What Lies Ahead
By · CommentsWhat Lies Ahead
Once my father, Zig Ziglar, and I were talking about his short-term memory loss and the fact that it seemed to be getting worse. He said, “You know, it is hard to think that all of this [his speaking career] is coming to an end, but when I consider what lies ahead of me I can’t help but be excited. Jesus said He was going ahead of me to prepare a place so wonderful, so magnificent, that the mind cannot fathom its grandeur. I’m really looking forward to that.”
I believe that is Dad’s secret to being happy and positive — he is ALWAYS looking forward to the next great and wonderful thing. He is aware and certain of what lies ahead of him. Are you aware and certain of what lies ahead of you?
Get The Chipmunk!
By · CommentsOn Thursday, February 11, 2010, I spoke for the Women’s Council of Realtors in Dallas, Texas. I was stunned that I began listening to my talk as I was giving it. It was vaguely annoying because I needed to be focused on what I was saying…not on what I needed to do– because I suddenly recognized that I had something in front of me to do.
I’ve had a few more days to consider what was going on during that talk and I’m ready to “Get the Chipmunk!” If you attended the meeting, you know that “getting the chipmunk” means that you stay focused on what God has put in front of you to do and you do it now! You don’t get sidetracked, consider your options, or the “what-if’s,” you just “do it now”! The chipmunk story is an analogy that I use to encourage people and it came about because my father, Zig Ziglar, did the impossible when he chased down and captured my pet chipmunk with his bare hands! That story, combined with what my pastor, Gene Smith, taught me, is making it difficult for me to accept the “status-quo.”
My pastor taught me that I don’t have to worry about the particulars of what God’s will for me might be…I only have to be available and willing to be obedient to do what God has put in front of me to do. I’ve been tasked, since my telling of the chipmunk story last Thursday, with losing the excess 35 pounds I’ve gained over the past ten years. Yep, that’s what’s in front of me to do, and I’m going to do it using the same faith, the same determination, the same self-discipline, and the same simple tool I used to quit my three-plus-pack-a-day cigarette smoking habit.
When I quit smoking over 15 years ago I used duct tape to wrap my pack of cigarettes and I wrote “God and I can do this” on the tape. I made myself a promise that if I wanted a cigarette, I had to go through that duct tape and through my belief that God and I could get my smoking habit taken care of. I carried that pack of cigarettes with me for years…you never know when the urge might strike! Now, I’m going to wrap my Snickers bar with duct tape and a note that says “God and I can do this!” and I’m going to commit to having to go through that note – and through God – to get something sweet if I decide that I just have to have something sweet.
You see, I know sweets are the main addiction I have to food, as are simple carbohydrates that convert quickly to sugar in the blood stream. I think those foods change the way I feel and that is the problem. I need to go to God to change the way I feel; not to food. I’ve struggled with this problem since my early teens and have lost and gained hundreds (probably in excess of a thousand) of pounds over the years. Today I’m going to commit to “get my chipmunk.”
I’ll keep you posted on the progress, the trials, and the triumphs.
My weight today is 159, just nine pounds under my all time high.
HELP
By · CommentsI’m learning that it is wonderful to need help. Years ago, a counselor told me that I was too independent. He said I needed to learn to be interdependent and that until I did, I would be missing out on one of the most wonderful aspects of having relationships.
Over time I got a little better at needing others, but overall I still tend to be an “I can do that myself” kind of person. Asking for help is hard. I have never wanted to be an inconvenience or burden to anyone, and though I hate to admit it, pride has played a part in my attitude toward needing help. After all, Daddy always said I was “the little one who was everywhere doing everything.” I have a reputation to uphold.
Rotator cuff surgery reduced me to a heap of shameless neediness. It also opened the door for me to bask in the priceless care and attention of my daughter Jenni. Oh, how I wish I had heeded my counselor’s words earlier. I have felt so loved and special and treasured — and did I say loved?
Jenni has driven the 50 miles to our home every third day since December 2, 2009. She vacuums, cleans, empties the dishwasher, keeps me company, picks up stuff I need from the store, fixes my Blackberry, sets me up with better Facebook tools, and that is not all. Jenni cleans my horse stalls! And she cleans them even better than I do….and that is saying a lot.
I just want everyone to know that independence really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Getting to reconnect with my daughter after all these years of her being married and raising her own family has been a blessing I hadn’t anticipated. I’m thinking I might get my knee fixed a lot sooner than I originally planned.
