For me, like a lot of people who grew up in the 50’s, the words of the Willie Nelson song are true, “My heroes have always been cowboys.” Mostly, they were the ones on TV although, growing up in Montana, I actually knew some real cowboys.

I remember meeting John Wayne when he went to Oklahoma City to dedicate the National Cowboy Hall of Fame. He stayed in a motel across the street from my grandma’s house. My sisters and I discovered this and snuck over, hoping to catch a glimpse. We found his room near the pool and eagerly waited by the glass door, hoping to be noticed. He became a lasting hero to me when he came out to converse and share autographs with three nervous young girls. To me, he was ten feet tall.

My most enduring childhood hero was my Dad. In my world, he could do anything. He could fix anything. He knew everything. He was up there with John Wayne. As I grew older and childhood perspective faded, the nature of his heroism changed. He didn’t change. He didn’t know more — or less. He couldn’t do more — or less. The change was in me and my perception of heroes.

We often assign heroism to life savers. If that’s the case, I’ve been a hero a few times myself. In a long career as a nurse, I’ve caught a few people when they were (as we say in the ER), “circling the drain.” It’s part of my job — what I know how to do best. Though patients have returned and told me, “You saved my life,” I’ve never thought of myself as a hero.

I think it’s hard to be a public hero — to have to live up to the high expectations of others. We always say how sad it is when a hero “falls.” The truth is, a hero doesn’t fall. The heroic act remains intact. The fall comes only when we realize the hero is human – just like the rest of us.

When I was a child, my heroes were huge, though they were few in number. These days, my heroes are more life-size, but I have many of them. They are people I meet every day, people who make the extra effort. Like…

… the man on the plane who voluntarily trades his window seat so I can sit next to my traveling companion.

… my daughter who wakes me in the morning with a steaming cup of tea.

… the mechanic who takes a few minutes to fix the loose bolt on my muffler — for free.

… my sister who leaves a fresh bouquet of flowers from her garden on my front porch, for no special reason.

… my office nurse who, on her lunch time, persistently and willingly completes eight phone calls, four faxes, and five forms to arrange an urgent referral for one of my patients.

… my dad who, without being asked, changes all five belts on the greasy engine of my ancient Mercedes — leaving one thing less for me to do when I get home from vacation.

… my friend who climbs a steep mountain pass with a fifty pound pack, then comes back down the trail to give me encouragement when I am struggling with the altitude and a heavy load.

These, and others like them, are the heroes who enrich my life. Most of the time, they don’t even know it.

Anita Jones Horner ©1999

I have a story to share with all of you that has been on my heart….

I was leaving my northern California home for L.A. to attend a worship music conference at Saddleback Church in Orange County. This was my 3rd time to attend the conference with other members of our church’s praise team band. We always leave really early in the morning in order to get to Saddleback for the opening events of the conference.

I got up in the dark and put my stuff in the car to drive to my friend’s home where we were all meeting for the trip. I noticed the time I left my house – 2:54 am. There was little traffic at this early hour. The road I took had some construction going on, causing some lanes to narrow and merge.

In the dark construction zone, I did not realize the “fast lane” I was in had merged right till literally 10 feet in front of me I saw one bright headlight coming straight at me. It was a motorcycle. I don’t even remember turning my car, but somehow I swerved out of the way at just the right moment. I could actually feel the air against my car as the motorcycle moved past me.

As I tried to catch my breath, and make sense of what had just happened, I looked in my rear-view mirror to make sure that the motorcycle had passed on and was ok. As I looked, the motorcycle made a U-turn and began to follow me. My heart started to pound, and I began to feel really nervous. At the next red light I slowed to a stop and the motorcycle driver sped up to my passenger side. When I looked out the window, I could see rage in the man’s face. It was frightening.

He began to scream at me to “pull over”. I actually thought about it for a second, then came to my senses, and kept going. There was no way I would pull over on a dark empty road, for a strange man, who was extremely agitated! As I drove to the next stop, he pulled up on my driver side, screaming again and yelling for me to pull over, and roll down my window. At one point he even pulled in front of me to try and stop me, so I had to veer around him. I was so scared. I flashed my headlights at an SUV driver nearby to get his attention, but he made no response.

I knew the only other thing I could do was to call 911. The dispatcher was truly an answer to prayer. I was frantic, almost crying, and she amazingly calmed me down. She told me not to pull over, to just keep driving, and she would guide me to the police department, a safe destination where we would have a mediator. She guided me through different streets to get me onto the freeway while, all the time, the guy was still following close behind me. About 10 minutes later the guy on the motorcycle pulled into a nearby gas station and quit following me. I told the dispatcher he was gone, but she stayed on the phone until we were both certain. She asked me if I felt safe going to my friend’s home now instead of the police station. I told her yes, and she stayed with me all the way there. Once safe at my friend’s house the dispatcher said that the police would notify me if they were able to make contact with the man on the motorcycle. My friends heard my story and saw that I was upset, still very shaken up. They first prayed with me, to help calm my spirits, and then we headed down to L.A.

