PRESIDENT JIMMY CARTER AND A TRIP TO PLAINS Laura L. Valenti

Thirty-six years ago, Democratic President Jimmy Carter unexpectedly lost a heart-rending election and a few months later, he and Rosalyn went home to Plains, Georgia. At a Veteran’s Day celebration in Plains, a couple of weeks ago, he told those assembled, “I called president elect Trump to congratulate him and I called Secretary Hillary Clinton to offer my sympathies. I am uniquely qualified to speak with both of them because I’ve been in both of those positions.” Beforehand, he strolled around Plains, taking in a local car show, visiting and shaking hands with friends and neighbors and except for the presence of a couple of discreet but ever present Secret Service agents, appeared to be no different than any other thin, elderly gent in an Atlanta Braves ball cap and blue jeans. Appearances, as they say, can be deceiving.

Plains, Georgia is a tiny hamlet of 600 that supports a downtown section, barely two blocks long that was built in the 1890s. Made up of a café, a tiny inn, antique and souvenir shops, one of which boldly offers delicious peanut butter flavored ice cream, they openly and lovingly surround their Number #1 industry, their 92 year old native son, the 39^th president of the United States. What a nurturing place this must have been, for Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter to return to, after the scathing years they had endured in Washington D.C. It was, likewise, a good place for this Democrat to spend a couple of days after another election that continues to rankle with many.

The town’s original high school has been made over into a museum of the president’s and First Lady’s life before the White House, including a comment from their school principal…”one of you may grow up to be president one day!” President Carter’s childhood home, a farm located a few miles outside of Plains, like the high school, now belongs to the National Park Service, and tours are conducted daily in both places.  

President Carter has commented that his four years as president of the United States, opened doors that have allowed him to accomplish so much more than those four years in the more than three decades that have transpired since he left Washington. His work with Habitat for Humanity, headquartered just 10 miles up the highway in Americus, Georgia is well-known but perhaps less known but far more dramatic and far-reaching is his and his wife’s work through the Carter Center of Atlanta. The Center’s motto is simple, Wage Peace, Fight Disease, Build Hope and includes activities from fighting for human rights, monitoring elections worldwide, and sponsoring health and wellness programs, including attacking and even eradicating parasitic and other basic diseases from numerous Third World countries.  The Carters’ home remains in Plains, on a compound where they will one day be buried. Their family members are buried in area family cemeteries, but as a former president, their plots will not join those of their families in the future.

Meanwhile, each and every Sunday he is in Plains, President Jimmy Carter teaches Sunday School at the Maranatha Baptist Church. The service is open to the public, free of charge, and the only requirement is plan to go early. Our van was in the parking lot at 6:30 am for a 10 am Sunday School class and we were vehicle #21. Each visitor is checked out by the Secret Service before entering the church. President Carter entered the sanctuary as the class was to begin with a hearty ‘Good Morning’ and a question for each of the three pew sections, where are you from?  The full sanctuary held approximately 30 church members and over 200 visitors and does so each Sunday. President Carter shared a message from the Book of Revelation.  A part of his lesson mentioned how John wrote as he did in a sort of code for the Christians who felt as if they were experiencing the end of the world, and indeed, in a way they were. Certainly it was the end of the world as they knew it. He also made note of the fact that he or she who chooses to follow this new way of life, also gives his whole life over to it forever. It occurred to me that Jimmy Carter (and other modern day presidents) also give their lives over to America and never really get them back, even when they come home, to a healing place like Plains. And at age 92, President Carter continues to share his life, knowledge and many resources with America and the whole world. God bless Jimmy Carter and all of us as we move forward as a nation.

 Laura L. Valenti, author

The Heart of the Spring,

The Heart of the Spring Lives On,

The Heart of the Spring Comes Home,

The Heart of the Spring Everlasting,

Between the Star and the Cross: The Choice, and

Between the Star and the Cross: The Election

www.BetweentheStarandtheCross.com

We know that Jesus had 33 years Between the Star at his birth

And the Cross at his death. We each have a time between our

star and our cross. We just don’t know how long that might be.

The real question is “what will you do with yours?”  Blessings, LV

God Bless America! by Laura L. Valenti

Many years ago on a float trip, I invited a friend, a local insurance agent, to church. He smiled and told me he already had a church but he didn’t go very often because it didn’t go well with his business. I wrinkled up my nose and said I didn’t understand.

“Well,” he said, “my church says my wife shouldn’t wear slacks but in the winter time in our office, she sits right in front of the door and it’s cold. She wears pants but she feels foolish when the pastor comes in so she doesn’t stand up. And if I meet a client for dinner and he wants to have a drink first, I’m not going to say ‘no’ because my church says I shouldn’t drink. So I have to leave my church outside the front door of my business.”

I remember at the time, feeling like, Man, what you need is a new church! Of course, being a younger, more cautious Christian back then and not wanting to offend him, I didn’t say so. I just smiled and moved on to a different subject but obviously, since that has been more than 30 years ago, the conversation struck a chord. I’ve thought of it many times and why my answer should have been, Friend, you need your church to go with you everywhere!

Our church, our set of beliefs, our faith in Jesus, needs to go with us wherever we go. We need Jesus right there beside us to remind us we are never alone. To celebrate and rejoice with us in the good times, to grieve and carry us through the bad times, and perhaps, most importantly, to guide us through the tough decisions. If you leave your church at the door of your business (or school, club, boss’ house, friends’ home, etc), who or what will help you with the really hard decisions? You know, the ones that will cost more, take longer, entail more explanations, but are the RIGHT thing to do! How will you know what is the RIGHT thing, when everyone else is saying something different, if you don’t have Jesus right there, sitting on your shoulder, whispering in your ear? You remember those cartoons from when we were little—there was a devil on one shoulder and an angel, perched on the other, each trying to gain the attention of the main character.

I found myself in that very position, years ago, when the new sheriff in town offered me the job of running the county jail. Every fiber of my being was screaming, No! No! and H#$% NO! Are you crazy? What do I know about running a jail? But that little voice was calmly whispering in my ear, ‘Just say, yes, Laura. You and I together will run this place. It will be fine.’ And so I said, yes, and for over three years, it worked. After I left the position, I saw the mother of one of my former inmates outside of the jail.  She shocked me when she said, “You know, when you were running that jail, you could feel it. There was a Christian presence in that place but after you left, it was gone.”

As we approach the end of this election season, I wonder, how many people will take their church, their beliefs with them inside that voting booth? With all the hype and rhetoric, yard signs and bumper stickers, will they leave their beliefs at the polling place door or will they courageously vote what they know is in line with what they profess each Sunday? Will they be able to look their Lord in the face one day and explain why they voted the way they did for new leadership of this country? We have often sung ‘God Bless America’ in our lifetime and I believe He has answered that plea many, many times over the past 240 years, from the Revolutionary War through the US Civil War and both World Wars. Will he continue to do so if we vote for leadership that does not even acknowledge him? God Bless America indeed!