A NEW YEAR BEGINS
By · CommentsI’m flying to Florida with my parents, Jean and Zig Ziglar. Dad has two speaking engagements and these will be his first times to speak in 2010. When Dad fell down the stairs in his home in March of 2007, and sustained a head injury that resulted in profound short-term memory loss, we had no idea how long he would continue to speak.
I believe that the almost three years we’ve been on the road together are all a gift from God. A gift to me and a gift to everyone my dad has impacted with his incredible attitude of perseverance, adaptation, and hopeful expectation that tomorrow really is going to be even better than today. “Why, the possibilities are endless!”
The resonance of his voice rings in my ears as I write the words he loves to say. The joy he has when he listens to someone explain how something he taught them changed their life for the better is visible, almost palpable, and it is evident to all who witness this scenario that he takes none of the credit but celebrates fully the accomplishment of the one thanking him.
With my dad it is never about him. He is much more interested in you than he is in talking about himself. He wants to know how you are doing, what you are doing to improve your life, if you are married, happy, successful, and if you know his Lord, his Savior, Jesus Christ. He’ll gladly help you in any and every area of life that you will allow him to, and he’ll count it as his joy and privilege.
My dad lives his life thinking about others and how he can help them. If all of us make the decision to be just a little more like Zig Ziglar this year, 2010 will be “better than good”!
Out of Pocket, but on the Mend
By · CommentsDad, Mom and I roared through our busiest months ever speaking for the Get Motivated Seminars last October and November. We were on the road for days at a time, and even spoke at two venues in one day several times this past year. Our last out before the Christmas break took us to Corpus Christi and San Antonio, Texas, over a three-day period and I’m thrilled to report that Texans love to love Zig Ziglar. It was a special trip for all of us.
I arrived home late at night on December 2nd and spent the next day getting ready for surgery on my shoulder on December 4th. I had been told that rotator cuff surgery would keep me from flying for six weeks and that recovery could take from three to twelve months, depending on how complicated the surgery was. I was also told the therapy was extremely painful and I regret to tell you that nobody lied about any of what I was told!
I have developed a new language….it is only suitable for my therapist and it has become somewhat of a chant that goes like this, “Ouch, ouch, ouch! Oh me. Oh dear Gussie me. Doggoneit. I don’t think it bends that way. Are you serious? You want me to do THAT?”
Regardless of what I say, she persists in what she is doing. She’s heard it all and she knows that I have to push through the pain to get to a point of wellness. Friday she said I could pick up stuff with my right hand as long as it isn’t heavier than a fork, but if I pick up a fork and want to eat with it I have to put my elbow on the table so I won’t flex my bicep. I decided it is easier to eat with my left hand than it is to block out my mother’s voice saying “Get that elbow off the table!”
My husband, Jim Bob Willie, upon seeing my dangling right arm named it “The Lonely Arm.” I catch him and our middle daughter Jenni laughing hysterically when they watch me walk with my sad, limp arm hanging from my forward pitched shoulder at an angle that betrays my complete and utter fear of pain at any unexpected movement. And I thought they wanted to help me.
I guess I’m grateful for a family that can find humor in any awful thing – or it is really just having a positive attitude????? If you think I’m exaggerating, go to YouTube and type in The Row Tater Kuff. All I can say is it is a very good thing that I appreciate a man with a big sense of humor.
Life is so Unpredictible
By · CommentsLife is So Unpredictable
This time two years ago I was just starting to travel and speak with my father, Zig Ziglar. We were working on the third book of a three book contract, and the more I traveled with Dad, the more I realized the book we were writing at the time just wouldn’t have the impact a book about his existing circumstances would.
It didn’t take much for my brother to convince Dad we needed to deal with the topic at hand…how do you respond to life on life’s terms? Dad’s third book on that contract, Creative Imagination, was laid aside so that Embrace the Struggle could be written.
I’ve been hearing from the people he has inspired with his willingness to be just who he is, just where he is. Many, many of those who have seen us on stage together comment that seeing the love and the strength of our relationship spurred them on to call or visit their mother or father. We’ve been told that the relationship we have on stage is the greatest indicator that Dad has truly lived what he has taught. I’m glad it shows.
