Celebrating the Release of My Latest book "Too Stressed to be Blessed"

To celebrate the release of her latest laugh-out-loud book, Too Blessed to Be Stressed, Debora Coty is hosting the Too Blessed to Be Stressed KINDLE Giveaway!

Too Blessed to be Stressed is a fun-filled read overflowing with insights and practical tips. Perfectly delicious for living happily ever after! 
-Rhonda Rhea, best-selling author of Whatsoever Things Are Lovely

Read what the reviewers are saying here.

Debora has created a “Too Blessed” prize package worth over $150! One grand prize winner will receive:

* A brand new Latest Generation KINDLE with Wi-Fi and Pearl Screen

* Too Blessed to Be Stressed by Debora Coty (for KINDLE)

To enter just click one of the icons below. Hurry! The giveaway ends August 25th. Winner will be announced on the evening of the 18th during Debora's De-Stress Facebook Party! Debora will be hosting a "life-preserver" chat (it’s okay if you haven’t read the book – who knows, you might WIN a copy!), testing trivia skills, swapping funny stories, handing out some decom-stress tips, and giving away tons of great stuff! (Chocolate, books, and more!) Hope to see you there. Bring your friends and join the fun on August 25th at 5:00 PM PST (6 PM MDT, 7 PM CDT, & 8 PM EDT).

Also - be sure to check out Debora's series of Stress-Buster videos at her website: www.debcoty.com. She’s also hosting a photo caption contest on her blog for a chance to win a copy of Too Blessed to Be Stressed.

Let's Decom-stress photo caption contest begins today!

Photo by nature photographer Marian Crawford,
www.MarianCrawfordgallery.com

Here it is! The first photo for our
Let's Decom-stress photo caption contest! 

I'll be posting a different awesome photo from nature photographer Marian Crawford each Monday throughout August and Sept. All you have to do is send in your one-line caption, loosely based on the theme, "Too Blessed to be Stressed," the title of my new book.

(To learn more about my books, check out my FaceBook author page or hop on over to my website, www.DeboraCoty.com ).

Your caption can be funny, poignant, silly .. whatever helps you decom-stress. Just send your entries to DeboraCoty@gmail.com (those who have already submitted entries to this blog, please resubmit to DeboraCoty@gmail.com - thanks!).

The previous week's winner will be announced each Monday when a new picture is posted. It could be you!

All 9 winners will be entered into a drawing for an autographed copy of  Too Blessed to be Stressed, plus a week's supply of your favorite Starbucks chill-out beverage (mine is chai latte).

So dear friends, without further ado, slap on your thinking caps and send in your ideas! You can enter as many times as you like.

Celebrating Wannabes

Shortly after I watched a dolphin arc through the air above the blue, blue waters off the shore of Daytona around 7:00 this morning, my attention was captured by the simple elegance and innate majesty of a V of nine brown pelicans. They didn't even know the alphabet, yet they adjusted their ranks to maintain that perfect letter from one end of the skyline to the other.

Wow. Warm and fuzzy inspiration from Papa God's magnificent creation spread from my broken right big toenail to my humidity-frizzied hair tips.

Then came the wannabe platoon. Just behind that gloriously regimented squadron flew five additional pelicans who were trying their durndest to emulate their role models. Four actually did pretty well, forming a perfectly straight line, tipping a wing here, snagging an up-current there to tweak their position and maintain a nice tight line.

Enter Herbie. I couldn't help but remember that poor little discombobulated elf from the animated TV Christmas show, "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer." You know, the one who never quite fit in at Santa's workshop and ran away to find himself. 

Well, try as he might, this avian Herbie could not toe the line. He just didn't fly like his biddy buddies. Maybe they were relatives or eggmates and their mothers made them, but the other birds in the group actually spread apart to make room for him in the middle of their rank and file. Sadly, Herbie dipped and weaved and flapped when he should have glided and nearly body-slammed the bird beside him.

It made me laugh. But I doubt Herbie thought it was funny.

When the others finally gave up on him and closed the gap to box him out, Herbie still didn't give up. Despite their obvious snub, he tagged himself onto the end of the line, bobbing and fluttering like a spastic dot at the bottom of an exclamation mark. 

