I told her I couldn’t afford her services. She laughed. “Did I say anything about money? You’ll pay me in some way, someday. But for now, let’s just get your story right.” She flew to Las Vegas and spent the weekend with me. We sat in my master bedroom and rewrote the introduction and my story. And that was when everything began to crystallize. I saw the journey I had been on —not just the events, but the meaning behind them. We all live that journey, each in our own way. Crystalline Moments became an international bestseller. Next year, the third edition will be released. And it all began with that one night at the Mayo Clinic. I was ten years old, sharing a hospital room with a girl who was fourteen. She had the same rare kidney disease I had. But her condition was far more advanced. She had no control over her body, her limbs, her speech. She stuttered so badly you could barely understand her. She passed away at sixteen. My mother had told me that we had the same disease. I had just been told that I would be okay. But in that moment, something shifted in my ten-year-old mind. I thought, You have to be really, really good to survive. That belief shaped everything. I took in every stray—two-legged and four-legged. I tried to fix everyone. But when I wrote the book, I realized it wasn’t about being good. It was about fear. I was afraid of dying. When I returned to my one-room schoolhouse—nine kids in total—I was told I had to give a story report. My disease had already begun to affect my speech. I stuttered. I was terrified. I had no control over my bladder and often wet myself. I didn’t want to be seen. I didn’t want to be heard. I stood in front of the class, staring at my feet, stuttering, nearly in tears. I sat down, humiliated. Then the teacher stood up and said, “Do you know who has the highest IQ in this school and who just gave the worst story report?” That moment created the workaholic in me. I became Rookie of the Year at Metropolitan Life Insurance. I won awards. I led teams. But the more I was praised, the more I felt like I didn’t deserve it. So I worked harder. The third Crystalline Moment came a few months later. I was lying on a blanket, staring at the clouds, breathing in the scent of my mother’s flowers. I was dreaming of all the places I would travel. Then a thought struck me like lightning: I’m going to marry a farmer, have a dozen kids, and never leave Nebraska. That fear of being stuck, of never living the life I dreamed of, became a driving force. Whenever life got too smooth, I would stir things up—subconsciously sabotaging peace because I feared stagnation more than chaos. Each of these moments is etched into my memory with vivid clarity. I can tell you what the room smelled like, what I was wearing, even the texture of the air. I can still smell the hot dogs and baked potatoes cooking on the oil stove at school. These moments—these Crystalline Moments—shaped me. They taught me that life is not a straight line. It’s a mosaic of pain and joy, fear and courage, loss and love. And in every piece, there is a gift. Crystalline Moments: A Journey Remembered (Part 3) There’s something extraordinary that happens when you begin to recognize your Crystalline Moments—those flashes of clarity that pierce through the noise of life. Once you see them, you begin to understand the gifts and opportunities they carry. And if you haven’t recognized them yet, don’t worry. The gifts are still there, patiently waiting for you to notice. When my husband Tom passed away, I was devastated. But in time, I came to see that he had given me the greatest gift of our marriage—freedom. Not freedom from him, but freedom to become who I was always meant to be. I thank him every day for that. Without his love, his belief in me, and even his passing, I would not have the life I have today. I would not have written eight bestselling books. I would not have founded BePreparedBeReady.org, the nonprofit that has become my legacy. For years, I used to joke that I was like a cat with nine lives—nine different careers. One of those lives was as a FEMA inspector and trainer. I used to wonder, “What does that FEMA stuff have to do with anything I’m doing now?” But now I know—it had everything to do with it. Page 120
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