For me, being on the road with Dad and Mom (she has made all his speaking engagements for almost three years now) has been an answered prayer. When your parents reach their eighties, you start to think about that sand in the hourglass and you just want to be close to them. Dad has always worked so hard that it has been a real effort for me to keep up with him. We’ve written up to three books in one year…or I should say, he’s written three books in a year and I’ve edited them…pretty much every day of the year. Obviously, I didn’t get to see my folks much because of all the work Dad had me doing.
As awful as Dad’s fall was, there really have been some beautiful things that have come about as a result. My sister Cindy and I have gotten to truly know our little brother Tom. Before the accident we were all busy living our lives, and Tom’s life was a lot different from ours…and always had been. He was born almost 10 years after I was born, his family is younger, and his interests are different. But we were all in the same position when it came to helping Mom and Dad deal with the aftermath of the fall. That brought us together like nothing else could have. Tom isn’t just the younger generation now….he’s our grown-up brother.
All three of us children have now gotten to spend more time with our parents than we have in years. One week I traveled with them from Monday through Thursday night, going to our Get Motivated Seminar engagements. Cindy picked them up Friday and drove them to the Ziglar family reunion in Yazoo City, Mississippi, and home again Sunday afternoon; then Tom traveled with them to Hershey, Pennsylvania, on Monday and they got home on Wednesday. That’s what I call spreading out the love…and we’re all glad we get to spend special time with them individually. That’s a gift many adult children never get.
You Never Know
By · CommentsWhen I was growing up, Dad took every opportunity to teach us how we should conduct ourselves. Our family ate out fairly often, and sometimes our server might be a little rude or inattentive. When she’d leave the table, Dad would say, “Let’s not pass judgment on her. We don’t know what might be going on in her life. Someone she loves may have passed away; maybe her car broke down on the way to work. Regardless of what may have happened, let’s be extra nice to her and maybe we can help her day get better.”
That lesson has played an important part in my life and has influenced the way I treat those who are rude, impatient, or seemingly uncaring. But, being human, I have, on occasion, been the rude, arrogant, thoughtless one, and I’ve had to eat my share of crow.
I live in Alvord, Texas, a rural town of about a thousand, and we’re blessed to have a highway by-pass so the big trucks don’t have to drive through the center of our little town. One day I was driving to my parents’ house and I was about to cross one of the bridges that goes over the by-pass when I saw a little orange and white Jack Russell terrier trot onto the bridge.
I slowed my car down to give the dog plenty of time and space to get across the two-lane bridge. Suddenly, an 18-wheeler turned onto the bridge behind the little dog. That dog took one look over her shoulder, trotted over to the concrete wall that ran the length of either side of the bridge, and hopped right over it. I gasped. I knew the dog had fallen at least 18 to 20 feet to the freeway below. Fearing that the dog had fallen into the oncoming lanes of traffic, I swung my car over to the side of the service road, jumped out and ran down the embankment.
Luckily, the dog had fallen onto the shoulder of the road and wasn’t in danger of being hit, but she was lying on her side, shaking. When I got close to her she tried to stand up, and it became obvious that she had hurt one of her front legs. She let me pick her up and I was relieved to find that she had a dog tag with her name on it, as well as her owner’s phone number.
I got back in my car, put the little dog in the passenger seat, and immediately called the number. A lady answered and I was so nervous from all the drama I just blurted out, “You don’t know me. I have your dog, Rosie. She’s hurt. She just jumped off the 1655 bridge and landed on the shoulder of the highway about 20 feet below. Can I bring her to you?”
Silence.
“What do you want me to do with your dog?”
She said, “That’s not my dog.”
“Why does it have your phone number on its tag?”
“It used to be my dog,” she said.
“What do you want me to do with her? She’s hurt, and needs medical attention.”
“I don’t know. I can’t deal with that dog.”
The shock and horror of someone blowing off such a cute, sweet, and suffering dog that they had once owned hit me full force. And with all the judgmental emphasis I could muster, I REACTED angrily and said, “You obviously don’t DESERVE to own a dog!” And hung up the phone.
I drove the dog to my vet, told her to give her anything she needed, and I’d stop back in on my way home and decide what to do then.
My self-righteous self wasn’t back in my car five minutes until it started – that little voice….“Julie…you don’t know that woman. You have no idea what she might be going through. Who are you to pass judgment on her? You better call her back …..you better call her up and apologize…..Julie????”