Then they landed gracefully in the water to enjoy some fishy breakfast and Herbie plopped down about six feet away, still trying to be part of the group, though it was quite evident he was an outcast.

Boy could I identify with Herbie. Can't you? I think we all feel like we don't belong at some point in our lives. That we're different. That we're misfits. Maybe we're not overtly rejected by our peers, but we know deep down that we're the disgruntled dentist wannabe among happy elves.

I feel like that in my writing life sometimes. Like I'm the wobbling dot beneath the exclamation mark of successful authors and speakers with whom I'm trying to fit in. It may look like I belong, but deep down I know better. I'm just a wannabe.

But you know what? I don't think that's really such a bad thing. Being a Herbie keeps us striving to improve ourselves, to never stay complacent. To reject rejection. To keep practicing our dipping and weaving so that we can fly in formation when we want to, and not be ashamed to be the maverick when we don't. 

 So here's to all the Herbies of the world! Are you one of us?
 







   

How do you get here from there?

With the August 1 release date of my new nonfiction, faith-based self-help book Too Blessed to be Stressed peeking around the corner, I've found myself contemplating how on God's green earth I got here. Not here as in this city, state or country. Here as in this chocolate-stained computer chair.

Ten years ago I was immersed in my tidy little life as a health care professional, mother, wife and tennis addict. I hadn't written anything deeper than Christmas letters for over 20 years.

And then one day in 2002, in a dentist's office of all places, I heard that still, small voice whisper into my heart's ear, "It's time, Deb."

"Um, what time would that be, Lord?"

"Time to follow your childhood dream of writing for my glory."

So the adventure began. And I've never looked back. Not through enough rejection slips to sculpt a life-sized paper mache rhinoceros in my living room. Not through waiting, waiting, and more waiting in publication purgatory. Not through $1.57 royalty checks (I ain't funnin' ya). Not during endless phone calls begging for speaking gigs. Not even through the fall of the book industry empire.

A seriously scary time, that.

I'll admit the journey to publication wasn't easy. I started out as a cyber-ninnyhead. I knew nothing about websites, widgets and WordServe. But I learned. Slowly and sometimes painfully. Now I not only have a humdinger website, I also write two blogs (check out my other writer's blog), tweet (does that make me a twit?) and even have FaceBook launch parties planned for my next two books. 

Who'd a thunk a chick from the sticks would co-found an annual writer's retreat or lead workshops at writer's conferences? Or receive endorsements from literary heroes like Martha Bolton and Patsy Clairmont? (Hey, take it from me, you've gotta get over your paralyzing fear and ask; the big cheeses had to start out as utter butter just like us, and many are gracious enough to offer newbies a helping hand ... if you only ask.)

Well, all of this is impossible, of course. That's why Ephesians 3:20 assures us that Papa God is "able to do exceeding abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us."  His specialty is the impossible.

Looking back, I was blessed to be naive enough not to realize how many writerly accomplishments were considered impossible. So they weren't. But I did learn a lot along the way.
 
I learned the hard way that I can't do it all myself. That a good agent is better than a double mocha latte on a frigid night. That contracts are always negotiable. And money is not as important as readers.

But best of all, I've found that the most blessed, most magnificent, most incredible moment in a writer's life is when someone you don't even know shares how your words touched their heart. Maybe even changed their life.

It's then that you break down in complete humility, awestruck that Papa God used you as His instrument. The pen in His hand.

That's what it's all about, isn't it?

So here I sit, smearing more Godiva into my computer chair, thanking Him for the fantastic opportunity to sweat, fret, learn, and never stop growing as a writer. Care to join me?

Spielberg I Ain't.

Cut! The annoyed directer shouts. Again.

Okay, this is getting old. Like rancid fish.

Spouse and I are trying our hand at shooting a series of twelve short videos called, "2-Minute Stress Busters," to coincide with the August release of my new book, Too Blessed to Be Stressed. 

But we're finding out we're definitely not. Too blessed to be stressed, I mean.

