Open House – A $1,000 Anonymous Gift

I’ve been writing books for two decades and since last October, I’ve published 4 books including Starving Girl – My 30-Day Experience with the Miracles of Intermittent Fasting and Prayer, What Has Your Sister Done – True Stories of Unplanned Pregnancy, The Stolen Bible(historical YA) and My 100 Daughters of India Coloring Book.  It’s been amazing to be involved in projects that feel so purposeful and passionate to me. Never have I been so focused on my work.  Funny how having a 6^th baby in your early forties can do that to a gal, but it’s just the miracle that my son Canyon has brought me.  He is nearly the perfect baby and happily plays in my lap while I work on my projects. His love motivates me on so many levels.

I also had the opportunity to help write and The Memory Catcher with my mom author Sarah Hinze.  In all this time, I’ve never had a book launch, an open house or even a celebration (other then the happy dance I do in my office while still in my pajamas).

Last month, I published My 100 Daughters of India Coloring Book and while I was out on a run in September, I had the idea to do an open house.  Considering my kitchen flooded and is currently just a cement floor waiting to be renovated, I didn’t know what to do with an impression like that?  An open house certainly couldn’t be at my home.  Suddenly, my amazing friend’s name came to mind – Karen Cox. I had recently been to her new home and there was such a feeling of peace, creativity and love, I knew where I wanted it to be. I immediately called her, told her my idea and she said “Yes, have it at my house.” (Thank you Karen, I love you with all my heart.)

Since setting the date of the open house, I’ve been planning events and sharing My 100 Daughters of India Coloring Book at schools and even hosted a birthday party.

It’s amazing how comfortable it is for me to talk about, especially in front of kids.  Kids are my people!! I start with sharing my first sketch I drew of a girl from India. The drawing is awful, but I share it to prove with lots of practice, determination and patience, hard work pays off, even when you’re drawing 100 beautiful girls from India.

Way off in the distance was this date for the open house.  I knew it was the right things to do, but it wouldn’t be in front of kids and this was what started to frighten me the most. 

Yesterday, I was a jumble of nerves.  To think I’d inflicted this public speaking event onto myself, whoa, I guess I was all in, but once everyone arrived, all people I knew who loved and supported me, I straightened up and did what I felt I needed to do – I talked about the girls of India.  When I read the poem My 100 Daughters, I cried (like usual). 

Afterwards, there were a few questions, I shared my goal to sponsor 100 girls through Rising Star Outreach with either the sales of the coloring book or donations and everyone left.  I was so glad I’d done it.

Karen and I were in the kitchen with my red-headed neighbor’s two daughters 

(who had been helping me all day with babysitting and preparing refreshments) and I went to grab my bag when I was stopped in my tracks! Inside that bag, were 10 crisp $100 dollar bills!!  Somebody has anonymously donated $1,000.  

Oh My Gosh!!! I was stunned, shocked and immediately realized I had no idea who had done it.  Oh, I wanted to say thank you, thank you so much. How many girls would that sponsor?  Almost three, and I have nearly $100 ready to donate from coloring book sales. With the three girls our family already helps and now these three more, our momentum is really taking off.  Six girls will have their lives forever changed.  Did you know at Rising Star, they teach the kids English?  Do you know what it means for a child in India to speak English? Already, these kids are standing out and Rising Star is the top school in the area.  They will change India. Keep in mind, Rising Star schools kids from the leprosy colonies. Without Rising Star, these children don’t have a chance.  They will be left to beg and will live in extreme poverty there entire life, but now, their destiny is forever changed. 

Yes, there is a lot of work to reach the goal of sponsoring 100 girls, but after last night, I feel so much support.  I know this project is bigger then me, it is in God’s hands and through out the year there will be mighty miracles as He, through the help of others, helps these girls. Did you know in India there is a wedding tradition to bless a bride to have 100 sons?  That’s right, because girls are not wanted. To think God named this project My 100 Daughters is a miracle. These girls desperately need our help.  These girls are all of our daughters.

To purchase a coloring book on Amazon, click here.