 Laura L. Valenti, author

The Heart of the Spring,

The Heart of the Spring Lives On,

The Heart of the Spring Comes Home,

The Heart of the Spring Everlasting,

Between the Star and the Cross: The Choice, and

Between the Star and the Cross: The Election

www.BetweentheStarandtheCross.com

We know that Jesus had 33 years Between the Star at his birth

And the Cross at his death. We each have a time between our

star and our cross. We just don’t know how long that might be.

The real question is “what will you do with yours?”  Blessings, LV

WHO, WHAT, WHEN, WHERE, AND WHY? Laura L. Valenti

It is, as we all know not primarily the summer season or the fall but the season of politics. And I have tried to be a ‘good girl’, especially here, not writing much about politics as I know everyone gets a full share of it elsewhere. But sometimes, as my 12 year old grandson, Austin likes to say, “Nena, it just gets to be too much.” And that is the point I have reached. There are so many things I do not understand, so maybe at this point, I will just ask some of the questions that are really bothering me…

·         WHO was the last candidate running for president who was a former law professor, had served in the Cabinet (as Secretary of State), in the US Senate, and lived 8 years in the White House and seen the pressure that comes with being President, up front and personal? Never before has there been a candidate running for US President with this quantity and quality of qualifications before the 2016 election. And it is NOT Donald Trump!

·         WHAT happened to the day when parents could sit even their grade school-aged children down in front of the presidential candidates as they appeared on television and have them listen to the future leaders of our country?  My parents had us, my sister and I, in the first and third grades respectively, listen to John Kennedy and Richard Nixon when they debated for the office of president in 1960. Do you want your third grader to listen to the things Donald Trump says on a regular basis? I don’t think I want my junior high and high school grandsons listening to a great deal of what he says.

·         WHEN did it become acceptable to stroll into Jefferson City or Washington D.C. and decide to run for the top office, like governor (of the state of Missouri) or president (of the United States), with no experience whatsoever, such as having run for an elective position or ever holding public office (such as an appointment)? Could I walk into a Fortune 500 company and say I wanted to be their new CEO and be seriously considered? I don’t think so. The truth is I’ve been elected to a school board, elected for 25 years as a political central committee member, been appointed by the governor to two different state wide task forces, been selected as a national adoption advocate, served as an administrator for a county sheriff’s department for 10 years, and worked as a part-time journalist for over 30 years. And while, I cannot fire an AR-15 or an AK-47, my previous work and public service experience makes me a more qualified candidate for governor than at least one of the men currently running for that office. And no, I don’t want to be governor!

·         WHERE  in the world does Donald Trump get the idea that it is acceptable to bully and belittle women on a regular basis? Do we really want our daughters and our sons listening to him for the next four to eight years? A co-worker from years ago had a husband who regularly belittled her, called her all sorts of foul names yet never lifted a hand against her. She said she stayed with him because she thought it best for their four children. She told me, broken-heartedly a few years later, that what she taught her two daughters by doing so, is that it was acceptable and they turned around and married men just like that, resulting in both of them having miserable marriages that ended in divorce. More significantly, perhaps, women in many underdeveloped countries are those countries’ greatest untapped resource and in many places, they still suffer horrible abuse and death at the hands of their family members, as a matter of daily living. How is a president who regularly refers to women in a variety of derogatory ways going to improve the lives of those women in terms of human rights, when he regularly disrespects the feelings and dignity of the women of his own culture? How will he treat the women leaders of other countries in delicate negotiations in matters of state? Women in this country have fought too long and too hard to attain basic rights and privileges—everything from the right to vote to equal pay for equal work to breaking through that ever present glass ceiling—to give it up now to a president who respects none of it.

·          WHY is it that during President George Bush’s 8 years in office, there were 13 attacks on US embassies in which 60 people were killed and yet we never hear about any of those…we only hear about Bengazi, in which, yes, regrettably, 4 Americans were killed. And why is it we never hear that the family of the American ambassador, Chris Stevens, killed in Bengazi, has publicly objected to those blaming Secretary Clinton for his death.

Who, What, When, Where and Why…these are the questions that are taught in basic Journalism 101, the questions all good reporters are supposed to ask and seek to answer in any factual newsworthy article they write. They are just some of the questions I have in this election and of course, the biggest one being, HOW could anyone answer the above questions and still vote for Donald Trump?

Laura L. Valenti, author

The Heart of the Spring,

The Heart of the Spring Lives On,

The Heart of the Spring Comes Home, and

The Heart of the Spring Everlasting

Between the Star and the Cross: The Choice and

Between the Star and the Cross: The Election

Ozark Meth: A Journey of Destruction and Deliverance with co-author Dick Dixon

www.BetweentheStarandtheCross.com

We know that Jesus had 33 years Between The Star at his birth and the Cross at his death. We each have a time between our star and our cross. We just don't know how long that might be. The real question is 'what will you do with yours?'   Blessings, LV

LIVING THE REAL HAPPILY EVER AFTER Laura L. Valenti

One of my 10 year old campers at Camp David of the Ozarks, a Christian camp where I’ve served as a Camp Granny for the past eight summers, told me as I settled down to read a story to him and his cabin mates earlier this summer: “The best stories always start with Once upon a time….”  Indeed, and of course, they end with…and they all lived happily ever after.  Now for the true-to-life version, where the dragon was killed, even if inadvertently, by the hero (or heroine) of the story, what does Happily-Ever-After really look like?

                Well, I can tell you for the past few weeks, the Depression-free Life continues, even though it is certainly uncharted territory for me.  I have thoroughly terrified my husband and even my daughters, at times, I’m sure. I find myself so incredibly energized that I’m barely able to lay down at 11 pm and I’m wide awake by 5:30 or 6 in the morning. Of course, anyone who knows me finds that pretty unbelievable since I’ve never been a morning person and when left to my own devices, often sleep until 9 or 10 am! But then Depression breeds exhaustion and both sleep deprivation and sleep addiction, depending on the moment and the season. One of the easiest ‘signs’ for the loved one to pick up on, when questioning whether someone is depressed is, have their sleep habits changed? Do they sleep more than usual or are they up knocking around at 3 am? Well, in my case, I sleep a lot less and am always busy, which isn’t all bad, since I am currently president of two different local organizations, trying to complete a seventh novel while the first six are selling well, and have just had them well-publicized in a state-wide publication. And then there is the business of keeping up with four adult children and their families, which includes seven grandsons!