Today's film topic is, "Friends are our best de-stessors." Ironically prophetic.

We've chosen 10 o'clock in the morning to begin shooting, assuming that most folks will be already gone to work and we'll have lots of peace and quiet in which to work. Spouse is behind the camera on a tripod in our driveway, director, cameraman and dolly grip (I don't know what that means but I always see it movie credits and love the way it sounds. Who wouldn't want to be a dolly grip?) Our makeshift "set" is perched at the top of a usually quiet, gently rolling cul-de-sac of five homes nestled beneath a canopy of oak trees. Birds are chirping, bees are buzzing, cicadas are humming. What could go wrong, right?

The first of three brief scenes has my girlfriend, Pam, and I rounding the corner together in a jovial power walk which proceeds across the length of the cul-de-sac and ends at the base of our driveway. We assume our starting positions down the street and Spouse the director gives us the hand signal. The camera is rolling.

Only neighbor #1 chooses this precise moment to drag his trashcans to the curb. Cut!

Take two. As we pass by his house, Neighbor #2 backs his tactical military training vehicle (looks like Rambo in a Hummer) out of his driveway and revs the engine. Cut!

Take three. We make it to the driveway this time and I totter up the slope to my mark in front of the camera and open my mouth to speak. Suddenly backyard Neighbor #3 cranks up his lawn mower.Cut!

We retreat inside the house to kill time until Mr. Green Thumb mows his way around to his front yard. The background noise fades to the level of a jet exhaust. The clock ticks. We can't wait any longer. I'll just have to speak above the din.

We've just resumed filming when Neighbor #4 to our left flings open her front door and lets her yippy dog out. Spouse makes the "keep going" hand motion behind the camera so I distractedly keep fumbling my way through the script until little Fido decides to come on over to our yard and lift his leg on the spider plant just behind me. Cut!           

Fido's owner, who has never been a hint-taker, wanders over in her jammies to see what we're doing. She won't leave. I'm ready to lose it. Spouse catches my eye. He senses the volcano about to erupt and gives me the look. You know that look. The one that all married people recognize. The one that silently says, "I know what you're about to do; don't do it."

I know he's right and it makes me madder. Here we are filming a chapter I wrote about loving your neighbor and I'm about to blast mine for no reason except she's lonely and wants to chat at an inopportune time. Okay, doctor Debbie, take your own medicine. I force a smile, wipe the sweat off my forehead, and try to ignore Fido digging up my impatiens.


More poetic irony. He's also uprooting my impatience. But maybe that's the point. Maybe Papa God is trying to show me something here.

What good is knowing something, even writing about it, or worse yet, filming it, if we don't live it?

I suspect that's what He's talking about in my meditation verse from yesterday, "Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord." (Col. 3:17).

Humph. I could've meditated on that verse until next spring and never quite gotten the message like this. Whatever I do - even the unexpected like dealing with irritating neighbors, things that don't go the way I think they should, blown schedules, and peeing Fidos - should be in the name of the Lord. Not just the easy stuff, the hard stuff. Especially the hard stuff.

After only a half-dozen more interruptions we finally finish shooting and the director calls a wrap. So when you see Stress Buster Number 7 (Nurturing Friendships) when it airs in August,* you'll hear the lawn mower, notice the trashcans, and be the only one who knows the behind-the-scenes story.

And know positively that our blessings can outweigh our stressings.

*Keep abreast of each new 2-Minute Stress Buster on my website (www.DeboraCoty.com; click on "Stress Busters") as they're posted bi-weekly from July - September. Or for the easy route, just following this blog or like/befriend me on Twitter or FaceBook (you can find links for these on my website also).

Genesis vs Nemesis

Ever find yourself searching the skies for an IM from heaven? Maybe a brief personal note from the Master of the Universe scribbled in the orange corner of the sunset sky? 

I've been thinking a lot lately about discerning God's will.

Like ... how do we do it? How do we know which decision is the right one when there are so many that assault us daily? How can we be sure we're on the path He prepared for us, especially when we encounter roadblocks and potholes? Are they there to detour us or for us to climb over?