To make a donation to Rising Star, call the number found here. Please mention you’d like to donate to the My 100 Daughters fund.

I Asked My Brother To Help Me – My Podcast on Intermittent Fasting and Prayer

Have you ever wanted to do something, but weren’t sure how to make it happen?  This is what I love about coming from a big family.  I have four brothers and four sisters and enjoy the relationships I share with my siblings tremendously.  When I was growing up, I always had a friend.  I was the second oldest, so many Friday and Saturday nights when I was home I was in the company of two and four year-olds, but that didn’t matter.  I love my siblings, big and small, young or old, boy or girl. 

When I wrote Starving Girl, I had lots of emotional support from my family and my brother Tadd became very interested in what I was doing.  He noticed a change in me.  In his own words, “There was a change in your posture and there seemed to be a light in your eyes.  Something in you was different and I wanted to know what it was.”  It’s easy to see why I love my brother.  He's always been a dear person.

Here he is with his little baby.

And another baby.

And lots of his babies.

He's a great uncle.

Plus, I love his wild side.

But, this is how I'll always remember him.

When it came time to make my podcast, I knew he was the one to help me make it happen.  He has a master’s degree and loves to read and learn.  He had many questions about fasting, overcoming, writing and more.  Last week, Tadd and I spent some time together and we made a podcast. 

I walk 4-5 miles a day and love listening to books on tape, lectures, spiritual leaders, interviews, TED talks, inspirational discussions and more.  If it wasn’t for those who’ve shared deep experiences of there life, I don’t think I’d be an avid walker.  I need to hear your stories, your books, your ideas and be inspired (I wrote about that here).  In my podcast, I hope to return the favor.  Those of you who like listening to interviews while walking, driving or working around the house, this is for you.  Tadd asked great questions and we had a very meaningful discussion.

I discuss intermittent fasting, intention, prayer, how sexual abuse destroyed my self-esteem and how I over came this, food addiction, unplanned pregnancy, how I felt God spoke to me while I was fasting, why writing/journaling has been important and more.  I hope there’s something of value for those out there who take the time to listen.

My next project with my memoir Starving Girl will be putting it on audiobook.  

I know I rarely have time to read.  Unless it’s book on tape, I don’t have time to get around to it.  In the meantime, here’s the first podcast on Starving Girl and I appreciate my brother taking the time to create this with me.  He’s the best. 

So, here it is.  I hope you enjoy it and if you have other questions please message me off facebook at My Dear Trash and Tadd and I can work on another podcast.  There are so many fascinating aspects of intermittent fasting and prayer and I don't think we covered nearly every beautiful thing I was able to experience.  

Click here to watch it on youtube.

30 Days of Kindness to My Husband And More

I wrote my memoir Starving Girl in 30 days.  I didn’t think it could be done, after all, I’d spent years and years writing my other books, many of which were still unfinished.  What was different about Starving Girl?  I created an exciting dramatic experience in my own life and the story line followed.  

The bottom line was I needed a challenge, presented in my day-to-day living.  Something big enough to inspire me into a new exciting reality.  With that in mind, I started on my next 30-day challenge.  Why 30 days?  Because 30 days is a good base number to form a new habit. (Read here for more ideas about that). 30 Days of Kindness to My Husband was born. 

Like my first 30 days of fasting, 30 Days of Kindness to My Husband was thrilling, but the story behind it was more subtle than 30 days of fasting.  It started first with intention and in a beautiful dance of will, my actions followed.  From day one, I say my husband Derek different.  He was my focus and like a flame in the darkness, I became more aware of his presence.  My every day actions became more narrowed on him.  Before, I’d rush through conversations, a sort of “Get to the point,” perspective.  After all, I’m a busy girl and if I allowed it, our dialogue could be all business:  What are the kid’s schedules?  Who’s picking which kid up where?  Did you call the plumber?  Did you see where I put my shoes?  A marriage should not be a business partnership, even if only for moments at a time.

My husband is such a gift.  In a world full of ill intended, even arrogant men, he is a serving, loving, adorable gem.  I didn’t mean to take him for granted, but I did.  So how did writing keep me on task to change my habits?