                As for uncharted territory, it also means that my energy level rivals that of my personality of 30 years ago. I recognize that and yet am often powerless to control it other than to see it for what it is. It leaves my husband, shaking his head at times, muttering “you have changed so much recently…” and all I can say is, “I know. Hang in there with me! I can feel it but I really do think it is getting better.”

                I have apologized to all my friends, in advance, so to speak, warning them,  as we prepare for our annual Garage Sale fundraiser for the New Life House, one of the organizations I chair at the moment (Christian transitional housing for women coming out of the jail or prison) or the Grand Opening of the local Democratic Headquarters with the arrival of Chris Koster, current Mo. Attorney General and Democratic candidate for Missouri Governor (and yes, I’m also the current chair of the Laclede County Democrats). “I know I seem more jazzed than usual, so if I bark out orders or say something you find offensive (as in who-died-and-made-you-the-new-queen?), please don’t hesitate to take hold of me and say…Laura, you need to calm down! You are like a runaway train and you are making us crazy!

                I’ve seen that look on some of my friends’ faces a time or two that says all that without a word being spoken so I know my new personality can be a bit overwhelming at times. Yes, Happy-Ever-After at this point, involves re-evaluation and contemplation, as to where do we go from here? But even with all that, it is so much better than the depression and the constant fight against The Devil himself (Who else do you think controls the Depression Dragon?)

                So Happily-Ever-After continues as a wild and wonderful roller coaster ride and although some of the turns can be scary, it starts every day with an insatiable desire to first read my Bible  (and you know that’s a great way to ignite your day!) and then have a healthy breakfast. I’m still on the diet about 80%, doing just as advised in the book, SLOWLY adding foods back in and then observing their effects. (Do you have a headache a little later? Does your belly ache or worse? Do you feel lethargic or upset, nervous, etc?) Of course, the first thing I reclaimed was MY COFFEE, but not with any chemical or artificial sweeteners. I am using ONLY honey or 100% maple sugar in my coffee or occasionally in my tea. (You may not know many women who carry a small jar of honey in their purse, but now you know of at least one. And that is a jar with a very secure lid!) I also returned to chocolate in moderation, of course, but GOOD quality chocolate, which included a trip to Rosewood Farms outside of Hartville. If you’ve never been there or stopped, check it out on the ‘net or STOP in. It is Chocolate Nirvana, made on site by one large family. I’ve been blessed to do two different stories on them for southwest Missouri publications and am one of the few to see their production kitchen and exactly how they make their incredibly delicious products.

                I also had a huge Mexican lunch with a friend one day at downtown Lebanon’s one and only, Juanita’s—rice, beans, tortillas. It was delicious but an hour and a half later, driving to Buffalo, it was a real struggle to stay awake. (Okay, note to self, eat such a meal when you know you are going home for a siesta afterward.) Lots of lessons to be learned but the most important is….God is good all the time and all the time God is good. I do wonder why I had to wait so long to make this discovery but then I remember, God didn’t have Moses leading those rowdy Israelites out of Egypt until he was 80 years old. God has his own timetable and it has absolutely nothing to do with our add-water-and-stir-and-slap-it-in-the-microwave-for-30-seconds society. He operates on his own schedule and while often we don’t understand, if we go with it, instead of our pre-conceived notions, I’m here to tell you, the results are incredible!



Laura L. Valenti, author

The Heart of the Spring,

The Heart of the Spring Lives On,

The Heart of the Spring Comes Home, and

The Heart of the Spring Everlasting

Between the Star and the Cross: The Choice and

Between the Star and the Cross: The Election

Ozark Meth: A Journey of Destruction and Deliverance with co-author Dick Dixon

www.BetweentheStarandtheCross.com

We know that Jesus had 33 years Between the Star at his birth and the Cross at his death. We each have a time between our star and our cross. We just don't know how long that might be. The real question is 'what will you do with yours?'  Blessings, LV

SLAYING THE DEPRESSION DRAGON (Part 2) Laura L. Valenti

This is the second part of a two-part blog, the first being posted last week. If you haven’t read it, please flip back and do so (Of course, you can always go back and read any of my previous columns, too!) so that you can follow this week’s conclusion.             

And so the battle against the Depression Dragon began. Many times it was difficult but generally, “He” was just out there, skulking around in the shadows, like the Bible says about the Devil himself, waiting for a soul to devour. I kept watch, glancing over my shoulder and that way, I could always be sure of where “He” was.

                That was my survival technique for all the years from 1977 when my mother died to 1995, eighteen years later when Francesca graduated high school in 1994, and then it was her sister’s turn in the spring of 1995. Suddenly, as the old cowboys say, the wheels came off the wagon! I wasn’t watching “Him” close enough. “He” got free and came right for me. He had me in his clutches and it was just like 1977, I couldn’t breathe! We had 4 teenagers in the house, ages 16, 17, 18 and 19. The 16 year old ‘lost’ it and tried to jump out of our van as it was cruising down I-44, with Warren at the wheel, bringing him back from a counselor’s appointment in Springfield. It was determined his mental/emotional state was such he had to go to a residential care center. What we didn’t realize was that he and his sister, our youngest daughter had never been separated and just as she was about to graduate high school, she hit the ‘panic button’ and ran off with a boy we had never met. He was the older brother of a friend and the next we knew, she didn’t come home. She stayed with his parents and his sister for a time (After feeding them a line about us being abusive. If making your bed, taking care of your chores at home, insisting you talk with respect not only to us but to all in the family, is abusive then I guess we were guilty.)  She quickly got into ‘couch surfing’ where young people crash on somebody’s couch for a couple days or weeks, until those who are rightfully in the house, throw them out and then they go on to the next couch. Suddenly, two of our four kids were gone to places I did not want my children to be and I was devastated.

The Depression Dragon was out of the shadows, headed for my jugular with those big nashing teeth and that very same summer, our pastor, Larry Snow introduced us to a program called Camino. It had all kinds of Spanish names with Jesus right smack in the middle of it. I went that first summer as what they now call a participant, a new-bee, somebody who had never been there before. I’ve been going back almost every time they hold a weekend since, to cook, wash dishes and serve food to all the ones who have come through since. Camino saved my marriage and my life but like I said, Jesus is and has always been at the center of Camino so it shouldn’t come as any surprise that this kind of Christian leadership program produces all sorts of miracles.

In 1995, the Dragon got away for a bit, wreaked havoc in my life, nearly took it from me again, but with Prozac and a good doctor, I made it through. (I was one of the lucky ones, a year on Prozac was an immense help.) We kicked that dragon back to the shadows and I made sure I got back on my guard. Watch him, watch him, watch him! If you don’t “He” will be back to capture your soul and take it to a dark and airless place.