While driving along I couldn’t stop thinking about the morning’s events. I felt myself becoming more anxious, worried, emotionally exhausted, and even nauseous. I kept wondering if this angry guy would try to find me. He was so mad, and I couldn’t blame him! I didn’t even want to think about what could have happened if I hadn’t moved in time!

Four hours down the road the police deptartment called to let me know they had made contact with the man on the motorcycle. They told me that he reported that I had sideswiped him. He wanted my identification so he could sue me. I was completely honest with the cop about what had happened; about how I had been in the wrong lane, and the near miss. I said although it was a close call, I had never made contact and that my car did not have any damage. The cop told me I didn’t have to worry. They had checked his motorcycle for damage and found nothing. They told the guy that they would not give any information to him about me.

Even after reassurance from the police officer I was still worried. During the long 7-hour trip worrisome questions consumed me; Would he be able to find me. Did he have my license plate number? Was I in danger from him? I became really angry at one point, because I couldn’t believe that this had happened to me! Why did I have to take that stupid road anyway! I had almost gone another route. Why didn’t I just pay more attention to my surroundings? Why didn’t we just leave the day before at a more normal hour? My whys were getting the best of me.

Arriving at the conference, we checked in, and met up with my pastor who was already there. When he asked how our travels were, the whole story came out. He was concerned too, and to help ease my mind, gave me the number of a retired police officer who goes to our church. Pastor said, to go ahead and call him, to ask him my questions to help ease my mind. I did. But even after talking to this calm retiree; even though he answered most of my questions; even though he said he would pray for my worries to subside, I didn’t feel any better

After the phone call, I headed into the church for the first speaker, Saddleback’s pastor Rick Warren. Some of you may recognize his name, or may have read his book, “The Purpose Driven Life”. As Rick came out, and began his presentation, I looked down to read the title of his message. It hit me between the eyes, “How to Worship Instead of Worry.” I was completely awestruck. I could not believe what I was hearing! The entire sermon was on how we cannot worship or have a true connection with God if we have worry in our lives. Worry and worship are like oil and vinegar. The Bible verse he read was Psalm 105:4. “Go to the Lord for help and worship him continually.”

Rick talked about the ABC’s of worship:
Asking God for Help
Believing God can handle any situation
Confessing your inadequacy “humbling yourself”
Depending on God to save us
Expressing Thanks to God in advance
Finding the blessings in the bad

I knew, then and there, this sermon was written for me, and that God wanted to tell me something in a very clear way! I was so amazed at how every word spoken in that sermon directly related to my experience that morning. The worry weight began to lift.

After the sermon was over, we went outside for some refreshments. Since I had already talked to my husband, my pastor, my praise teammates, and the police, I figured I should call my mom. Getting her on the phone, I began to tell her my story. I wanted to tell her what had happened, and share how the sermon I had just heard seemed to be written just for me. I couldn’t finish. She began to interrupt me. She told me that at 2:30 am that morning, she woke up suddenly and couldn’t get back to sleep. She got up, went into her living room and decided to read the Bible. At 3:00 am, my mom began to pray for the safety of all her kids – my brothers in the service overseas, and me. When I heard her say this, I broke down. I couldn’t believe it. She had been praying for me at the exact moment my horrible experience was occurring. I thought about it. It takes 6-7 minutes to get to the construction zone from my house. I left my house exactly at 2:54 AM…. You do the math.

Why I have sent you this entire story? I guess I just wanted to share the awe that I now have of God, and the mysterious, wonderful ways he worked in my life:

~ How God could place his hand on a vehicle, and push it out of the way of on coming traffic, or cause my hand to move the steering wheel just in time.

~ How He could work through a dispatcher to help me out of danger to a safe place.

~ How He could inspire a pastor to write a sermon with words that speak so clearly to me.

~ How He could orchestrate the perfect timing for a small praise team band to be at the very church conference where that pastor would give his message.

~ And, how powerful prayer is, that a mother would be awakened in the dead of sleep and have it placed on her heart to get up, and begin praying for her children. It’s overwhelming to me! Don’t ever stop praying for your kids Moms. God hears you.

