Now, every day I anchor a three-hour morning show, and I have to be prepared. Most of the hours is ad-libbing and talking off the cuff about the main news stories of the day. I prepare like I’m getting ready for a test in college. I spend at least an hour alone in my office before each show getting organized. I write every big news topic on the outside of a manila folder and put bullet points under each topic. That way it’s all in front of me, in one place, and easy for me to see if I need to glance down during the show. This is essentially the same system I used in college. It worked then and it still works today.
From the time I arrived at the University of South Carolina I was determined to go far and didn’t want anything to stand in my way. I juggled my classes and my social life and tried to be a better person. After October 19, 1997, my relationship with God became my highest priority. In Psalm 63:1 the psalmist says that he thirsts for God and that his whole being longs for Him. That’s how I felt. At FCA meetings there were good friends, great worship, and phenomenal speakers. I got so excited about FCA that when I was nominated for homecoming queen and had to make a speech onstage, all I did was talk about FCA. I was supposed to answer a question posed to me by the judges, but I was nervous and pretty much ignored it. Instead I said, “God is my Savior and He’s changed me and I’m very involved in Fellowship of Christian Athletes and if you haven’t experienced it you really need to come to one of our meetings because you will learn so much about Christ and His love.” That answer had nothing to do with the question, which was really embarrassing. I should have listened more closely to the judges, but I was happy to glorify God. I didn’t win the homecoming crown. I was named first or second runner-up. I honestly can’t remember exactly. I just knew I wasn’t the queen, but I was happy to serve God, my king.
After I finished the Experiencing God study I dove into other Bible studies. I also bought a new Bible (the New International Version) and began reading it constantly and made notes in it like I never had before. Church suddenly became much more interesting and the pastor’s sermons hit home. Many times I felt like he was talking only to me. I took notes through every sermon because I wanted to grow closer to Christ and soak up everything I felt I had missed. As I have said, I cried through every church service for the first year after I was saved. I just felt so much grief over the twenty-one years I’d wasted. At the same time I felt a huge sense of relief and gratitude that I was still only twenty-one and had my entire life to live for Him. I also felt an obligation to dive deeper. I prayed specifically for everyone I met who needed healing, love, good health, financial freedom, less stress—you name it and I prayed for it. Everyone who came to me I felt was a gift from God, and I was supposed to hear their story and add them to my prayer list. I spent hours in “the Word” (scripture) every day and wrote in my journal constantly. I still have a huge box with all of them. I wrote personalized notes to friends who were hurting and spent all the money I could spare in the Christian bookstore buying gifts to help others. I bought countless Bibles for people who were interested in learning more and invited so many people to church, FCA, and other Christian activities. It was contagious and I wanted others to experience the same love. I had a heart for other people who were in pain and wanted them to find the same freedom I found in Christ.
God’s timing could not have been better. It’s no coincidence that I finally surrendered my life and future plans to Him in the middle of a Bible study called Experiencing God: Knowing and Doing the Will of God. When I started it I wanted to get closer to God, but I was also trying to figure out exactly what I should do with the rest of my life. God met me in both places. He’d been knocking on the door of my heart for a while. Back in high school those anonymous letters (“from God”) had continued to show up in my mailbox. Another one read: Dear Friend, How are you? I just had to send a note to tell you how much I care about you. I saw you yesterday as you were talking with your friends. I waited all day hoping you would want to talk to me too. I gave you a sunset to chase your day and a cool breeze to rest you—and I waited. You never came. It hurt me—but I still love you because I am your friend.
I saw you sleeping last night and long to touch your brow, so I spilled moonlight upon your face. Again I waited, wanting to rush down so we could talk.
I have so many gifts for you! I try to tell you in the blue skies and in the quiet green grass. I whisper it in leaves on the trees and breathe it in colors of flowers, shout it to you in mountain streams, give the birds love songs to sing. I clothe you with warm sunshine and perfume the air with nature scents. My love for you is deeper than the ocean and bigger than the biggest need in your heart.
Ask me! Talk with me! Please don’t forget me. I have so much to share with you! I have chosen you and I will wait for you.
Your friend,
Jesus
Talk about an invitation from God Himself to get closer to Him! When I opened the letter and read it, I felt so sad. I had neglected God. He knew it and I knew it. I had no idea who God nudged or told to send this letter to me. Just like all the others, there was no return address, and therefore I couldn’t respond, but it clearly impacted my life and I saved it forever. Little did I know there were more to come.
Months later this one arrived:
When Christ was on the cross you were on His mind.
Another one followed:
Lord, remind me that nothing is going to happen today that you and I can’t handle together.