It started with my wedding photos.  I pulled out my wedding album and randomly started looking at us.  This was going to be fun.

During my 30 Days of Kindness to My Husband, I found clues everywhere suggesting I could do better as a wife and kept mental notes.  So many aspects of me had slipped, including my patience.  Quick wit could be one of my literal gifts, but over the years it had turned into unintended insults and my tongue snapped like fingers at a jazz concert.  I didn’t mean to be so opinionated, but wasn’t it obvious I knew better.  Small tasks like driving turned into me offering suggestions and pointing out discrepancies.  Just wanting to help was an unnecessary evil.  If I had not set my goal to put kindness first, I’m not sure I would have noticed Derek’s larger-the-life patience, his awareness of my needs, the children’s needs and the purposeful way he provides for our family.    

            I started to see the story everywhere because Derek and I were the story.  His voice became more pronounced and I noticed his deep tones.  One night, when he reached for my hand, I actually had butterflies in my stomach and it reminded me of the romance we’d experience while dating.  I started sending him texts like “I love you” and “Hurry home.”  Always full of compliments, Derek would tell me I’m beautiful and I actually started listening to him.  His words meant something and if he spoke it, I respected him.  After a week of this, I finally felt the pure joy of his compliments.  The words “You’re beautiful,” entered my mind with such love, I could feel my perspective shift.  I was becoming how he saw me.  

With little effort, but a great big thing called intention, I had changed so much.  I loved who I’d become.  My need to be heard and be right all the time had gone away.  In its place was more trust, patience and love. I was surrounded by goodness and practically tripping over my blessings.  Derek’s love for me was life-changing and it was about time I took notice.

The last weekend of the 30-day challenge, Derek was out of town and I missed him terribly.  I thought of those who have long-distance relationships or couples who live apart because of military service.  How did they do it?  Like while fasting, I kept myself busy with the baby and household projects.  That night, I put the baby on my bed to change him into his pajamas when I noticed it – a yellow rose on my pillow.  My story unfolded again and the depth of love in my life was almost more than I could handle.  Derek’s presence was everywhere and I took this beautiful symbol of love to heart.  I would never go back to who I was before the 30 Days of Kindness to My Husband.  Kindness was the gift that kept giving.  How was I going to keep up with all the love coming back to me?  Now that was a challenge I could handle. 

The last day of the 30 Days of Kindness to My Husband, I did something I hadn’t expected.  I said to Derek, “I’m sorry.”  With tears in my eyes, I asked for his forgiveness.  Like a giant teddy bear, he wrapped me up in his arms and told me that was unnecessary.  He didn’t need me to apologize.  I was his perfect wife and he saw me for all the good I was.  Even still, I needed to say it and now, I’m on a new, fresh path in my relationship with my man.  

Now, in this world of girl-power and modern-day feminism, I’m sure somebody could read about my experience and deem me subservient and passive, but let me assure you this is not the case.  Girl power is wonderful, but not when used to dominate.  Feminism is important, but there is still a certain grace we as women carry that needs to be accentuated, not squandered. 

For the last ten years, Derek has taken me on a date almost every weekend.

The truth is, being a writer I've create worlds and stories in my mind, but living out these experiences, even these challenges is something I’m just now realizing I can be doing all the time.  I have loved the new windows of exploration, the journaling and watching the story unfold.  My next 30-day challenge, 30 Days of Service Toward My Children.  During Christmas time, this is going to be uniquely special.  I can hardly wait to get started.   Who’s with me?  

The Day I Wore A Belt

When we were in Flagstaff this summer, I did something I never thought I’d do again.  I wore a belt. 

The “belt-wearing experience” was one of the many celebrations I’ve had on my journey of intermittent fasting.  It’s symbolic of a much greater blessing. 

In my book Starving Girl – my 30-day experience with the miracle of intermittent fasting and prayer, I write about the moment I realized my belly fat was taking over my life. 

