant and worked in the New York area. She's the first person I had thought about. I walked out into the common room of the dorms to find my fellow college students huddled around the TV and we watched as the second plane hit and then as the towers collapsed.

It was surreal. The news network we were watching thought it was debris from the plane hitting that fell from the windows high above the New York City skyline. The camera zoomed in and quickly zoomed back out because it wasn't debris. It was a man. A man in a suit. A man who had felt so helpless and who was so scared that he jumped out of a window.

I think that is when it hit me the hardest. That's when what I was watching became real.

I was scheduled to board a plane with my volleyball team the following week. We were supposed to fly to Nashville for a tournament. But flights were cancelled and we couldn't go. I remember feeling somewhat relieved that I wouldn't have to board a plane.

What if it happened again? What if they chose the plane I was on?

I had been scared.

I've been thinking about this a lot. And the rest of this post may piss some people off — but it's my blog. My thoughts. My opinion — so if you don't want to read it, you don't have to.

Fear. "An unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat." That's what Google says.

It was just a short time ago when the Hemet Police officers were being attacked. They had had bombs placed underneath their cars, guns rigged to shot at their heads when the gate to their Gang Task Force headquarters was opened, city cars were blown up. It was a terrifying time for the city and it had come on the heels of an incident where a boy had shot, killed, and burned his "friend" in a bonfire in his backyard.

More fear. I stopped running at night. I would replay my MMA training scenarios in my head when I saw a scary-looking person around in a parking lot — thinking about all of the ways I knew I could bring him down. I began to look over my shoulder more often and I stopped making eye contact with strangers. What if they had bad intentions?

My brother-in-law recently wrote a paper on the Hemet police attacks. He asked me, as a former reporter during the time of the attacks, for a quote about what it did to the community. Here's what I told him.

"The repeated attacks on local law enforcement instilled fear in the community. People began to question their safety. If police officers were vulnerable and the offenders were not caught, certainly the general public felt threatened. It was an act of terrorism and the sense of fear it produced was real. Even the arrest of the suspects didn't ease the minds of the public. I think the fear the attacks caused is still present today. Maybe not a fear of those particular suspects attacking again, but a fear caused by the realization that no city is truly safe from terrorists."

 I began to think about terrorism. Terrorism is named that because it goes deeper than the single acts of violence. It is bigger.

 It makes people question one another, makes them view people who may be different than them as suspect. Fear makes us irrational. It makes us do and say questionable things. It makes us want to "shoot first, ask questions later."

My former editor, Kari, once told me that she believes that people either live in fear or live in love. To live in fear is to not live at all. It's to act scared, to not risk anything, to freeze. To live in love makes us free, it gives us courage to live the life we dream. It was true and I agreed.

I came across a quote that said "There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them." Andre Gide said this. He was a writer and won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1947.


I think this is true. Yet so many people walk around afraid of those who are different. You see, ten years after the Twin Towers were attacked, the fear that violent act produced is still very real. You hear it everyday. You heard it in the debate about whether or not a mosque should be built near Ground Zero in New York City. You heard it when Bin Laden was killed.

I saw photos of Bin Laden's head with a bullet in it posted all over Facebook. They weren't even real. They were made in Photoshop. The government chose not to release the actual photos. 


You know, many people celebrated the murder of Martin Luther King Jr., too. It's true. 


I know. You're ticked right now. You don't want me to compare King to a terrorist like Bin Laden, right? That's not fair, right? One was obviously good and one was obviously evil. Right! Right? Really? Who are you to assign value to a human life? Who are you to say one is more valuable than the other? Do you know their soul? Now you're fuming. I know.

"But, Val, one used his life to try to destroy people! The other tried to bring people together!" you may say. Yes. But I'm not making a judgement on who was better than the other. I'm saying that a human life, good or bad, or still a life. 

King once said, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."


So when we celebrate the death of a person, aren't we acting in darkness? Aren't we celebrating the same evil that Bin Laden may have been celebrating when he watched the people throw themselves out of the melting towers? In both instances, death is being celebrated. Which one is right? Is there a "right"?

I see those slogans "I will never forget!" plastered all over cars and the Internet. And, to be honest, I won't forget Sept. 11, 2001.

But I want to. I want to forget the evil. Holding on to what another man did to us in sin will only bound us and hold our hearts captive. It will not free us. Forgetting, however, will free our hearts from hate. Now you're really mad at me, aren't you? You are correct in thinking that I'm telling you to forget. Forget the sin. 