                Now fast forward another few years to the present. I’ve taken Celexa off and on over the years to help keep him under control. And it does work but drugs like Prozac and Celexa, they round off the ends of the spectrum. In other words, you don’t spend all day in the bed, not caring, hiding from the world. That’s the bad (negative) side and that’s good. But it also rounds off the tears that come when you are happy and proud, like when the oldest daughter marries her best friend 20 years ago this December or your youngest finally marries her long lost love, after they’d both foolishly married other people over the years. (They’ve only known each other since they were in the fourth or fifth grade together.) They got married—basically when their 6 year old son told ‘em they needed to get married. There are no happy tears when your first (of seven) grandsons is born or your daughter graduates from nursing school with honors, or when you hear your words coming out of your oldest son’s mouth as he speaks to his teenage son and tells him to straighten up, behave yourself, and don’t embarrass your family. And you realize he really was listening to you all those years back. My happy tears were gone but that was the price to be paid to keep the Depression Dragon in the shadows.

Now, one of the youngest grandsons has been diagnosed with Celiac disease, the one in which the child has no tolerance for gluten. It means his digestive system is a disaster and has no ability to pull the nutrition from his food. It is as if he eating cardboard every day and nothing more. To rebuild his system, the doctors recommended something called The Whole 30 diet, easily found on the Internet. It truly is an extreme diet, done for only 30 days. Only 6 items are allowed….meat, fish, seafood, veggies, fruits and eggs, basically Biblical foods. That means no sugar, no artificial sweeteners of any kind, no breads or gluten, no grains, including corn, no dairy, and NO PROCESSED FOODS OF ANY KIND. Through an MRI, the doctors has determined that this child no longer had the fibers in his gut that take his nutrition from his food but with this diet, they believe he can re-grow them. That’s all fine and good except that he has a 9 year old brother so his dad (a doctor) determined the only way this is going to work is if the whole family goes on it together. Warren and I were there visiting at the time and he says to me, why don’t we do this with Tyson, to be one more support? Come on. We need to straighten up our own eating anyway and it’s only 30 days, we can do it. And so we begin….

Now for some of us, if there is no sweetness to the coffee, there is no point. Black coffee or tea are allowed but not for this girl. I can do the tea but not the coffee, so there’s the first big loss. And no chocolate, OH MY! And no corn???? We live on corn, corn tortillas and so, it is the 3 Big C’s--Coffee, Chocolate and Corn that bother me….for the first 3 days which were difficult but then after a few more days, it got easier and at the end of 2 weeks, it was a breeze, already a habit.

 I’m living on grilled chicken, steak, shrimp, grilled asparagus, red peppers, zucchini, and fresh pineapple spears (yum!) Strawberries, blueberries, big dark fresh cherries, scrambled eggs with homemade salsa, smoked salmon, tilapia sautéed in clarified butter…I mean, it’s tough, you know, eating all this good food and calling it a diet. I lost a few pounds but suddenly, “He” was gone. The Dragon was gone. I don’t know where “He” went but for the first time in 50 years, I am FREE! The only thing I can imagine is that it is the processed food. 

For more than 30 days, I have had no soda or liquor nor have I eaten any potassium sorbate, calcium disodium EDTA,  tert-Butylhydroquinone or tertiary butylhydroquinen, a derivative of hydroquinone, found in microwave popcorn, propyl gallate, potassium chloride or any of the other dozens of chemicals added to our foods every day and my head is spinning! Not from what I have ingested but from what I have not. Someone told me, Laura, you have so much energy, it’s like your “ON” something and I said, I know. It’s wild! I haven’t felt this good in years, maybe 50 years!

Think about it. It’s right out there for you today. On the net. It comes with a book for only $15 and my friends at Lebanon Books have it right here in Lebanon. Buy Local! It’s the best at $15 and it might turn out like me, the best $15 you’ve ever spent. I love the book’s opening line. Don’t Say This is Hard. Beating Cancer is Hard. This is only 30 days. It might just change your life, too. It certainly has mine! I know I sound like a brand new Christian…..YOU GOTTA GET JESUS IN YOUR LIFE! But this is incredible! I’m now past 30 days and we are adding foods back slowly. Very slowly and it is still so good. Because now God and I—not the sugar, not the chemicals—are in control and it is wonderful! God bless you. He certainly has me! And Tyson is doing better, too!

Laura L. Valenti, author

The Heart of the Spring,

The Heart of the Spring Lives On,

The Heart of the Spring Comes Home, and

The Heart of the Spring Everlasting

Between the Star and the Cross: The Choice and

Between the Star and the Cross: The Election

Ozark Meth: A Journey of Destruction and Deliverance with co-author Dick Dixon

www.BetweentheStarandtheCross.com

We know that Jesus had 33 years Between the Star at his birth and the Cross at his death. We each have a time between our star and our cross. We just don't know how long that might be. The real question is 'what will you do with yours?'  Blessings, LV

SLAYING THE DEPRESSION DRAGON (Part 1) Laura L. Valenti

           

As a teen around age 15, I began my lifelong battle with depression. Now back then in the mid-1960s, no one believed teens really dealt with such things. Many folks in high school with me did so with their drug of choice—booze, marijuana, LSD, pills, even heroin—but none of those things held any appeal for me. First of all, I knew if I got involved with anything but booze (that was OK in my dad’s book) he would simply kill me, tell God I died, and move on. I was also terrified of all that stuff. I LIKED knowing what was going on around me. I had no desire to take anything that would jam up my faculties, make it harder for me to watch, listen, learn, and KNOW exactly what was happening.

 I did the best I could, hanging out with my best friend, Diane, working at the YMCA as a swim instructor/lifeguard—exercise kept me going a lot of days—listening to my radio (didn’t go anywhere without my transistor radio if I could help it, the precursor to all these IPODS and M3P players today) but it didn’t matter because it didn’t last long. When I was 16, my mother had what was called back then a nervous breakdown. They sent her away for a few days and when she came back, she was on some prescription routine of MAOI drugs, the depression drug of choice at that time. She was not allowed to have cheese or wine, fermented foods. Those were, in her book, two of the major food groups and that loss simply added to her depression. She continued to fight it, through a divorce from my abusive father, who left her the same year she turned 40, through an even worse second marriage, and through the birth of my father’s only son (She and my father had 3 daughters). Somehow she always believed if she could have given my father a son, he would have stayed. And as a second impending divorce loomed, three months after the birth of my half-brother, at age 48, when I was 26, she took her own life. Now certainly, no one, myself included, was paying any attention to MY depression anymore.

                And now I teetered on the edge. Three days after her death, I was ready to follow her. I lay in the bed, thinking about where all the pills were in the house. Everyone else was asleep. It wouldn’t take but a minute to slip out of bed and take care of business. I considered it very seriously and if not for the grace of God, the patience and love of a very good husband and the unconditional love of a 15 month old daughter named Francesca, I might have done just that. Instead the depression continued to overwhelm me.