I resisted long enough to drive the hour to my folks’ house, have lunch with them and visit for awhile, but as soon as I was alone in my car again I knew it was useless to resist. I was going to have to apologize; I might as well get it over with. I pulled over and dialed her number. When she answered I said in a rush, “Please don’t hang up. I’m the lady who called you about the dog and I need to tell you how sorry I am that I spoke to you the way I did. I don’t know you and I don’t know what might be going on in your life, but I have no right to judge you. Can you forgive me?”
She said, “I’m so glad you called back. I’ve been thinking all day what a jerk you must think I am. When you called, I had a car full of little boys who had had a slumber party at my house the night before. We were on the way to the hospital because my son was born with a medical condition that requires immediate treatment when it flares up, and he was having another episode. I just couldn’t think of what I could do at that moment for Rosie.”
She went on to explain that her family lived in an area that had lots of traffic and major busy streets and that Rosie was an escape artist. They had given her to the no-kill humane society with instructions to only give her to a home in the country because they were sure she’d get run over if she continued to live in the city. They had done all they could to keep her in, but they simply couldn’t keep her safe.
Ultimately, we found Rosie’s new owners and her broken foot healed just fine. But just think how my angry, judgmental words would have stayed in the mind of a woman who was already doing her best to do the right thing, a woman who had worries much greater than the situation at hand.
Dad’s teaching has served me well all of my life. If you give others the benefit of the doubt, it will serve you well, too.
My First Speech
By · CommentsMY FIRST SPEECH
When I was a sophomore at Richardson High School in Richardson, Texas, way back in 1970, I thought it’d be fun to sign up for speech class and learn a little bit about what my Dad did for a living. There were probably about 25 students in the class and our teacher, Mrs. Gray, didn’t waste any time getting us started. The first speaking assignment, if I’m remembering this correctly, required us to speak for three minutes. I don’t recall what the topic was but I do recall that several students spoke before I did. The quality of performances varied from great to awful. Some went over the time limit; some went under the time limit. One guy froze and had trouble getting the first line out. When my turn was over I was relieved. I had stopped talking right on the three minute mark, I hadn’t stuttered, mispronounced any words, or messed up in any discernable way.
At the next speech class session, Mrs. Gray returned our handwritten speeches with our grades clearly written in red and circled at the top of the page. As she handed them out she’d call out a name and announce the grade: Barbara Green, A; Jill Williams, A-plus; Robbie Mathis, B-plus. The guy who only spoke half of the allotted time got a B. Even the guy who froze got a higher grade than the C Mrs. Gray gave me. I could tell by the look on my classmates faces that my low grade surprised them as much as it surprised me.
After class I waited for everyone to leave and I told the teacher I didn’t understand why she’d given me a C. I thought I’d done well and I named a few people who had gotten higher grades but had fallen short in areas I did not. In my mind’s eye I can still see her sitting there at her desk. She adjusted her glasses, pursed her lips and said in a clip, “I happen to know who your father is – I expect more from you.”
Today, I like to tell my audiences that if they judge my performance on the same basis Mrs. Gray did, they are apt to be as disappointed as I was with my grade!
It’s true. I’ll never be a Zig Ziglar, and neither will anyone else. But, if I’m my father’s daughter, I will always try to be the best me I can be. Like Daddy says, “You don’t have to be great to start, but you do have to start to be great.”
Un-use-ability
By · CommentsRemember what it was like when you were a child and your parents were way cooler than your friends’ parents? If that wasn’t your case, I’m sorry. Anyway, I realized early on one of the benefits of growing up in the Ziglar family was my parents’ willingness to let us have pets – all kinds of pets – as long as we took care of them. Over the years I had horses, mice and birds, water turtles and box turtles, skunks and chipmunks, and even a baby armadillo – but only for a week.
Taking care of my critters taught me the usual things about responsibility, but my love for animals fueled most of my personal interests. I spent hours riding my horse on the trails and hunting for turtles and snakes in the swamp. But the biggest lesson I learned from an animal came at a great price.
I grew up a lot the summer I was ten years old. My beloved pet at the time was a chipmunk named Chicker. Chicker had a cage, but she was allowed the run of the house, and I awoke every morning to find her sitting upright on my pillow, paws held tentatively in front of her, studying my face. I tried not to move so she would stay close but the moment she saw my eyes flutter she’d dart off the bed and into hiding.
Every year our family went to Mississippi to visit both of my grandmothers and Mom would hire someone to take care of the dogs, cats and any other animals we happened to have. Mom always insisted that Chicker be in her cage when we left town so she wouldn’t scare the pet sitter with one of her sudden and unexpected appearances.