My baby was about six months old and I was in the place where I could still make excuses to myself.  Yes, I was unhappy, unhealthy and living in denial, but I’d just had a baby.  Deep down, I knew there was nothing I could or would ever do about my belly fat.  Nothing in my closet fit, except if it was stretchy.  I sang praises to the yoga waistband, the clothing that made me feel like I was going to work out at any minute, even if I didn’t. 

It was during this time I had an encounter with my belly fat.  It was heartbreaking to realize how out of control I was.  It’s no surprise this experience started at Goodwill.  I wrote: 

At Goodwill, I walked over to the jeans rack.  With high hopes, I scanned through the jeans.  I was looking for specific qualities.  The jeans had to be stretchy, low rise and fabulously trendy.  I found three pair that looked like they should fit, and purchased them.  Later that night when everyone had gone to bed, I went into the bathroom and tried on the jeans.  In the mirror I stared, horrified the first pair didn’t even fit over my hips.  It was like my stomach and rear end were having a battle of the bulge contest.  Sure, I was aware my stomach had issues but my backside too?  Ok, I could handle this.  Sometimes sizes ran small, and I convinced myself this was the problem.  I tried on the second pair and wiggled, stretching and pulling, until they barely moved past my hips.  The button and buttonhole were nearly a foot apart.  I thought of the construction equipment that dug up and rebuilt roads.  It would take the chains and hook of such equipment to bring the zipper and button together.  Another hit and miss, but the last pair, the biggest pair I’d found, had the best stretch in the fabric. I pulled the tight material up my thighs.  I sucked in air and postured my body straight and stiff, pulling at the zipper as it reluctantly inched up.  Although I felt my back jar out of alignment, I continued.  I was going to win this battle or lose my mind.  The button dug into my thumb and forefinger as I manipulated it into the buttonhole. I’d done it.  The jeans fit.  Never mind the enormous fat and skin from my belly that hung over the jeans like an udder from under a cow’s belly.  With the jeans forcing my belly fat “up and out,” I lifted it with my hands, amazed it moved, pliable like stretched taffy.  My belly fat—why was it there?  Why did it need to be there?  How had I acquired it?  Should I name it?  Was it always going to be there?  Every other part of my body had purpose, but the belly fat had absolutely no purpose.  Yet there it sat, overflowing out of my hands like an Italian chef kneading pizza dough.  How many shabby chic dressers would I need to sell to pay for a tummy tuck?  Out of my peripheral vision, my rear end waved. “What about me?” it seemed to say.      

These were the three jeans that had been taunting me ever since.  Of course I’d never worn them, and I was too unorganized to take them back to Goodwill, but it was more than that.  I wasn’t going to let them win.  I had not known how or when, but the jeans were going down, so I’d kept them.   

I’m happy to say after just a couple of weeks of intermittent fasting, all the jeans from this horrible experience fit. After three months of intermittent fasting, the same jeans (and many more) were donated to the thrift store because they were too big. 

Donated jeans.

Going through my closet, giving away clothes that don't fit anymore.

Now, every time I wear a belt, I feel an enormous amount of gratitude.  

Well, there's that belt again!

My journey with intermittent fasting is far from over. but this small victory means my belly fat didn't win.

Here's my before and after picture of my journey, so far.

My Mother's Attempt to Ban Partial Birth Abortion

My parents have moved to London for six months. You can read about that here. I should be fine, right. I have a loving husband, six amazing children, brothers and sisters, amazing in-laws and friends, but lately, I’ve noticed something is missing. It’s quality time with my mom.

There’s a tiny hole in my heart. It reminds me my mom is not here. 

If I acknowledge it, I can feel it grow weepy, even pitiful, but I’m trying to move on, stay busy, share love, see the big picture so I can move past this tiny hole before it grows too big.

My mom and I text and we’ve talked a few times on the phone. When she calls, it’s like a dam releases in my heart. I tell her my goals, my dreams, my experiences and she lovingly listens, encourages, oooohs and aaaahs at my ideas, reminds me I have special things to do with my life and that I am her “little humanitarian,” a term I hold dear to my heart.  The first time my mom called me a humanitarian, I felt like I’d been given a noble calling.

My mom has spent her life searching and manifesting for ways to feel God. 