At first, I simply hid from it, burying my head in the sand like the proverbial ostrich. I began to realize what a monster depression really was and that it would eventually take me life, one way or another. Day after day, sitting around in a rental house in the snow in a town where I knew no one while Warren was gone to work all day,  I chased a little girl who still had to be fed, her diapers changed and entertained and thank God for it, because that is all that kept me alive. And for a long while, I didn’t care. Let the depression come and get me. It’s not like I felt like I had so much to live for anyway. I slowly realized it was a genetic thing, inherited from my mother, who got it from BOTH of her parents, so it was going to happen eventually, one way or another. And then a new realization—if it came after me, it might eventually come after my daughter, right down the genetic line. Now, I had a reason to fight. It could come after me and I shrugged my shoulders. But now the thought that this dragon monster I thought of as the Depression Dragon, might come to attack my child, was a whole different kettle of fish. Now I had to fight. Now I had to win, no matter what.

                I started with the research, reading everything I could. Phrases of the day—manic-depression, mania, finding out more about lithium and this MAOI stuff, two major sources of treatment with various results, from fair, not usually good to horrific.  There was electro-shock therapy which of course, was made over into more than one horror movie. There was confusion—hurt, men and women did not really talk to each, not like they do today. My father didn’t talk to my mother about her illness. She was his rock, she fell apart and he walked away. A great simplification, complicated by the economic crush of 1969 which under the Republicans damaged and destroyed many small businesses, like that of my parents, i.e., the money ran out and so did my dad. And my mother, with all her other problems, could not bear to abandon the customers they had served over the years and promised to continue their service contracts. The business bore my father’s name. He was the one who had made those promises, not her, to customers all through the 1950s and 60s but she was the one who stood firm on them. Her overwhelming sense of responsibility for a burden that wasn’t even hers to bear, was one more thing that led her to an early grave.

                I struggled on but the one thing that always killed me, that always made me cry no matter how much time had passed is when I would remember how much my mama adored the only grandchild she ever met, Francesca. My mama got the chance to know her for a brief 15 months but Francesca would never know her, would never remember the grandmother who loved her so much. It was time to fight this Depression Dragon, the biggest fight of my life.

(To be Continued) 
 

Laura L. Valenti, author

The Heart of the Spring,

The Heart of the Spring Lives On,

The Heart of the Spring Comes Home, and

The Heart of the Spring Everlasting

Between the Star and the Cross: The hoice and

Between the Star and the Cross: The Election

Ozark Meth: A Journey of Destruction and Deliverance with co-author Dick Dixon

www.BetweentheStarandtheCross.com

We know that Jesus had 33 years Between the Star at his birth and The Cross at his death. We each have a time between our star and our cross.  We just don't know how long that might be. The real question is 'what will you do with yours?"  Blessings, LV

THE ANGEL FOOD CAKE by Laura L. Valenti

                Those of you who follow blogs regularly know they use Guest Bloggers from time to time and I am doing so today in a different sort of way. I just spent a fabulous weekend at a church retreat with an incredible group of women. One of my friends there, Jo Stair, sent me a story which she said went ‘round on the Internet some years ago. I’d never seen it and it tickled me so, I just had to share it.  Jo laughed when I asked her if I could use her as a Guest Blogger and said, “Sure. It’s not a very spiritual message perhaps but still pretty interesting!”

                Have you ever told a white lie? Alice, new to the community, was to bake a cake for the Baptist Church Ladies’ group but she forgot until the last minute. She remembered the morning of the bake sale and after rummaging through cabinets, she found an angel food cake mix. She quickly made it while drying her hair, dressing and helping her son, Bryan, pack for Scout camp.

                However, when Alice took the cake from the oven, the center had dropped flat and the cake was horribly disfigured. She realized there was no time to bake another cake and tried to figure out what to do next. This cake was particularly important to Alice because she did so want to fit in at her new church and community of new friends. Being inventive, she looked around for something to build up the center of the cake. She found a roll of toilet paper, plunked it in and covered it with icing. Not only did the finished product look beautiful, it looked perfect!

                Before leaving the house to drop the cake by the church and go to work, Alice woke up her daughter, Amanda and gave her some money. She also gave her very specific instructions to be at the bake sale the moment it opened at 9:30 and buy this cake and bring it home. When Amanda arrived at the sale, she found that the perfect cake had already been sold! Amanda grabbed her cell phone and called her mother. Alice was horrified. Everyone would know! What would they think of her? She would be ostracized, talked about, ridiculed.

                That night she lay awake, thinking about people pointing fingers behind her back. The next day she promised herself she would try not to think about the cake. She would attend the fancy luncheon-bridal shower at the home of a friend of a friend and try to have a good time. She didn’t really want to go because the hostess was a real snob who had more than once looked down her nose at Alice. Alice was a single parent and not from one of the founding families of the town. Having already RSVP’d though, she could not think of a believable excuse to stay away.

                The meal was elegant and the company definitely upper crust Old South. To Alice’s horror, the cake in question was presented for dessert! Alice felt the blood drain from her body when she saw it brought in. She started out of her chair to rush to the hostess and tell her what was about to transpire. Before she could get to feet, however, the Mayor’s wife commented, “what a beautiful cake!”

                “Thank you,” the snobby hostess replied. “I baked it myself!”

                Alice sat back down and smiled. “God is good!”  

Psalm 119:103

Laura L. Valenti, author

The Heart of the Spring,

The Heart of the Spring Lives On,

The Heart of the Spring Comes Home, and

The Heart of the Spring Everlasting

Between the Star and the Cross: The Choice and

Between the Star and the Cross: The Election

Ozark Meth: A Journey of Destruction and Deliverance with co-author Dick Dixon

www.BetweentheStarandtheCross.com

      Between the Star and the Cross....we know that Jesus had 33 years between the Star at his birth and the Cross at his death. We each have a time between our star and our cross, we just don't know exactly how long ours might be. The more important question is, what will you do with yours?

CAMP DAVID OF THE OZARKS: ALWAYS IMPRESSIVE Laura L. Valenti

I am working at Camp David of the Ozarks for the week as a Camp Granny for the 8^th summer in a row. This is, without a doubt, one of the most joyous God-drenched places on earth and most folks don’t even know it exists! Camp David is a Christian camp for the children of Missouri prisoners. If a child has a mother or father in jail or prison, they can come to this five day camp that offers crafts, horseback riding, skits, puppet shows, swimming, singing, sleeping in cabins, prayer, Bible study, field games, nature study, a campfire night and fishing—all the things we knew as kids at church camp plus a whole lot more.  And it’s all free, no charge to the kids or their families. The two most important things they’ve been teaching here for the past 12 years is how much each child is loved, by Jesus and all the people here and that their lives are their own, that they can choose the kind of life they want to lead. And to that end, after 12 years, they have many of their campers returning as camp counselors and support staff.  That, however, does not even begin to tell the story of this incredible place.