It wasn’t until I sat down to write this book that I realized the person who sent these letters to me was most likely my dad. I have never asked him, but he was always encouraging me to get closer to Christ, read my Bible, and say my prayers. He saw the need and so did I. I just felt like I didn’t have the right tools. I was too busy having fun and doing my own thing. Yet, when I was ready, God met me there. His timing was perfect.
The summer after my junior year of college I interned at WIS-TV in Columbia and lived at home. After my fourth year I interned at WCBD, Channel 2 in Charleston, and lived with my sister. She lived in an old, historic, three-bedroom home downtown on Smith Street. She agreed to let me share a room with her because the other rooms were occupied by roommates. The two of us slept in her full-size bed in a room that had space only for the bed and a chest of drawers. Needless to say, we had a few arguments (as all sisters do) and before the summer was over she tried to kick me out three times.
The house itself was sometimes a source of the drama. No matter how nice a house in Charleston may be, large roaches find a way to surprise you regularly. One morning I pulled back the shower curtain when I was getting ready for work and saw the largest palmetto bug (SC is the Palmetto State) staring me in the face. I screamed and am sure I ran in the opposite direction. I hate roaches and am terrified of alligators.
Crime was also an issue in downtown Charleston. One day while getting dressed in the bathroom I looked out the window and saw a man up in the tree watching me. I was so shaken that I called the police. The man was long gone when they arrived. Another morning I walked outside to get in my car and the window was shattered. Glass covered the sidewalk and my passenger-side seat. The brick someone used to smash my window was also sitting on the seat. My radio/CD player was gone.
Even with the bugs in the shower, the creep in the tree, and the car break-in, my summer interning at WCBD was one of the best summers of my life. I learned so much working at the TV station, which gave me confidence to move forward as a journalist. At that time one of the station’s top anchors and reporters was Amy Robach. She graciously allowed me to tag along with her each day in the field and watch her interview people; she even allowed me to shoot stand-ups for my résumé tape. I stood in front of the camera and ad-libbed a script, pretending to be on TV while the cameraman recorded it. Amy now works on Good Morning America not far from where I work at Fox News. The two of us are both on television at the same time every morning. That makes me smile. We both made it to the number one market and I am indebted
to her forever. She taught me the fundamentals of broadcasting, took me under her wing, and made time for me when she didn’t have to. Amy had a big impact on my life.
I WAS SO young, only twenty-two, when I started that internship in Charleston. My dad’s parents lived in Columbia too and I enjoyed being able to visit them regularly. My mom’s parents had both recently passed away, and losing them, especially my first grandparent, Mimi, my mom’s mom, was excruciating. I was still in college and had just transferred to South Carolina when Mimi and Pop broke the news to us that Mimi had been diagnosed with colon cancer. I had never experienced loss and she was the healthiest and youngest of all four of my grandparents. This was not supposed to happen to her.
Even though Mimi and Pop lived two hours away in Greenville, they were extremely involved in our lives. They spoiled us and made each of their six grandchildren feel like he or she was their favorite. Pop was tough, but loving. He was the disciplinarian. Pop served our country in the Navy during World War II. Once I interviewed him for a class project and he told me the story about a Kamikaze pilot who was on a suicide mission and headed straight for his ship. The pilot looked at the seamen on the top deck (my grandfather was one of them), gave them a peace sign with his fingers and crashed his plane into the ocean instead of my grandfather’s ship. Thank goodness. My grandfather’s life was spared.
When Pop came home from the war he and his best friend went to work at the local Coca-Cola bottling company. The two of them started at the bottom, bottling Cokes. My grandfather worked his way all the way up to an executive vice presidency, while his best friend became president.
Once you walked into Mimi and Pop’s home, you knew he was affiliated with Coke. They had a Tiffany chandelier with Coca-Cola written around its circumference and a red metal Coca-Cola cooler filled with every sort of Coca-Cola product from Cokes and Fanta to Fresca. When you turned the corner and went upstairs into the kitchen, the red breadbox had Coca-Cola written across it in white and the radio in the bathroom was a mini Coca-Cola drink machine. No one in the family was allowed to drink Pepsi, not that we wanted to. Pop said Coke only, and what Pop said was gospel. We followed his rules.
If he saw someone wearing a baseball cap during the national anthem at a South Carolina football game, he reached over and flicked it right off their head. He was very respectful and expected others to be the same. He was old enough and wise enough to earn the respect of everyone who met him.