My mom with my daughter Eden in 2002.

She’s a mother, one of the most beautiful paths to feeling God’s presence I can think of. She’s a wife, nurturing a commitment of love that will last an eternity. She’s a writer, a deep thinker, one who asks questions and finds ways to answer them. She’s also a doer. Even against the odds, she follows her heart.  Here is one such example:

In 1997, my mom had an impression she should go to Washington D.C. during the partial birth abortion hearings, following which Congress would vote regarding the legality of this horrendous “medical procedure.”

Partial birth abortion was a new term, although not a new procedure. The public was not aware that these types of abortions were taking place, let alone legal. Many in Congress wanted to ban this “frankensteinian” procedure.

Partial birth abortion takes place when a woman is in her third trimester and the baby is viable.  In other words, the baby could be born premature and survive, but is aborted before taking its first breath. The mother is fully dilated, the baby’s head crowns when the abortion doctor inserts a sharp scissor-like instrument through the soft spot into the infant’s brain, killing the baby before it ever has a chance to let out its first cry. As long as the baby has a foot still inside the mother, “it is not born” and the procedure is legal. If the baby is outside the mother, the procedure is murder.

In 1997, my parents were struggling financially, but with careful budgeting, my mom found a way to pay for the flight. She knew this wasn’t a time to sit and watch history take place around her. She needed to be bold and she would do it. She wanted to share with law makers on Capitol Hill her books on prebirth studies, providing solid evidence that unborn children are alive. She contacted her Congressman, with whom she was acquainted, and told him she wanted to share her research, with him and others. He was familiar with her books, particularly Coming From The Light (Simon & Schuster) and agreed that it was a good idea.

She scheduled her trip and once in D.C., stood in line until she was finally allowed entry to listen to the debates by United States Congressmen and Senators. Standing in line, there were people around her screaming and yelling, “Don’t stop partial birth abortion.  It is a women’s right to choose.” She remembered thinking, “It feels like a hole has been punched in the wall of hell and these people came out to fight for the right to kill innocent children.”

Once inside the building, she saw one of the most valiant of all warriors for the unborn, Henry Hyde, a U.S Senator from Illinois. He walked past her, not knowing who she was. She handed him a card she had prepared before leaving home with a quote she had written down that he had previously said, to perhaps use in her talk:

When the time comes as it surely will, when we face that terrible moment, the final judgment, I’ve often thought as Cardinal Fulton Sheen wrote, that it is a terrible moment of loneliness. You have no advocates there, you are there alone standing before God, and a terror will rip your soul like nothing you can imagine. [By contrast], I really think that those in the pro-life movement will not be alone. I think there will be a chorus of voices that have never been heard in this world but are heard very beautifully and very loudly in the next world and I think they will plead for everyone who has been in the [pro-life] movement.

They [the aborted] will say to God, “Spare them, because they loved us.” And God will look at us and ask not, “Did you succeed?” but “Did you try?”

Henry Hyde, a mighty and valiant voice, spoke eloquently and emotionally about why partial-birth abortion should be outlawed. People in the audience were moved to tears. Voting wouldn’t take place for days, so my mom walked the halls of the congressional building, hoping to speak with anyone she could influence. She stopped Rick Santorum and handed him her book. He thanked her for what she was doing and explained, “My wife wrote a book about our baby that died and what that baby taught us about the sanctity of life.”

My mom handed out at least fifty books that day, mostly to interns who worked for congressmen and senators.  Her congressman arranged for her to speak at a caucus meeting in which researchers like her could share their latest findings. Reality set in, but she found courage in the right to life messages of others who had spoken earlier. Several congressmen sent their aides and she spoke to a group of people in a room in the Rayburn Building on Capitol Hill.

Who does this?  Can you imagine the courage, the gumption, the determination to not only travel across the country, but into the heart of our nation’s capital, not knowing where you’re journey will take you, only hoping something good will come from it.  When my mom and I wrote her biography The Memory Catcher, I started to understand the enormous capacity of her character. 