                Ben and Grace Smith are the director and co-director of Camp David and have been from its first year when they welcomed 18 campers. For the past several years, they have served over 200 campers each summer, boys and girls, in separate weeks, ages 8 through 16. In addition to the campers, there are support staff, like a mini-camp within the camp, young people, both former campers and Christian youth, many homeschoolers or missionaries’ children, who help cook, wash dishes, cut grass, care for the young children of the staff, and help out in a dozen other ways to keep the place, running. There are camp ministry folks who supervise the counselors, who are high school and college aged volunteers, who work for a pittance all summer long to lend their support to this program. And it is all run on donations and fund-raising that takes place all year long to make it happen again and again each summer.

                And then there are folks like me, Grannies and Aunties, who come, some for weeks at a time or others like me, just for a week or so, and write letters to campers, read bedtime stories, help with crafts and any other tasks that need done at the moment, from taking a camper with a sprained ankle to the ER, to helping bait a hook or take a fish off the line for a first time fishermen to helping a young lady on Princess Dinner night, dress up in a formal with high heels and make-up and get her picture taken, just like a real prom queen.

It is impossible to say who is the most impressive here, the directors who do this, year after year,  along with their five children, ages 6 through 19, who work just as hard as their parents all summer long, helping children who come out of situations, the horrors of which they can only imagine; the college students who serve in this ministry, young people already on fire for God and busy putting that desire to such a positive use even at their young age; the youngsters who have come through the camp themselves and now return to lend a helping hand to others whose families are also fractured by crime, drugs and dysfunction. And then people, like me who come to do what little we can and which often seems to be little more than the chance to rub shoulders for a few days with these saints in the making. I’ve been in law enforcement and rehab work for over 20 years now and I’ve never seen a better anti-crime fighting program than this.

Jesus walked this earth 2000 years ago and he taught us by example that LIFE is all about relationships. He rounded up 12 pretty rag tag types, taught them everything he could get into their thick heads in three years and then told them to go out there and teach it to everyone they met. THAT is still going on in a little place right here in the Ozarks called Camp David. If you would like to know more about Camp David of the Ozarks or contribute to their mission, just check them out on the Internet. I guarantee you will be impressed!

A LESSON FROM A SALVADORAN SAND CASTLE by Laura L. Valenti

     With the Independence Day holiday upon us, we will undoubtedly see numerous columns about patriotism, the cost of freedom and the like. It reminds me of an incident from over 40 years ago on a beach in El Salvador through which I saw a different view of America, courtesy of a Salvadoran college student.

     It was Semana Santa, Easter week and a group of us, Peace Corps volunteers had gathered at the beach where we were sitting in the sand with the gentle surf lapping at our toes. There were five of us, from Missouri, Kansas, New York, Connecticut, and California and without anyone saying a word, five sets of hands began digging, constructing a sand castle. One of the fellows worked at the national university in the capital city of San Salvador and he had brought a couple of his university students with him. As one of them watched us, he spoke up.

     “This is something I do not understand about Americans. No one said, ‘let us build a sand castle’ and yet each of you knew immediately what the others were doing and joined in. My country is much smaller than yours, only 160 miles one end to the other. I come from the capital, a little over 100 miles from here but if I sat down and began to dig in the sand, these local fishermen would not know what I was doing and certainly would not come to join me. How do you do that?”

    That gave each of us something to think about for several moments before we could formulate an answer to such an intriguing question. After much discussion, we decided it was a combination of America’s public education system—we all grew up reading about Dick and Jane and Spot, Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys—and television programs, from Howdy Doody to Romper Room to Mighty Mouse,  The Lone Ranger, and Leave It To Beaver. No matter what part of the country we grew up in, that was our childhood and it gave us a number of common denominators.

    It was an answer we could all agree on and one that seemed to satisfy the student who posed the original question. He went on to share with us that although he and his countrymen lived much closer to each other geographically, they did not share the same educational advantages—many of the poorer fishermen had little or no formal schooling and certainly didn’t have access to television as children. At that time in the 1970s, I lived in that fishing village. There were only three known televisions in the entire town and one of them was in a well-known combination bar and brothel!

    It is food for thought in terms of what has united us and continues to make America work as a country. There are more countries in the world that struggle with the issues that have long plagued tiny El Salvador, divergent populations with educational levels that cover the entire spectrum and/or with different cultures and languages, such as indigenous populations, dialects vs. a dominant national language. Likewise, there are only a handful of countries with the geographical span and physical resources that have blessed America and still, we have managed to hold it all together for over 200 years.

    The question now as we face an uncertain political future and an increasingly bitter campaign, is how do we continue to do so? The answer is to watch and listen carefully. What exactly are these two campaigns actually marketing? We may not be in love with either of the major candidates but in listening to the campaigns, I hear one in particular marketing hate, just one step down from a now infamous campaign in Europe in the 1930s. Back then, the man at the center of that firestorm, concentrated on one particular ethnic group, blaming much of their country’s financial troubles on the businesses, the men involved and their entire families.  Today, Donald Trump is blaming various groups—ethnic, religious, and racial—for America’s problems as well as women in general. He may be spreading the blame around, but his promotional strategy is still the same as Adolf Hitler’s. Do we really want to put someone in the White House who blames everyone else, particularly entire ethnic, religious or gender groups, for the problems we face? History has shown us the results of campaigns built on hate, from Herod to Hitler, and they have always brought nothing but misery and heartbreak for all.

WHY ASK WHY INDEED Laura L. Valenti

                Discovering significant bits of philosophy in unexpected places, like movies or even commercials, has long been a fascination of mine. For instance, one of my favorites, ‘why ask why?’ may have originated with a beer commercial but it reminds me that sometimes we spend a lot of time, seeking an answer that is of no true value. My favorite application for this one is life with a teenager, why ask why indeed. It still doesn’t help much.

                A thought-provoking comparison this past week, pointed out that seeking Donald Trump as a solution to this country’s problems is similar to putting your brother-in-law (or brother or best friend) into a position of authority or responsibility where ‘you just know he would be great’. You are, after all, certain he is a smart guy, one who is not afraid to say what he thinks and who can come up with solutions that prove he thinks outside of the box, just by all the stuff he says all the time. On the other hand, he never sticks with any one job for any length of time, runs through money like nobody you’ve ever known, and can tick people off faster than rain evaporating off of a hot Ozark sidewalk! If he could just get into the right situation, he would be great!