If we choose to remember the hate and carry that hate on, we are not doing the victims of 9/11 justice. We are fuming the flames for it to happen again.


Those of you who read my blog or who know me, know I'm a Christian. I love the Lord. And I believe that He would forgive. That He would love harder in hopes of saving lives. Not hating harder in hopes of punishing lives. He loves all equally.

So try and forget. Isn't that what Christ did for us? Did he not forget our sin? Did He not die so that we were free from it? So why should we remember the sin of another? What if Christ decided to "never forget" that lie you told your husband, but confessed to Christ? What if He chose to place a yellow ribbon on your rear view mirror every day to remind you of that time you cheated, lied, or stole? What if you could never escape it? You would be driven mad and think Him unloving. But He's not. And you're free from those sins.

 


Every time you choose to love, to smile at someone who you may perceive to be "trashy" or "shady," you give love a little more power and hate a little less.

My prayer for this country is that we are freed from the death grip that fear has on our hearts. My prayer is that we embrace one another and show more love and less hate. I will attempt to forget, attempt to forgive, and live in love.

John 12:35 says "Then Jesus told them, 'You are going to have the light just a little while longer. Walk while you have the light, before darkness overtakes you. The man who walks in the dark does not know where he is going.'"

On this anniversary of 9/11, I'm committing to love more. To love those who are different, to love those who have done me wrong, to love those who the world perceives as evil. Because if we aren't loving, we are hating. And hate is destructive.

I will not allow terrorism to win. By celebrating death and acting in hate, we allow the terrorists to win. We give them power. I will not allow the sin of a few make it okay to hate many. I will not allow terrorists to cause me to be afraid of people of a different race, color, or creed.

My prayer is that we truly do choose to rise out of those ashes — not to take our revenge, but to love and spread light so that darkness does not overcome.

 <3

Once Upon An Unexpected Dream

It's been awhile since I've blogged. A long while. I'm not sure if it was a lack of motivation or a lack of FIOS at home. But now I've got both! So look forward to more of my nutty rants.

"Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours." Mark 11:24

I've read this verse so many times. Over and over again I'd read it and I'd remember God's promise — the promise that He will provide. It's been a crazy few years. Maybe five. Okay, seriously, the majority of my 20-somethings have been utter crap. Literally.

I had goals, people! And serious ones. By the time my 30th birthday rolled around, I had three goals: 1. Publish my novel and watch it climb the bestseller list, 2. Earn my first $1 million, 3. And fight Gina Carano ... and win. 

You don't know who she is? Gees. Why are we friends? This is her.

You may also recognize her as "Crush" from the revived American Gladiators. She's gorgeous isn't she? Man, I really wanted to mess up her pretty face. Preferably without damaging my "just okay" face.

So those were my goals. I was well on my way, too. I was training to fight, writing, and well, not earning very much money. But my book wasn't done and that was the gateway to my millions.

I could name a ton of reasons why none of the above has happened. I could say it was because I had to work more than one job or because the fight team I was on disbanded or because I had no computer. Blah. Blah. Blah. Point is, my goals were not reached.

Like I said, most of my 20-something years were crap.

Until recently ...

I remember the nights I'd spend praying for a man. A real man. Not like the fake ones I had been dating. The cheater, liars, and users. Nope, not them. I wanted my prince charming. Those stupid Disney movies I had watched as a child really ruined things for me. Your life was not complete unless you had a man. And not just ANY man — a prince.

When my niece was younger, she had told my brother-in-law that she was going to marry Aladdin. "No, Honey," he said with a straight face, "You can't marry him. Aladdin's a terrorist." My niece was five. She had no idea what he was talking about and ran off to play. But he was right — and it has NOTHING to do with race so don't even go there. Nope. It's because men are lame. They come into your life, terrorize you by making you fall for them and then they are caught with (fill in the blank with a person's name) doing (fill in the blank with something they aren't supposed to be doing) while you are working four jobs to pay for their (fill in the blank with the useless hobby they've taken up).

Seriously? What a peach of a prince. The fact is, they simply do. not. exist.

Well, at least not the way those movies depicted. No, my prince turned out to be much more unorthadox. He leaves toilet paper off of the roll. He smells funny. Often. He says inapproprite things at even more inapproprite times. He makes my eyes roll until I'm dizzy.