In 1997, banning partial-birth abortion passed by congressional vote, but Bill Clinton vetoed it.  Partial-birth abortion was still legal.  It was a sad reality.  I remember that day, asking my mom what she would do now that she’d lost.  Would she still be the researcher of the unborn?  Would she still write about prebirth studies?  Was there any hope for those children facing abortion?  I’ll never forget what she said.  With optimism and personal conviction, she said, “Oh, Laura, all is well.  We may not be able to change the laws, but we can change hearts.” 

My mom set the way for not only many children who’s lives have been saved, but for me.  

This is my mom: activist, researcher, believer and most importantly, she’s one who makes it happen.  You think of all the fanfare people expect.  The applause, the standing ovation, worldly success – my mom only wanted to help a baby. There's not much to criticize about that.  You see, she’s had a miscarriage before she ever started writing about the unborn.  Losing this baby and later having a dream about that baby made her ask the question, “Where are our children before they are born?”  With this experience, her life’s mission was born. 

Here she is 30 years later speaking at the United Nations.

I don’t think I’d be on this path if my mom had not moved to London.  If she still lived down the street, I’d be skipping my way over there for lively conversation and the party atmosphere her and I always create when we are together.  My mom is fun and even when we are serious, there is a party going on.  But with her gone, our relationship has changed.  It has matured. Memories mean so much.  Subconsciously, I’m searching for her in my everyday purpose and life calling.  Her example is something I want to emulate, even if just for a moment to feel her near.  Her accomplishments have become magnified.  Because I helped her write her memoir, I am a scholar of her work.  I see this influence in my life and want it to grow.  What talents do I have that can help?  What talents can I develop to carry her tradition on? Saving the unborn is part of my heritage and I beg your pardon, as I take a giant step over political correctness and find my way.  

Partial birth abortion was banned in 2003 by President Bush, but the controversy lives on, because in late-term abortions, this barbaric procedure and similar tactics still take place today.

In my book Starving Girl - My 30-day Experience with the Miracle of Intermittent Fasting and Prayer, I reflect on being raised by an activist mom, facing the reality of abortion after I was sexually abused, and learning how food addiction and negative body image was a cover up for shame and hurt.  

My mom's book The Castaways is celebrating 15 years.  You see, it didn't take long for my mom to ask the question, "What happens to the soul of an aborted child?" Through compelling evidence and research, she attempts to answer that question. 

Every once in a while, I have to get tough

Yesterday was the epitome of motherhood. Right after I bathed the baby, he pooped on the floor before I could get his diaper on.  We ran out of milk.  We ran out of dog food.  I lost my headphones and spent most of the morning looking for them, only to find them stuffed underneath Mayer’s pillow.  I left on my morning run frustrated about how unorganized my home is.  Contention has grown wings around here, I think in part because we are staying up way too late at night.  No one is getting enough sleep, except the baby who decided to nap from 5:00pm to 7:30pm and had no plans of falling asleep for the night. 

Mr. Bubs

This type of scenario plays itself out every few weeks in our home.  Things build up.  We get lazy.  The house gets messy, until something sparks, momma-madness strikes and things get done, whether the kids like it or not.

It had to happen.  No Christian song could cure this fever.  I was in that mood, that mood all us mom’s get in when we say, “Something’s got to change.”  I needed rock.  I needed roll.  I needed PINK and thanks to youtube, I found her edited.

There’s something about Pink that toughens me up.  

When she’s in my corner, I find my inner-punk and spunk.  

I kick dysfunction to the curb. I recognize that hard work is the answer.  I feel the passion of pushing one’s self to the brink, believing in dreams and fighting for rock-hard abs. 

Ok, I’m not too sure about my abs, but seriously, watch this video and tell me this is not the toughest thing you’ve seen an artist do.

This video makes me cry every time.  I listened to her interview on Oprah about how she felt during this performance.  It's incredible.  