                And so you (or someone else in your circle of family or friends) have at some point in the past, helped to set him up as a manager of a shop or store, a campground or hotel, or secured a spot for him in management training at your firm where he promptly imploded once again, as he has in the past. And so now, Donald Trump thinks as do many of his followers,  that he, someone who has never run for elected office in his life and who has managed to run several businesses into the ground or into court-action, would make a good president of one of the few countries in the world that has the capability of being self-sufficient.  Do we really want to give everything from the nuclear codes to sway over a significant portion of the world’s petroleum supply to a man with little to no diplomatic skills?

                We may love our brother, son, or brother-in-law who is the alcoholic, drug addict, or predictable never-ending proverbial screw-up and we’ve even seen him do well for years at a time, but when the pressure gets to be too much, he caves.  Donald Trump may have the ego for the job as POTUS (President Of The United States) but that is about the only inarguable qualification I’ve seen that he has for the job.

                Maybe he needs to go back and take a bit of philosophy from another American showman who spoke at the last Republication convention in 2012. Clint Eastwood as Detective Dirty Harry (Callahan) uttered the immortal words, ‘A man’s got to know his limitations’ in one of his movies from years ago. Now there’s a bit of philosophy Donald Trump needs to take to heart.

HATE, HATE AND WHERE IS THE LOVE? Laura L. Valenti

Is it just me or is there more HATE out there than in a very, very long time? We've had the Republicans and Democrats (or Conservatives and Liberals) at one others' throats for a couple of decades now but it has certainly gotten worse since (God Bless Him) President Obama came into office. As a friend of mine put it just this past weekend, "I am appalled at the amount of racism that still exists in this country! I thought we were past so much more of this by now." And then we have Donald Trump running around the country (and I'm sorry to say, with ample help from the national media) busy stirring up as much racism, xenophobia and misogyny in a few months as the KKK has managed to do in the past decade. And now in addition to the whole gay marriage issue, people are going nuts over bathrooms!

Now allow me to explain why I should be considered something of any ‘expert’ to speak on that last issue. First, as a ten year veteran of a county sheriff’s department, I can tell you right up front, I’ve seen more than my fair share of sex offenders, both those our department arrested and those who were required to register regularly. Sexual offenders come in all sizes, colors, religions, and ages, although the vast majority are straight white guys. WHY?  Because the majority of males in America are still straight white guys so go figure. Next, it is a fact that sexual predators do not care WHAT the sign says on the bathroom door nor are they particular about WHO might be using said bathroom. Sexual predators, from teenagers to decrepit old men, will take their opportunity for a new conquest wherever they can and an elevator is every bit as dangerous, if not more so, than any public bathroom. (And yes, I’ve been known to step off of an elevator at the last possible moment, when a man who just didn’t set right with me, stepped on as the doors were closing.)

Secondly, as a person who has traveled outside the United States and a friend to many others who have done so, I can tell you, public bathrooms in many other countries are much more open and unsecured than those in the US. I am thrilled to see so many more clean functioning public bathrooms, complete with toilet paper, in Latin America than when I was a child, teen and young adult there. So often back then, you were better off with ‘clean’ bushes! My friends who travel in Europe and Asia, tell me of same sex bathrooms everywhere and a lock on the door in many of those places, is a true luxury! And no, bathroom sexual assaults are no more prevalent there than here.

Finally, if a person is serious about protecting their child from sexual molestation, then look first within your own home! Literally, in ten years at the sheriff’s department, every case of rape, sexual molestation, abuse, and assault we dealt with, was perpetrated by someone known to the victim. Women, children, and adolescents, both male and female, were assaulted by their own—significant others, uncles, grandfathers, classmates, dates, stepbrothers and cousins—but more often than any other, by mother’s new boyfriend or husband. Yes, watch the nightly news, if you are in doubt. Mothers’ poor judgment or maybe just an incredible hunger for some attention for herself, is a greater threat to her child’s innocence than who is using the bathroom at school or the local Wal-Mart. Are there stranger sexual assaults? Yes, they do exist but statistically, a child is much more likely to be in a serious car accident than to be sexually attacked by a stranger.

So America, some, and certainly most in this area, like to claim we are a Christian nation or at least a nation based on Christian principles. The last time I checked Jesus’ principal message was one of Love. How does that jive with all that we are hearing from our politicians, from Donald Trump and the bathroom protestors?  If we are going to claim the name of Christ, then we must live according to what he told us…”go and make followers of all people in the world. Baptize them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost. Teach them to obey everything that I have taught you….(Matthew 28:19-20) That is not a message of HATE, by anyone’s measure.

WRITING & PUBLISHING, THE JOYS & PITFALLS Laura L. Valenti

One of the fun habits that several of us as writers enjoy is trading books with other authors when we find something of interest at a craft show or book fair. I've participated in several of these exchanges over the years, swapping a copy of Between the Star and the Cross or The Heart of the Spring for someone else's novel. As a result I've discovered some books that are real treasures, like Sage  by Debora Clark from Alton, Missouri and South Wind Home by Gerald Lewellen of Bolivar. Conversely, I've also come across a couple of books that I could not bring myself to finish. I simply didn't want to waste the time. After three or four chapters, they were boring me to tears and I placed them in my paper recycle box in that I did not to foist them on to anyone else.

Meanwhile, I received an email this week from a friend of a friend, and a fellow writer. A year or two ago, my friend had asked me to read his friend's first novel. I told him I would be willing to do so, but only with the understanding that in doing so, I would be free to be honest in my assessment of the writing. I told him, I would not be cruel but if his friend wasn't interested in my true opinion, good or bad, then let's not even go there. A few days later, I received an email that included the full novel. I'm sorry to say I no longer remember the name of the work. I was impressed with the fact that the author was quite knowledgeable about computers and espionage or at least, he was very good at convincing someone like me, who knows very little factual information about either subject, that he knew what he was talking about. Still, while the book was interesting, it wasn't a real page turner but since I had promised my friend, I kept reading.

And then suddenly on page 150, everything changed. The main character was on his way to see his best friend in Kuwait, whom he expected to meet him at the airport. Instead, he was met by a unknown colleague of his friend who promised to take him to meet his friend. His next stop, however, was not the hotel room he expected but a dark dank cell with no explanation of any kind. He found himself locked away in a foreign country, with his cries for help met only with silence. Now I was turning pages. I finished the rest of the book which turned out well and of course, I wrote back to my friend to say, this story really starts on page 150!