In my recent study of Genesis, I noticed that Abraham faced some of the same challenges I do in trying to discern and follow God's will. But he seemed to have a better handle on it than I do.

The first amazing thing is that when God said go, Abe went (Gen 12:1). He picked up his family, tents and belongings that had been his home for his entire life and without argument or what we would call human reasoning, just up and took off. Where, he didn't even know at first. He just marched on in the direction that God's supernatural finger pointed until He said "Stop!" (Gen 15:7)

Once he finally arrived where he didn't know he was headed, God gave an entire country (Canaan) to Abraham at age 75 (Abe's age, not God's), but he still had to work for it. It didn't come gift wrapped with a big red bow. It wasn't a huge empty plot of beautiful, endless pastureland and bubbling streams just waiting on him to move in. There were people living there - big people with big swords and big egos who didn't want to leave.

Abraham not only had to conquer all his enemies, but he had to plant crops and dig well to sustain his flocks. Work, work and more work. 

And there were problems. Major problems.

Shortly after he arrived in this promised land, a famine struck, forcing Abe to leave his barely-broken-in-homestead and flee to the country next door (Egypt) just to be able to keep his family alive. Then after he got kicked out of Egypt, he became a nomad in the desert until finally, many years later, he was able to return to once again stake his claim in the land that God gave him.

I don't know about you, but if I was Abe, after all that trouble, I might have wondered if I'd misheard the Almighty. If God had really given me this property, why in the world was I having such difficulty living on it? Shouldn't following God's will be easier?

And there's the rub, isn't it. Shouldn't following God's will be easier?

I don't think Mother Teresa would have answered yes. Or Martin Luther King. Or Corrie Ten Boom, or a thousand other godly men and women pushing their own personal boulders out of the road God set before them. The obstacles were not their nemesis. They were there by design.

God doesn't promise us red bows and smooth sailing in following His will. I wish He did. But His word makes it pretty clear that it's actually the opposite.

Abraham hung in there despite all the thousands of time he must have wanted to turn his donkeys around and head back to the comfort of his roots. And so must I. Even when I can't see the next turn in the road because of the thick fog. Or even when the pavement disappears into a sink hole.

Because that's what this faith journey is all about.


 

What's your marriage creed?

"Do you know what my husband said to me yesterday? He said I needed to decide whether I wanted to be married or single."

I almost choked on the water I was chugging down as we took a break between tennis games. Seven tennis buds and I were fighting the blistering heat to squeeze in three sets, and one of the players suddenly decided to spill.

Alana wasn't someone I was particularly close to, but having been a tennis acquaintance for over a year, I was aware of her fiercely independent nature. I recalled a few weeks prior when she appeared for her regular tennis session rather than attending her only child's 5th grade graduation ceremony.

"I don't see why we have to make a big deal about something that should be normal," Alana had said. "Besides, my son won't even miss me - his father and grandparents are there."

And now it appeared as though her marriage was in danger, but Alana didn't seem at all distressed. The rest of us simply stared at her, stunned, as we silently placed ourselves on the wifely end of that ultimatum she'd been given and began to feel the devastation of loss.

A feeling that Alana apparently didn't share. 

"I won't tolerate anyone telling me what to do. If he wants a divorce, he can have it. I'll just get a boyfriend. Or maybe two." Alana wiped her pretty face with a towel. Slim and athletic, she looked ten years younger her 43 years. No, she wouldn't have any trouble getting a boyfriend. Or two.

"We've been married 13 years and I've always had a back-up plan. Separate finances, my own car. I kept my house in my name when he moved in ... just in case."

And then, while we were still absorbing this info, she hit us with the biggest zinger of all.

"I know how men are. You have to treat them like crud. Then when you're nice to them, they wag their tails like happy little puppies."

I felt as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water over my head.  

"But don't you care about your son?" asked one of the other tennis players. "What about him?"

"He'll be fine," Alana assured us - and herself. "We'll just split him right down the middle." With this Solomon-esque statement (although I'm pretty sure she had never read that biblical account), Alana made a cutting motion with her hand right down the center of her body.