Catching Chicker was a feat, and the morning before we were due to leave on our trip Mom saw Chicker hanging onto the inside of the screen in her bedroom window; nose twitching, taking in the sights and sounds of the great outdoors. She knew if she could close the window fast enough Chicker would be trapped, so she rushed to shut the window and just as it slammed down, Chicker jumped to make her escape.
When I awoke that morning I saw my mother, arms extended towards me, tears streaming down her face, and my precious chipmunk lying lifeless across her upturned palms. My mother’s grief was so great, so intense, so complete; “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, “I killed Chicker.” Through her tears Mom told me what had happened.
Never had I seen my mother so distressed. Her remorse was consuming her and I couldn’t bear it that she felt so desperately sad. I jumped out of bed and hugged her, repeating over and over “Its okay, Mama. It’s okay. You didn’t know she would jump.”
For the first time in my life my concern was not for myself. I accepted my mother’s apology, her remorse told me how utterly and completely she regretted what had happened. The compassion I felt for her welled up instantaneously, my forgiveness was total, and though I mourned for my chipmunk, I mourned for my mother more.
Can you imagine how much more compassion our Heavenly Father has for us when we come to Him, broken and grieved, extending before Him, honestly and openly, the very thing we did that we know has broken His heart?
Repentance is necessary for forgiveness. Often the things that grieve us most are buried deep in an attempt to escape the pain, but that which we will not admit cannot be dealt with – or forgiven. My father often repeats a little saying that his mother said, “Tell the truth and tell it ever, costeth what it will. For he who hides the wrong he did, does the wrong thing still.”
I believe that even though we might have quit a behavior, when we pretend like the offending behavior never existed and we fail to deal with the reality of the consequences of our behavior, we put ourselves in a position of what I like to call “un-use-ability,” where the underlying guilt makes us feel unworthy to be used by God for the benefit of others.
True remorse and admission of wrong brings healing. Why? It reveals the truth and the truth always sets us free.
The Swamp
By · CommentsI spent a lot of time outside when I was a child, climbing trees, exploring the woods and the marshy swampland across the street from our house in Columbia, South Carolina. I was captivated by tadpoles, water bugs, snakes, frogs, salamanders, cool-looking bugs, and huge carp that were easily caught when the creek that ran through the center of our swamp began to run low during the summer time.
A huge, smooth old log spanned the width of that creek and I often sat right in the middle of it, staring through the clear water to the sandy bottom below. I’d daydream and occasionally spot a turtle swimming by, a school of nervous minnows or a crawdad kicking up a cloud of sand as it backed its way into a new hiding place.
The trees that lined both banks of the creek were tall and the sunlight that shimmied its way through the dense layer of leaves danced in dapples across the glassy-smooth surface of the water. Between the birds singing, dragonflies buzzing by, frogs calling, and Woodpeckers tapping away, the swamp practically vibrated with an amazing symphony of living sounds. I was completely in my element and any concern I ever had disappeared as soon as I ducked into the dense undergrowth that concealed my sanctuary from our neighborhood.
I was lying on the old log one day, doing my usual daydreaming, when I saw something ripping through the water towards me with such speed that it left a huge “V” wake in its path. My heart was pounding and I was trying to get to my feet so I could run away when “it” suddenly disappeared under the water. Insane curiosity kept me on the log, and when “it” surfaced, “it” was facing me no more than four feet away. My emotions went from stark terror to amazed joy. I remember laughing out loud because my relief was so intense and I was so happy to be seeing my first otter in the wild.
The otter turned flips in front of me and swam up and down the creek and from side to side, climbing onto the bank and sliding back into the water like a torpedo on a mission. He was putting on a show and he kept looking my way to be sure I appreciated his antics. Then, as suddenly as he appeared, the otter was gone.
I exclaimed aloud, “God, you are so funny!” Until that moment I’d never known that God had a sense of humor. I was only nine years old but I knew God had sent the otter and that He got a kick out of delighting me…just like any father would.
At that time in my life I had not been to church enough to have been taught anything about God, really. But I had always sensed Him in His creation. I saw the plants and the animals, the wind, the rain, the sun, the ocean and the surf – and I knew. I knew He existed and I knew He was GREAT and MIGHTY. I knew that He was in charge and He was in control. Somehow I knew He cared about me, and in that one special moment in the swamp we shared an intimate moment and a good laugh on me.