I learned so much from this experience, and amazingly, I can actually look at it now and say I’m grateful it happened! It was so scary at the time, but I know there was a reason I went through it. God was watching over me, and he wanted to teach me something about myself that day. Worrying doesn’t change anything. God is more powerful than any situation I go through. God can handle all my battles, and He is the one in control – not me. It’s exhausting when I take everything on myself, and He wants me to give my burdens to Him…so I can let go!

It’s been easy to let worry take over my life many times. I’ve worried about my family, my brothers in Iraq, the war, my parents getting older, my relationships, my home, my finances, my career, my looks, my dreams, or what I’m going to have for dinner. Can you identify? I’m realizing that I have a choice every day, to allow myself to worry about those things, or to trust God with every area of my life. We all have that choice.

This quote now means so much to me, “If God will bring you to it, God will bring you through it.” I pray that my story may touch someone’s life…in some way.

Alissa Doolan ©2006

The university professor had warned that his commencement invocation would be long and suggested that the feeble might want to have a seat. My mind wandered as he began, more interested in gazing at the crowd than in concentrating on his words. Something made me tune in as Dr. Kim began speaking of recognition for those that had accompanied the graduates to this point in their lives. One sentence stuck in my mind. “. . . We the mothers and the fathers who once upon a time changed their diapers, but now feel somewhat lost because we do not quite know how to be their co-adults.”

This stirred thoughts of my own struggles as a parent and those I observe in other parents, young and old. This parental resistance to co-adulthood is the center of so many lasting family conflicts. Why do parents have such difficulty making this transition? Is it habit? Fear of failure? Apprehension about relinquishing power?

I had thought about this a lot over the past 8-10 years as my children became teenagers, and moved rapidly to adulthood. Based on something I’d read long ago I had vowed to gradually let go, to let them experience the rewards and blunders of life while I was close enough to supply a safety net.

Vowing and performing were not the same. I knew my time of influence was short. I wanted to program their brains like efficient computers. To prepare them for every life possibility. To spare them from any possible mistakes. To teach them everything I didn’t know at their age. When I rambled on enthusiastically, grounded in good intentions, I felt a dark window shade come down between us. I was shut off like the power button on a stereo. My ungrateful daughters! Didn’t they know how much I still could teach them?

My epiphany came with this realization: “Parenting is about discharge planning.” It’s a temp job, eighteen to twenty years max. In nursing, the discharge planner is the person that meets the patient on the day they enter the hospital, and from that first day, prepares him to leave. That’s how parenting is, from that first day when you cuddle your tiny infant. From that first time you bathe, dress, and feed your child. When later you teach her to walk, talk, and cross the street alone. When you lead her to read, to reason, and make decisions. From day one you are preparing for when your child becomes an adult, and will no longer require your parenting services. You transform from doing everything for your child till gradually the child does everything for herself. If you are successful, your parenting job is done.

The key is “gradually”. This doesn’t happen overnight. It doesn’t happen the day your child moves away from home. It happens long before that. It is facilitated by trust in your own parenting skills, and trust in the abilities of your child. The timetable for parenting is this: The first eleven or twelve years are the indoctrination years. The time to infuse your values into their little sponge-like brains, before they realize you don’t know everything. The next eight to ten are the internship years. Time to let them practice life under your supervision. Time when you can finally admit what they suspect, that you don’t know everything. Then come the thirty or forty years of reward for parent and progeny; the co-adult years. These years of maturity and shared life experience ease the transition to a time when the initial roles may reverse. To a time when an aging parent may become dependent on her adult child.

I don’t know just when the idea of parental discharge fully penetrated my mind. Maybe it was when I considered that the satisfaction I receive from independently solving a difficult problem was something my children needed also. Maybe it was when, as a graduate student, I had to depend on my daughters to teach me algebra. Maybe it was at the moment I finally noticed that when I didn’t volunteer advice, my daughters often asked–and the window shade stayed up.

There is a proverb commonly quoted that says, “Teach a child how he should live, and he will remember it all his life.” It doesn’t say you’ll have to keep reminding, questioning, leaving lists and checking up. It says teach, and he’ll remember.

Even believing this, I still had the urge to take over, though not as often. When I did, the shade unfailingly came down. Finally when my daughters were in their late teens I made a declaration, an open disclosure of my inner resolution, “I am now your mother emeritus.” I told them I trusted their decision-making capabilities and my role was now that of a consultant. I was abandoning my authoritarian tendencies. I told myself, that I trusted my past parental accomplishments. Saying it out loud helped.

I slip up less often now, and the rewards are great. It is a joy to learn from my daughters. It is a joy to observe them applying lessons taught years before. I am consulted regularly, and seek their guidance as well. I am worry free, not about what life will hand them, but about how they will handle life.

Anita Jones Horner © 2000