I must say Alana's callous attitude about her family shocked me. Especially her philosophy of marriage. I know she's not a Christian, but what kind of relationship creed is that? You treat men like pond scum and then when you're finally civil to them, they're thrilled by the wonderful surprise. What???

Contrast that self-centered, "it's all about me" attitude with what I consider the Christ-followers' marital creed, Colossians 3:12 -13 (NIV): Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.


Sure, like Alana, we all get annoyed with our spouses at some time during our marriages (we just hope it only lasts hours instead of days or weeks!). What would we do without compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and especially patience when the going gets rough? Those spiritual qualities that can only come from the Lord when we're scraping the bottom of the barrel?

As astounding as Alana's confession was, it certainly made me think about my own marriage and renew allegiance to the creed I choose to live by.

How about you? What's your creed?

I'm Getting Engaged

I've been thinking a lot about life lately. Not exactly the "Why am I here?" or "What's it all about, Alfie?" kind of soul-dredging thoughts.

More like the "How can I fully engage in living while I'm passing through this life?"  kind of practical fare that sneaks into my brain betwixt rising at 6 am, fixing the same breakfast I've had every day for the last decade, doing my job, tending to my chores, walking my dog, waving to my husband as we pass going in opposite directions, and making sure everyone's fed at night.

My tendency to float through my days aloof and disengaged is what bothers me. Why don't I feel more? Why do I so often just go through the motions?

I suppose the arrival of my first grandson is the spark behind this flame, and that's likely something everyone goes though when they hold a brand new life in their arms. A fresh body and spirit just embarking on the fantastic journey that is this life. So pure and unscathed. So real. So into every picture on the wall I've passed a thousand times unnoticed. So mesmerized with the magic of a tree branch. So red-faced as he screeches his little punkin head off.

Not yet schooled that the best way to avoid feeling pain is to turn the spigot off.

I hope and pray that he doesn't make it to age 60 and stare in the mirror one day thinking, "Where did the time go? What did I do with all those decades that were a gift from above?" 

The stages of life are simple, really:
Infancy
Childhood
Teenage
Young Adulthood
Middle Adulthood
Advanced Adulthood

There seems to be no getting around the fact that I'm lurking in the cracks between the last two. At least externally. Internally, I'm smack dab in the middle somewhere and sometimes inch closer to the top.

I guess that's why I write humor books. The irony of Dorian Gray isn't lost on me. The prune is still plum-y beneath the wrinkles. It's when the wrinkles permeate the core that the soul begins to shrivel.

Okay, enough deep thinking for me. That's more than my quota.

But I will set a goal: My goal is to be fully present in mind, spirit and senses for the rest of this day. Like a baby does. I will see, touch, smell, hear, feel and enjoy each activity I undertake. Like it's the first time. Yep, that's what I'll do.

Now I'm off to explore my world through the eyes of Baby Blaine. Oh, look. The fresh chocolate smear on my white capris are evidence that I've got a good start putting everything not nailed down in my mouth.

Sweet Wine vs. Sour Grapes

It starts out with wine and roses, a luscious wedding cake, gorgeous beaded dress and the promise of endless joy-filled tomorrows.

But then something mysterious happens. Somewhere along the winding pathway of unity during the next few years, erosion creates a few potholes, roadblocks, and maybe even a detour or two.

The disillusioned bride and groom are left standing on the side of the road asking, "What happened?"

In all honesty, it happened to me. And it'll happen to you, too.

But we don't have to abandon our wrecked cars and hitchhike. Nope. We can change the flat tires, fill 'er up with brand new gasoline and climb back in to continue our life-long journey to happily ever after. How? Read on ...

I've been reading through 1 and 2 Samuel in different translations (you should try it - adds fresh perspective to passages you've read a thousand times) and found myself wondering what happened to tarnish Michel's love for David. Michel had been secretly in love with David, her father the king's political rival (1 Samuel 18: 20) and was used as a pawn by dear old dad to coerce David into avenging the king's enemies. Saul was hoping David would be killed in battle, but after David slew a hundred Philistines to win Michel's hand, Saul was forced to give Michel to David in marriage. (Saul had already promised his older daughter to David and reneged - 1 Sam 18:19). 