He also works 80-plus-hour weeks to provide for his family. Once a month, he spends his only day off that week driving me to LA where he sits all day watching me play volleyball. He supports me in every dream I have and does whatever it takes to help me accomplish them.

He is truly my Prince Charming. A fuzzy one who hates shaving, but nonetheless, a prince for ME.

And I had prayed for him. And God had delivered. Then we prayed for a baby. It wasn't easy, but God delivered. My precious son is the most demanding, slobbering, awesome kid.

Does it even get cuter than that? Because I really don't think so.

I will be entering my 30s in approximately two months, one week, four days ... but who's counting?

I prayed for God to help me train, to help me write, to send me my $1 million payday. And I read that stinking verse over and over and over.

"Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours."

It wasn't mine. None of those things were mine! So, do I still believe in that verse? Does the fact that I have NONE of what I really wanted mean God has not delivered on his promises?

Nah.

You see, I was praying for the wrong things. God knew it. Funny thing about that guy. He knows ALL. He sees our big picture.

Look, let's be honest. I'm not that great of a writer. And what I lack in writing skills, I make up for with an underwhelming amount of motivation to write. And I'm not that great of a fighter. Did I win some fights? Sure. But I probably would've had Gina dropkick me in the head and get knocked out in five seconds on television. And, really, who would want that hanging over their head for life? And I don't need a $1 million-paycheck. (But if you're willing to write me one, I take that last one back.)

Truth is, at almost 30 years old, I'm finally starting to live the life I never knew I always wanted. I'm losing sleep each night my hubby is home, when he snores loud enough to bring down the Great Wall of China, I'm losing more sleep when my son cries for me, I'm losing even more sleep when I try to think about how on earth I'm going to pay this or that.

But I'm losing sleep next to a man who loves me with everything he has. I'm losing more sleep to hang out with, seriously, the coolest kid that was ever created, and I'm losing even more sleep in a bed ... in a house ... that somehow has managed to remain mine, despite having too much month at the end of the money.

This is my life. And I love it.

Things change. Dreams change. We change. Our passions change. And when we're least expecting it, our life becomes a hot mess of wonderful moments that you never planned for but would never trade.

My faith in that verse hasn't changed. My faith, actually, has grown. I watch in awe as God directs my paths in motherhood, in starting a new photography business (that road is full of miracles, but that is for another blog), and in abandoning all of my fears and worries and allowing Him to work on me and through me.

The more I pray, the more my will aligns with God's will for me. And therein lies the answered prayers.

It's been a wild ride. And I'm looking forward to even more unexpected twists and turns. Thank you, Lord, for this life and help me to make the one you've given me the best I can for YOU.

Night, all.

Be careful what you pray for...

I remember a time, when Brandis and I were trying to get pregnant, that I cried out to God and said, "OK, Seriously ... this is taking forever. I want to have a kid before your return, Christ. I want to know what it is like to raise a child that is ALL mine! So, if you grant me that, THENNNNNN I'll be ready for you to come back."

In retrospect, it's laughable. Like God would stop the Second Coming to wait for me to get knocked up and raise my baby ... But to have a child, and to have an impact on him like I have on the kids that I coach was so important to me! I felt like I had ALL of this love to give and it was being wasted by me not having a baby.

Which is also laughable! Like my coaching has ever been or will EVER be a waste of time ... I know I have a positive impact on those who play for me — even when they claim to hate me! :)

Ever since I found out about our little, life-changing blessing, I've been doing an intense amount of soul searching. I've always known that people frequently say having a child changes you. But I kind of thought it changes sleep patterns, work schedules, family dynamics, and free time — I guess I didn't realize that it would force me to literally put my entire being under a fine-tooth comb and examine who I really was and who I wanted to be.

Now, I completely see why I did not get pregnant sooner. I simply was NOT ready. Sure, I had love to give. But would I have been ready to do the "soul cleaning" that I'm doing now?

Not a chance!

I've been thinking a lot about how I want to raise Koa. What kind of environment will I raise him in? I know I want to teach him about healthy living, how to eat well, the importance of sleep, and that no matter what he does, God loves him and so does his mom! I know that my son will disappoint me because he's human, and he will make mistakes. There will be times when he will tell me he wants to trade me in for a new mommy. That will suck! But I will love him, regardless, and NEVER leave him nor turn my back on him.