About a month ago, I went out on a run and had the fever that I needed to toughen up again.  I was overwhelmed.  I was losing my voice.  I was lost in tasks and mess.  I couldn’t keep up.  I had unfinished ideas I wasn’t sure I could fix.  I faced difficult goals and had life-changing dreams breathing down my neck. Was I going for it or not?  Did I believe in myself or not?  I needed to rise above the negative self-talk.  I turned on Pink and literally ran the best run of my life.  I just didn’t want to stop.  I listened to interviews about her life and how she never stops trying.  I was inspired by her love of motherhood and her spunky little daughter, Willow. 

Somedays, it’s K-love, other days, it has to be Pink! 

It was my birthday this weekend.  Thank you to everyone for all the love.

I had a goal on this day.  Did I reach it?  Did I get my manuscript published? 

No.  My editor and I had a long meeting and after some exciting suggestions on her part, I’ve decided to take one more week and get this thing right.  Her changes are so good and I will be working the next few days to get things updated. 

Today, today I turn on Pink and get to work.

Someone pinch me - an author's dream come true

Today, I celebrate.  I hold, in my trembling hands, speaking in a whisper with a barely audible voice, with nerves nothing like steel, but more like wet noodles, with knees knocking, heart palpitating and mind-spinning, but in the words of author Elizabeth Gilbert “. . . choosing the path of curiosity over the path of fear,” I step out from behind the shadows of my computer monitor and into the light of Amazon, print on demand and (dare I say it) book reviews (and clearly the longest run-on sentence every written). 

In one hand, I hold my baby, my real baby who set me on this path.  My little boy who is the best thing that ever happened to me as a post-forty-year-old woman.  In my other hand, I hold an advanced readers copy of my memoir Starving Girl – My 30-day Experience with the Miracle of Intermittent Fasting and Prayer (Three Orchard Productions). 

I’ve been working on this book for 8 months – 8 long months of self-revelation, sleepless nights, growth, spirituality, glory, mind-blowing evidence and let’s not forget, hunger. That’s right, hunger has been an incredible motivator - from hitting rock bottom to having to dig myself out to discovering the most beautiful journey.  I’ve done this all with somebody I really didn’t know very well, somebody who I wouldn’t have picked, somebody who I wasn’t sure if she could really do it.  That person is me.  The reason this story has a happy ending is because along the way God showed me who I really am.  Hoping for a release date of September 24, my birthday.  What a gift that would be! 

"Ta-da, my mom did it," Canyon says.  I love this little boy so much.

After much thought, typing, deleting, writing, editing, starting over, looking for deeper meaning and then finally just having some fun with it - here’s the back book blurb. 

The proverbial bowl of flying spaghetti was a common theme for Laura Lofgreen, a 43 year-old mother of six very active children, including a new baby.  Obese, overwhelmed and living in a state of procrastination, she decided to either change her life or age quietly into the sunset of poor health and unfulfilled dreams. Lofgreen had spent decades dieting, but hunger always got the best of her.  When an out-of-the-blue revelation told her to fast for 30 days, she hesitantly stepped into the world hunger.  Why would she put herself in such a position?  Her Christian faith encouraged fasting, a task she’d ignored for 20 years.  Could there be more to this timeless, religious practice than she realized?  Determined, she struggled, resented, fought and eventually rejoiced in the lessons she learned from daily 16-hour fasts. 

Food; a sore spot for many women struggling with body-image reminded her of Eve and the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden.  Since the beginning of time, food had been a tool for good or bad.  Laura constantly asked God questions:  Why was obesity wide-spread?  Was over-eating and depression linked?  Why did some have so much while others starved?  Why was body size related to self-worth?  Why had she turned to food after being sexually abused?  When every impulse and craving of her body was not satisfied, her motivation became stronger and she became more present in life.  She experienced improved relationships with her family and her mind became a breeding ground for deep-thinking and positive affirmation.  In essence, the dreams she’d long buried became reality. 

Laura Lofgreen is a published author (The Memory Catcher) and founder of project: USED; raising awareness through vintage dresses for the 1 out of 3 girls who are sexually abused.  Lofgreen graduated Magna Cum Laude in Communication from Arizona State University. With over a million hits, most days you can find her writing on her blog My Dear Trash (www.mydeartrash.com).

When Starving Girl is up on Amazon, I’ll post a link.