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The short-sleeve t-shirt and the long-sleeve thermal offered through Greater Than Goods have not only garnered lots of attention, but have certainly done their job in promoting our incredibly popular smile-producing free teddy bear program!

Thank you, Greater Than Goods! {And, for a limited time, enjoy $5 savings on both shirt designs!}

I knew it was cancer. Not because I’m pessimistic, but as Nancy Reagan said when she received her breast cancer diagnosis, “It’s my turn.”

My mom, Mary Myers, received her breast cancer diagnosis on Thursday, June 5, 2008.  As she spoke the words to me “it is cancer” – it was as if I had already heard them, like I had already lived that moment.  I was ready to start the journey with her.

Millions of women and their families are affected by breast cancer each year, and for whatever reason, God had already prepared me for that moment of truth. Some family members and friends cried out of fear and compassion, others had just the right words of support to offer, I was just ready to fight. My mom will not die from this disease.

Through surgery and the initial stages of chemotherapy, my mom has been solid – she’s a pillar of strength, a figure of deep faith and an inspiration to others.  She has taken the news of her diagnosis, the surgery and treatments, the poking, the prodding, the associated discomfort and pain – all with courage and her head held high.

On Saturday, October 25, 2008, I will proudly walk with Mary’s Team at the 2008 Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in Des Moines, Iowa. I’ve been involved with Race before, as a walker, a supporter of the many women and families affected by breast cancer. This year, I will support the most important woman in my life as she graciously, without question, takes her turn.

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Well that day of the storm, I was actually getting ready to go to my friend’s HUGE party that she has every year…and since I “loved” driving in the rain I begged mom to let me go pick up my brother Jack at his friend’s house. (I’ll never offer to drive in the rain AGAIN!)

When I got to the house it was hailing pretty bad. We went back and forth deciding to head home or wait out the storm. We actually turned around 3 times before the sirens went off, making our final decision to head back to the house for cover. By the time we got to the house, the huge tornado was only a half a mile out and you could see it clearly coming STRAIGHT towards us! Locking my purse in the car we ran into the house. I grabbed Jack and made him take off his shoes for courtesy – prob. the dumbest thing I ever did.

While we were downstairs we started in one room with cement walls. I was on the phone with my friends when Brian’s dad came running and told us to run into a smaller room. We were able to fit 7 of us and a dog in a very tiny and dark room! The second we stepped in my ears popped, which I thought was very weird!

When the tornado went over us, I launched my body over my brother’s and two little girls and the dog the best I could. While everyone was kind of panicking I remained calm for Jack. I yelled prayers into his ear and reassured them God would keep us safe. It felt like an airplane landed right over top of us.

Debris from the wall was falling on us and I remember thinking that if the wall collapsed I would never forgive myself for Jack’s sake and that I should’ve just gone home instead. It’s weird when people say they saw their life flash before their eyes, because it’s truly what happens. You see your friends and your family but most of all you try to keep hope and not dwell on everything – but just as soon as the tornado came it was gone.

We headed outside and what we saw was unbelievable. Their neighbor yelled for help while the girls cried for their home. I panicked at first, thinking if there was another storm coming I would get Jack safe and make a run for it! So I ran out to the next street and stopped a truck to ask about the weather. I felt bad leaving Jack for even that moment, ‘cause he was yelling at me to come back to him.

I realized that day that your life isn’t about the newest iPod to buy or even winning a game, but about loving your family and doing everything in your power to make sure they knew it! I went through my mind soooo many times trying to remember the last things I said to people. Looking out at Parkersburg the first time outside of the destroyed house I literally believed all my friends were dead. That was by far the worst part of it all, believing there was no hope.

If we would’ve stayed in the very first room we me would not be here today. The first room was completely caved in. That’s when you KNOW God did so many miracles by pulling families into the right place at the right time! The tornado changed so many things. I wasn’t able to sleep for weeks ‘cause I couldn’t get the sound out of my head or forget Jack pleading me to stay with him.

My relief only came to find out that all my classmates and friends were accounted for, and now my love for my little brother could never be stronger. Cleaning up was difficult. We didn’t go through people’s houses but all their memories, not just possessions but pictures of things they’ll never see again.

Coming home and sleeping in my bed was the worst. We opened our home for MANY of my friends to stay, and it never took away the guilt inside of me knowing I still had a place to live.

The F5 tornado knocked down my school, friends’ houses, my car, softball field, and MANY others, but honestly, all those things didn’t really matter in the big picture because they can ALWAYS be replaced. What mattered was it took away so much more than that, but allowed us to realize how much we truly loved everyone in our community.

Many changes were made after the storm and not once can you go through your day without thinking about the gigantic tornado that stripped Parkersburg of about everything. There are just so many reminders around you. I even have the scars all the way up my right leg to prove it.

I am a survivor of an F5 tornado and I am and will always be proud to be an A-P Falcon!

I wake up to a beautiful summer morning. As I shower, I think about the day to come. Let me be up to the task at hand. Please keep my asthma in check so that I may help those who have much greater difficulties in their lives. Let me make a difference today.

On our short bus trip to Cedar Rapids, our crew of 16 volunteers chats and makes introductions. The morning feels somewhat like a school field trip.

We will be working at a house that has had most of its belongings already removed. Most of our work will be structural. We pass home after home with debris piled high at the curb.