At first, Michel loved David passionately - enough to deceive her father (whose nasty temper could have easily resulted in her own death) and help David in a daring midnight escape (1 Sam 19: 11-17).

But then later, in 2 Sam 6:16-21, we see that Michel's love had turned into contempt for her husband. She criticized him openly and ridiculed him for his celebratory behavior before the Lord. The Bible doesn't say specifically, but my guess is that their relationship took a sharp downward spiral at that point.


What went wrong? What made Michel's mighty, life-on-the-line, heart-bursting affection morph into disdain and contempt?

What soured the grapes of her marriage?

A little research reveals some very telling events that probably contributed heavily. During the years after Michel risked everything to help with David's daring escape from Saul, her jerk of a father turned around and married her off to another man in David's absence. David, too, took at least two other wives while he was constantly running and hiding from Saul.

Time passed. Lots happened before David finally was crowned king of Israel and Michel was able to return to his household. Barren (a source of shame in that culture) while David's other wives spit out babies like watermelon seeds, Michel became bitter and haughty in spirit. She and David had little quality time together and she allowed her critical tongue to fan the flames of discontent. Michel was unable to accept her circumstances and allowed ungratefulness to control her thinking processes, attitudes, and behavior.

I know she's usually skipped over in Bible studies and generally overlooked as a woman of far-reaching consequence in the Bible, but I really feel for Michel. I identify with her in a lot of ways. I think God included her story because there are important things we can learn from her. She didn't ask for all the lousy things that happened to her, but she did have control over her future by the way she responded to the circumstances in which she found herself.

Just like us. Today. 


So what are the elements that contributed to Michel and David's relationship erosion?

1. Separation - physical and emotional
2. Allowing situations over which you have no control to make you bitter
3. A runaway, critical tongue
4. Focusing on what you don't have rather than being grateful for what you do

Gulp. 

In retrospect, these are all elements that I, too, have been guilty of allowing to creep into my marriage during our difficult patches. The times when our marital vehicle ran off the road or overheated.

And I feel sure that the key to our marriage still being on the road after 33 years is found in #4 above. It can be nutshelled into one word: gratitude. If we seek a spirit of gratitude, and make it a priority to renew our grateful attitudes daily, everything else in #1-3 will become a non-issue.

Those potholes of emotional distance, bitterness, and destructive criticism will be paved over with humbleness, patience, and generosity of spirit. And our marital Edsel won't break down nearly so often. Strangely enough, we won't want to ditch the old boring model and upgrade anymore. We might put forth a little elbow grease and polish it up. We'll actually begin to respect and admire it just like when it was new and shiny.

It's hard to stab a man when you're holding his hand.  











    

 

Lovin' Those Grace Kisses

Okay, I realize I'm delinquent in announcing the long awaited birth of Baby Blaine - my very first grand. I stand guilty as charged by my faithful readers who have scolded me soundly for my omission.

He's two weeks old today and cute as a newborn porcupine (have you ever seen one? They really are cute!) and not nearly as prickly.

As I shower the little fellow with baby kisses all over his pink scrunchy face, I can't help but be reminded of Papa God's love for us, His precious children.

He loves to cover us with kisses too - little intimate caresses of affirmation and affection born of His overflowing love, grace, and mercy for us.

Grace kisses. Yep. That's what they are.

We can't earn them and certainly don't deserve them. No more than Baby Blaine did anything to deserve all the love lavished on him because ... well, just because. He's one of us. Part of the family. More than just accepted, he's beloved simply because of who he is, not for anything he's done or will do.

And if I stop my frantic pace long enough to focus, I can actually imagine curling up into my Heavenly Father's big ole lap and feel His arms encircle my tense body and envelop me in His sublime tenderness.

Ahhh. So nice.  

So I hope you'll take a moment today and bask in the warmth of Papa God's grace kisses all over your scrunchy face. Relax. Enjoy. Can you feel His soft, loving lips caress your forehead? Be still and know that you are loved.