Holding the Spoon

Occasionally in life, we come to a point where we begin to feel stagnant. When the everyday becomes so routine that it ceases to be a challenge or a learning experience. And like a crime investigation gone cold, sometimes it becomes necessary to find a way to stir things up.

My husband (who is Chief of Police in our town) and his detectives recently did such a thing on a two-year-old homicide case which had almost gone cold. Recent changes in their department (including my husband coming in as chief), particularly the detective division, prompted them to start the investigation from the beginning, look at it with fresh eyes. Then they started all over by calling in a search and rescue team, complete with trained K-9s, to re-canvas the scene of the crime.

I think the same kind of thinking can apply to writing or to other art forms, as well as any aspect of life. Stirring things up is how I got my first book contract. And then again, stirring led me to my agent. Indeed, we stirred our family by moving to Texas a little under two years ago. There is extreme value in shaking things up, breaking patterns, accepting change. Change is growth. And growth is always, always good.

So they stirred this investigation, and while initially, no new evidence surfaced, the presence of the team was enough to start an avalanche of new information that bled with old information, and three weeks later…

This.

An arrest. A strong case. Closure for the victims and their families. A murderer off the streets.

Stirring the cold pot brought out information that led investigators down the right path, just like stirring our family life to come to Texas led our family into some incredible, phenomenal growth. I am still awaiting the verdict on the progress with my career as an author, but big things are coming there too. I can feel it.

I’m already holding the spoon, dipping it in the sauce. Once again, it’s time to give things another little stir.

In Which I (possibly) Skipped Church and Ended Up Chasing a (real life) Criminal

So … There’s this thing that happened. And it was a one of those things that people think only happens in movies or books—and most of the time that’s probably true.  Unless, of course, you’re married to the Chief of Police in your town. (And actually, even when he wasn’t the chief, stuff like this happened to us—so yeah. Maybe it’s more about being married to a cop? We have been known to apprehend shoplifters at the grocery store with our cart half-way full and our ice cream melting. But I digress.)

Back to this particular Sunday. I work with the young women in our church, and it was my turn to teach the lesson. My plan included asking a lot of questions that would require responses from the girls, which meant I needed candy with which to bribe / reward them. So after the larger congregation meeting, my husband and I skipped our next class for a gas station run.

My husband’s personal car is also his duty car, which means our Tahoe has red and blue LED lights and a police radio installed, and the radio is always on whenever we’re in our town. We had just left the gas station and were heading back to church *coughcough* when dispatch notified the on-duty officers that county officers were in pursuit of a suspect (read: suspected carjacker) who had just driven into our town, crashed his first stolen car, and then stolen a second one.

The suspect was less than a mile from us. And being the chief, my husband needed to make sure everything went smoothly with this pursuit, since safety is always an issue. And so the LEDs went on, as we zipped between streets, passing a number of seemingly stunned onlookers, and a number of vehicles which the suspect had crashed into before he took off and fled on foot.

At that point, my husband armed himself and put on his bullet-proof vest as he instructed me to take his car and go back to church. But the foot chase didn’t last long, and with the help of concerned citizens who kept him in sight, officers apprehended the suspect and took him into custody before I could adjust the driver’s seat so I could reach the gas pedal. 

My husband returned to the car. “I’m going to be a while dealing with these accidents. Why don’t I take you back to church?”

Sunday school just got a whole different meaning.

“Well,” I said, feeling rather accomplished, considering that it was before noon. “My car is there, and so are our kids.”

And so back to the church I went. And guys, believe it or not, I made it in time to teach my lesson. Not only that, I learned one myself. Next Sunday we should probably skip the gas station run. Unless we plan to fight other Sunday afternoon crimes. If only I could remember where I put my cape…

*Interested in the real news story? You can watch the clip here or read about it here.