Pop loved my grandmother and she took pride in caring for her household. She always looked her best and her home was her joy. I guess by today’s standards their home was small, but my grandparents were so thankful for it, and when I was a little girl it seemed huge. The split level made it seem like a three-story house. Everything in the house matched and the whole place was perfectly organized, even the closets. My grandmother wrapped all her shoes in tissue paper and lined them up in the closet in their original boxes. I used to stand and watch Mimi do her makeup each morning as she stood at her dresser, using the mirror above the furniture. Her top drawer was full of containers of makeup. I always got into her lipsticks, which were labeled and perfectly placed. The back bedroom was my mom’s. It was painted in a very pale blue color, which, of course, matched the comforter and pillows. The bookshelves were full of the classics and Mimi’s Bible-study workbooks from years prior. Inside the books she’d made copious notes and highlighted passages. It wasn’t until she passed away that I realized how much she loved the Lord. She was very private about her faith. Those books eventually made it onto the bookshelves in my childhood bedroom at my parents’ house.
I loved going to Mimi and Pop’s house because it was a happy place. They never spoke an ill word about anyone, at least not around me. Mimi’s motto (and eventually my mom’s motto) was, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say it at all.” My grandmother was one of the few people I felt understood me.
And now she was dying.
I didn’t understand it. She ate better than anyone I knew and was the picture of health. We never expected her to get sick. Every day she weighed herself. If she ever went over her usual 103 pounds she cut back on her eating until her weight dropped back to normal. All in all she’d never had any kind of real health problems until she started feeling bad one day. Then came the doctor’s diagnosis. And then the phone call.
The illness progressed quickly. I tried to spend as much time with her as I could, but with my school schedule that became more and more difficult. However, I made the time. On one of her last days I drove up to Greenville just to sit with her in the hospital and talk. And that’s all we did. We talked like she wasn’t sick and she was going to live forever. They say when someone you love is dying you should let them know that it’s okay for them to go. I wanted to do that, but at the same time, selfishly, I couldn’t bear the thought of not having her in my life. I didn’t want to let her go. Her Presbyterian minister came into the room and prayed at her bedside. I listened as they talked. At one point he started reciting Scripture. My grandmother recited it verbatim with him. I never knew she’d memorized Scripture. She never let on. She never told me. I should have known. My grandmother didn’t talk a lot about her faith, but she lived it every day.
A day or so later I had to say my good-byes. I remember feeling a sense of peace knowing she would be with Jesus soon and I would see her again. My mother and aunt spent every waking hour in the hospital room with her. They took turns sleeping in the chair or the cot the nurses had brought in for them. They played cards and sat by their mother until she took her last breath. To say it was a sad moment is a huge understatement. To this day no one in our family can talk about it without tearing up. I’m writing this twenty years later and I still have tears streaming down my face. At Mimi’s funeral the minister read this passage from the book of Proverbs: A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.
Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.
She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.
She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands.
She is like the merchant ships,
bringing her food from afar.
She gets up while it is still night;
she provides food for her family
and portions for her female servants.
She considers a field and buys it;
out of her earnings she plants a vineyard.
She sets about her work vigorously;
her arms are strong for her tasks.
She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night.
In her hand she holds the distaff
and grasps the spindle with her fingers.
She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.
When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet.
She makes coverings for her bed;
she is clothed in fine linen and purple.
Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land.
She makes linen garments and sells them, and supplies the merchants with sashes.
She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.
She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness.
Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her:
“Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all.”
Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.
—PROVERBS 31:10–31
This passage
perfectly described my Mimi. She was the picture of a “Proverbs 31 woman.” Listening to the minister read these words made me miss her even more, and thank God for her at the same time. But the words did more than that. I decided at that point to make her proud, be the best I could be, and do well in the broadcasting field. I knew I wanted to work in a top-ten news market someday or at the national level. Reflecting on my grandmother’s life, I also had another goal. I wanted my character to be like hers. I, too, wanted to be a Proverbs 31 woman. Charm is deceptive. And beauty is fleeting. But a woman who fears, serves, and loves the Lord will be praised. No matter what else I may accomplish in my life, that is the praise I long for above all else.
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“Reporting Live for WLTX . . .”
Whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.
—1 CORINTHIANS 10:31
DURING MY FINAL semester at South Carolina I got my first taste of what it was going to be like to actually work in broadcast journalism. The university had both a radio and television station, all manned by students. I rotated between the two, working every position possible. That meant I worked as director one day and the camera operator the next. Or I chased a story as a reporter and came back to anchor the newscast at 4 P.M. When I reported on a story for the campus television station I took the camera out, lined up my interviews, and then figured out the best angle to set the camera up on a tripod, pushed the record button, and jumped in front of the camera for my stand-up. We called that a one-man band. Back at the studio I had to write the script, cut the sound bites of the people I interviewed, edit the piece, and then get myself ready to go on the air. Other days I hosted the radio show or worked in the control room on the soundboard. Basically, during that final semester I did anything and everything I might one day need to do to land a job. It was the hardest semester I’d had, but it was also the best preparation for what was to come. I called it my first real job.
The Light Within Me Page 5