I will work to build him up at every opportunity. I want to empower him and make sure he knows how special he is. I never want him to feel unloved or unwanted or unimportant. I want to encourage him to explore and challenge the status quo, to fight for what he believes. I want him to be a hard worker and to realize that he has the power to change his life whenever he wishes. I want him to take responsiblity for his actions and to be honest about when he screws up. I want him to know it's OK to make mistakes ... if you learn from them! I want my sweet baby boy to lie his head down on his pillow every night knowing that his parents love him and they love each other. I want to make our home a safe place where he feels comfortable expressing himself and knows he will not be judged.

I've learned so much about how I want to raise my son. But, more importantly, I've learned that being a mother doesn't mean I have to be perfect. I WILL make mistakes. Although, rarely ... :)

So, now, I've got this laundry list of things I want to instill in my son. That's the easy part. But HOW? How do I get him to learn these things? How will I show him that it is OK to go against popular opinion and to stand his ground? Or that the kid on the playground who makes fun of him may really be very sad and may need Koa to show him kindness?

This is something I've taken to prayer because I'm SO serious about making sure my little boy grows into a strong, confident man who loves the Lord and has a heart for the hurting. I know how many times I was hurt by men before Brandis came along and I NEVER want OUR son to be that kind of man.

I've found out that it all begins with me. If I want to see these qualities in my son, then I better be the first to exemplify them. If I see wrongdoing, I better stand up for what I believe, even if it gets hard. If I want him to put God first, I BETTER be doing that in my own life. If I want him to be hard-working and have a heart for other people, then ... you guessed it ... I better be hard working and SHOW that I have a heart for other people.

After thinking about all of MY qualities and which of those I want my son to pick up, I realized that it's MY responsibility to be a living, breathing example. How can I get mad at him for being a horrible listener if I'm constantly interrupting him? (Something I know I need to work on. Being opinionated is, sometimes, hard!) Or how can I be upset at him for putting others down if I am putting others down, or worse, if I'm ever putting HIM down? Simple. I can't. If he sees his mommy and daddy do it, nine times out of ten, HE will do it.

It made me reflect on my own childhood and made me so thankful to have the parents I do. They were far from perfect. There were times they hurt my feelings, times I felt judged — but one thing my parents NEVER pretended to be was perfect. I have seen HUGE transformations in my parents over the years. And I told my mom that I feel I have learned far more from watching them fail, admit it, and work on it, than from them trying to be perfect. When my dad would say something that hurt me, he would later come to me and tell me he messed up and that he is sorry and that he loves me — although sometimes it took time, I knew he'd always tell me he was sorry. My mom would make sure I knew that mommy's weren't perfect and that they mess up, too.

They didn't point fingers and blame others for their actions. My dad never told me, "YOU made me do that because I was mad." NO. He would tell me he did it and then he would work to fix it. And then he really WOULD work on it.

THIS is the kind of parent I want to be.

I am so blessed to have the family that I do. They are supportive, loving, genuine, and my relationships with them are SO rewarding. That's another thing my parents taught me — the important of having meaningful relationships. It's so important for me to be able to go to bed at night and KNOW that I made someone's day brighter. It could be as small as striking up a conversation in a grocery store or making someone laugh when they are upset. THESE are the important things!

Isn't that the kind of person God calls us to be? The kind of person that can put aside their desires and wants and focus on others? Sometimes I do this too much and I put myself at risk. But I know that God sustains me in a miraculous way. I know that He will sustain me when I have hard times raising my son.

Because, as I have stated before, God doesn't need me to be perfect, rather WILLING — willing to see my own imperfections and WILLING to admit them and work on them. This, more than any other thing, will speak volumes to my sweet, baby boy.

I never realized that he would have such a deep impact on me before I even laid eyes on his chubby cheeks! (C'mon, he's Brandis and I's kid — there will be chubby cheeks!) He's not even here yet, and already, I've learned so much from him. He won't owe me a thing for raising him — because even now, he has taught me so much and I will forever be grateful to Koa and to God for giving me the chance to learn these lessons in a loving way.

Approximately three more months until I get to hold my little superhero! But for now, I'm enjoying my time I spend praying for him and feeling him punch my guts. Mommy's little warrior is strong! Even only weighing two pounds!  :)