Ironically, I'd actually been given the same advice years before, regarding my novel, Between the Star and the Cross: The Choice.  My friend and mentor, the late Ellen Gray Massey, told me after reading it, "well, you know your book really starts at the beginning of the third chapter."  She immediately followed it with one of her favorite editorial phrases, "but of course, it is your book."  I wanted so badly to be done. I didn't want to re-write the first several chapters. I wanted to be done. But then I thought about the fact that I had asked her to read it and there certainly wasn't any point, if I didn't take her best advice. And so of course, I re-wrote it and she was right. It made for a much better book.

The author of this book wrote back this week to say he had never finished his book due to his age of 85 and his wife was now having health problems. He said he would really like to find a co-author and then perhaps self-publish. I encouraged him to look for a co-author through local writers groups but to be very careful when looking into self-publishing. While I have independently published all of my books (except the first one, The Fifteen Most Asked Questions About Adoption in 1985 which I was fortunate to have picked up by a traditional publisher), I've met up with several other authors over the years, who have told me, "It only cost me $3000 to get my book published and I'm so happy with it!" And while I'm trying not to go weak in the knees or let my eyes pop out of my head, all I've ever been able to think to say at a moment like that is, 'I'm so glad you are pleased."  Because what I'm really thinking is, my husband would kill me if I spent that kind of money on publishing a book as well as, how do they ever plan to make that money back?

The truth is I tell anyone who is considering self-publishing to research that as carefully as you would anything else. (Isn't that what the Internet is really there for?) I've never spent more than $500 for the initial cost of publishing one of my books and as a result, it doesn't take long to make that money back. For anyone who is looking into publishing, be careful. Do your homework. Make certain you have a good product to offer, re-write even when you don't want to and then find a reliable professional publisher so that one day you can truly enjoy holding your very own book in your hands. And best of all, you'll not have to worry that someone wants to slip it into their paper recycling box!
Laura L. Valenti, author

The Heart of the Spring,

The Heart of the Spring Lives On,

The Heart of the Spring Comes Home, and

The Heart of the Spring Everlasting

Between the Star and the Cross: The Choice and

Between the Star and the Cross: The Election

Ozark Meth: A Journey of Destruction and Deliverance with co-author Dick Dixon

PITFA





  

THE SOURCE OF OUR PROBLEM Laura L. Valenti

 A column in the May 4, 2016 edition of The Lebanon Daily Record  bore the title  "Drug Problems in Ozarks Start in Mexico". The article went on to claim that Mexico is the source of the drug problem in the Ozarks.   I’ve been in the writing business long enough to know that sometimes the columnist writes the headline and sometimes it is actually the editor.  Regardless, the FACT is that Ozarks drug problems originate in the Ozarks.  Mexico, China, and even California, are three of the country’s largest drug providers, who simply supply the DEMAND.

For ten years I worked for the Laclede County Sheriff’s Department, including running the county jail from 2001 through much of 2004. Since then I’ve been working as a volunteer board member of the New Life House, a Christian transitional housing program for women coming out of jail or prison. In other words, for more than 20 years I’ve been in the business of fighting drugs, through law enforcement and rehabilitation, usually right on the front line, person by person. And the simple truth is our drug problems are based right here at home, in a single four letter word – PAIN.

A child, an adolescent, or an adult of any age, who believes in their value as a person, who has been raised and supported to believe that, by at least one person—their parent(s), a grandparent or other relative, even a teacher, family friend, or neighbor—is much less likely to get involved in drugs or other high risk behavior than one who has not. As we see more families abdicate their child-rearing responsibilities, abandoning their children or letting them raise themselves more than not, we have seen an increase in the number of people of all ages who turn to drugs and alcohol in an attempt to dull or wipe out the emotional pain they struggle with. 

In 2006, Dick Dixon of Bolivar and I co-authored a book, Ozark Meth: A Journey of Destruction and Deliverance, in which we interviewed 30 methamphetamine addicts in sustained recovery, all residents of southwest Missouri. (We updated and re-released it again in 2013, including re-connecting with eight of the original interviewees.) They told us how they got on, how they got off and how they stay off meth. They also told us WHY and every one of them told us, one way or another, of the pain they were dealing with at the time. Whether it was the breakdown of a relationship with their significant other, the loss of their job, livelihood or place to live, each related a story that involved pain, fear and an overwhelming sense of loss and hopelessness. Ironically, almost every woman we spoke with, got involved with drugs because of the man or boy, she followed into the drug life. (Not incidentally, when we asked each how they managed to stay out of the drug life, once they broke free initially, 28 of the 30, told us the only way “to get out and stay out is called Jesus Christ”—their words, not ours.) These folks came from different communities and did not know one another. While 17 were arrested, 13 were not. Some went through Christian rehab and others did not; in other words, they were a diverse sample of folks in the Ozarks who get involved in drugs.

While there are those who will read this and say, well, this is all pie-in-the-sky because we can’t fix everybody’s problems BEFORE they get involved in drugs. That is true but we can realize that the source of the problem is not simple and while it is convenient to blame another country or culture, the basic problem is still ours.

Dick Dixon states that there are 4 steps to fighting drugs in America--education (pamphlets, classes), intervention, treatment, and interdiction (arrest). In America, we are really good at and have spent billions on Steps #1 and #4 but pennies on the two in between. And the reason? Because those two require getting involved. Intervention--stepping into someone else's life to say, 'hey, this isn't right. Something's got to change. I (we) know you are in trouble....' It goes against everything we believe as John Wayne-lovin' Americans. We don't need anyone to tell us how to run our lives and we don't like stepping into someone else's. Meanwhile, getting someone to treatment borders on the same territory. The bottom line is they both involve risk on the part of the rescuer. They involve relationships, getting involved face-to-face, person-to-person whereas handing someone a pamphlet or even arresting your basic drug user, does not. As Dick put it, the 'wrong' relationship is what gets people involved into drugs, the 'right' relationship will keep them out!

The first words against drugs are not to educate a child at age 8 or 10 about stranger-danger or to attend anti-drug lessons in school. The FIRST words against drugs are the ones a child hears before age 2—the ones that say, ‘you are a precious gift from God--to us, to me. We love you and can’t imagine life without you.” A child who hears and comes to believe those words has what is called SELF-ESTEEM. That is the real anti-drug. While it may seem an impossibly long term solution, it is obvious that the last 40 to 50 years of “A War On Drugs” involving everybody from the DEA, the FBI, and every local law enforcement agency in the US as well as billions of dollars has NOT worked. Maybe it’s time to try something different!

Laura L. Valenti, author

The Heart of the Spring,

The Heart of the Spring Lives On,

The Heart of the Spring Comes Home, and

The Heart of the Spring Everlasting

Between the Star and the Cross: The Choice and

Between the Star and the Cross: The Election

Ozark Meth: A Journey of Destruction and Deliverance with co-author Dick Dixon

www.BetweentheStarandtheCross.com