We are given a walk-through and are told our assignment is to take any belongings to the curb, tear the plaster and lathe, the carpet and sub-floor, remove the kitchen and bath cabinets and take all debris to the curb. We are given garbage cans, tubs, hammers, crow bars, and brooms.

I begin in what must have been the living room. Looking into the front closet is like peering into the twilight zone. The contents are covered in sludge, in their original positions. I grab the coats and jackets and hustle them out to the curb as fast as I can. I go back for a second load, a third, a fourth. I feel like I am making progress as I sweat under my mask and my shirt grows damp.

I dig into the items on the shelves. I am overwhelmed with emotion as my task becomes much more personal. I uncover two photo albums and a box of Christmas decorations.

I think about the family that lived in this house. Even though the photo albums are covered in mud and mold, I can’t bear to throw them onto the growing pile at the curb. I carefully place them in a corner of the front porch. I take a break. I wipe the sweat, I wipe the tears, I curse myself for only putting four Kleenexes in my pocket this morning.

Surely, shoveling up bits of plaster and pieces of lathe will be easier. Because of the masks we work in silence. The work is chaotic, and without order, something I find difficult.

It is hard to feel that we are making progress as a gentleman in a Salvation Army t-shirt stops by with sandwiches and juice. He tries to coax the group to take a break, but ends up leaving his offerings in the front yard. We are all intent on finishing our assignment before four o’clock, when our bus will take us back to what is our own reality. Though our backs are aching and sweat soaks through every garment, there are no slackers here today.

Warm and tired, we cross the river on our way back to Rockwell Collins. The bus is quiet. Leaving the house, we felt we had accomplished a lot. It is a fleeting victory however. I use the ride to calculate the volunteer hours needed to rescue this city. In one day, our crew of sixteen was able to get one floor of a two-story home to the point that it can be cleaned and then possibly reconstructed. There are 4,500-5,000 homes affected by the flood in need of the same help.

We check in for the evening shift (since we are only here for the day, we have decided we need to get the most out of our trip). This group is slightly larger.

When the bus drops us at our site I spot a man and woman in their 70s working in the garage and a man of about the same age in a car parked on the street under a shade tree.

I learn that the house belongs to Walter, the man in the car. Walter is disabled and requires a wheelchair for mobility. I walk over to talk with Walter and he tells me that he lived alone in this one-story house and at the height of the flood, the water was over twelve feet high in this area. During the flood of 1993 water only reached the curb. I ask Walter’s cousin (the man in the driveway) if we are trying to salvage anything. He tells me that Walter keeps mentioning a letter opener that belonged to his mother and if we could just find that…

It has been several weeks since the flood yet Walter’s house has not yet been opened. I attempt to open the front door. I push and push against something blocking the door’s path and am finally able to move the door about eight inches. As it begins to open, I am hit with a wave of the smell of devastation. Even through my mask, the stench is so overwhelming I can hardly keep upright.

This is why we are here. I tell myself get over it. A good half-hour later the muck, sludge and belongings are dug out away from the front door to get it fully open. It is hard to believe what I see.

It is as though the entire contents of the home of this kind old man, a collector of things, an avid reader, a devout Catholic, were whirred up with sewage, mud and water in some giant blender, then poured back into the structure. The water was so high the ceiling, attic insulation, and contents of the attic have collapsed and rained down over the mess. The house and its damp contents have cooked in the warm weather for four weeks.

Eight of us have been clawing, shoveling, pulling and dragging Walter’s life out of the house for hours. Walter never leaves. He watches from the backseat of the car across the street, sitting up just a little straighter each time we make a trip to the curb, straining, hoping to see something familiar, something comforting.

It is the close of our shift; we have cleared all of the contents of Walter’s house to the curb. We have shoveled out all of the muck and debris down to the carpet. I feel both elated and very, very sad.

In contrast to the previous return bus ride, this one buzzes with quiet conversation. I have shared a life-altering experience with this group of eight former strangers. They marvel that we have come all the way from Des Moines to help. I marvel that more have not.

As I shower off the pieces of my day, I think about Hurricane Katrina, I think about the volunteers who worked tirelessly during 9/11, I think about the importance of volunteer efforts. I think about how thankful I am that I live in a place like Iowa, where I know this kind of help will be there if I need it.

If you believe that the flood damage in Cedar Rapids is “being handled” or “under control,” you are sadly misinformed.

If you think that you are too busy, or don’t have the skills to make a difference, you are wrong. This world is full of vibrant, passionate, energetic people…the kind of people that can make a difference. You can make a difference. Just ask Walter.

There is good inside everyone. Sometimes you can even find it in your own backyard.

RAGBRAI, the annual bike ride across Iowa, brings visitors to our state from all over the world. Riders unplug from their daily lives and plug into the spirit of the small towns across the state. This year, Ames (our home) was proud to be one of the host cities.

One team of bikers - the Whiners, 30-year veterans of RAGBRAI - found themselves camping at a park in my family’s backyard. Light introductions were made. Water for showers was offered. The subject of Greater Than Goods came up. (This is where the good begins.)

The Whiners were moved by our story. Inspired, they held an impromptu auction of authentic Aussie goods donated by a DJ from the land down under. They asked that the proceeds go toward our cause, to help Iowa recover from the summer storms. They, too, wanted to benefit the 2008 Disaster Fund.

On that night, people from across the country (New Hampshire, Florida, Connecticut, Michigan, etc.) and halfway around the world (Australia) came together to express the good that lives inside each of us.

Thank you, Whiners, wherever you are!