26 May, 2015 06:27


Warrior: I love the breakdown of the word.

War. I. or.

(Or what?)

If you break down the word, you see War first, which is what life sometimes feels like. There are times you war for your soul, your family, your relationships. And, you. When your health and fitness takes a backseat – nothing else feels right.

Or what? The or in the word warrior,
is a reminder of what we don’t want to happen when we are not taking our rightful position as a warrior.


I recently started back running the trail after a car accident on a mountain, a torn sartorious, (Google it) a year of injury, and ten pounds gained.

Today I was inspired by the Reebok spartan race series. How can you not feel like a warrior when you see a poster like this?

I dusted off my first pair of Reebok trail shoes ever – the ones that replaced my old running shoe that I shalt not name – and fell in love again.

Is it time to get your inner Warrior back?

I always say there are 3 simple steps to doing it.
1. Lace up
2. Set a big goal
3. Move every day

By lace up, I mean, buy yourself some cool shoes. I find that when I invest in the gear, I’m committed to the process. Get the gear you want, and lace up everyday.

One great goal is a race. Go to www.spartan.com enter the code Memorial –

and join me in signing up for a race. Save the date, print the information sheet, and tape it to your refrigerator.

There’s nothing like a big goal to get you in shape for summer, and Spartan has a big Memorial Day discount. I’m on a mission to get stronger and fitter. For me the I in warrior, means I only have to compete with myself.

10 May, 2015 10:08

Letter to a Depressed mom,
on Mother’s Day

I met you at a joyful time in my life.
You were strong and beautiful. You were not crazy. You were not mentally ill.

But you were determined to kill yourself,
and you told me just ten minutes after we met.

This letter is for you, L.
I thought of you today when I looked out this magnificent window that you left behind.

Each day I open my eyes and this is my first view of the world. A magnificent forest alive with birds, trees, and brilliant shards of light. A slice of heaven on earth.

I heard your words ring in my head this morning when I asked about that window. “We’ve never had curtains,” you said.
And I was astonished.
It was the day I was about to buy your house, and I recall thinking it would be impossible to sleep with the unknown of the scary forest peeking in the wall of windows that surround the bedroom!

I was coming from a place of fear –
that has since been rooted out of my heart by love.

Before I met you that day, your
realtor took me on a tour through the home.
In the master bedroom I felt an unexplainable sadness when I sat on the corner of your bed, and I began to cry.

The realtor looked at me uncomfortably.

Today I understand what I didn’t back then. That there are things we cannot see, but that we can feel. I understand that humans are mind, body, and spirit and that we can sometimes feel the grief of another even if we haven’t met them yet.

When I made the offer on the house, I knew I would have to leave behind my dream. I had a seven acre ranch with nine animals including horses, and a pretty adorable black and white cow. I had a barn, an ATV, and an amazing little pond to fish in.
I told the realtor the truth. “I can’t explain this. I love my ranch. I just feel as if buying this new home is not about me.”
He sat there, stunned, and later he told me that it was the deal that changed his life.

He told me that the wife had tried to commit suicide once already, and that the husband and kids had been living there alone.

You had checked out, L. Somewhere between school activities, making dinner and folding laundry you had decided it wasn’t worth it anymore.

When I met you I knew exactly why I was supposed to live in your house. The house itself has become a metaphor for possibility. It feels as if anything is possible, here.


On the day you handed over the keys to a stranger, your eyes were flat and your body
soulless as you told me, robotically,
“I’m going to kill myself.”

It was you, but you were not there, as if something had taken over your soul.

You were a walking zombie, flat and cold.
Already dead. Deadened by years of inner conflict and discontent, and by whatever demons had corrupted your heart.

It was just me and you sitting there in your dining room, because your four girls were upstairs running through the bedrooms and halls, saying goodbye to their childhood.

You were ready to move on.
They weren’t.

I could hear their footsteps, and I felt the shivers of a thousand years and the souls of regretful suicides.

And then I felt anger.

I’m writing this letter to you today,
because I know you’re healed.

And I want you to know I am too.

I told you about my father that day, and how he took his own life. I told you about the anger that crept into my heart as a child, hollowed it out, and turned it into stone. I told you about my youth, my difficulty in understanding relationships, my fear of being abandoned as a child and my decision, at twelve, never to love anyone. And then I told you about my transformed heart.

I spoke to you not as another mother but as a daughter who had suffered from a parents decision.

“If you commit suicide,” I said, “Your children will never believe you loved them. They will know that you didn’t care enough about them to stay.”

We left it at that.

I spent that first night in my new empty house, (yours and mine) thinking of you. Praying for you. Pleading with you silently.
I slept on the floor by the fire because there was no furniture, and stared at the ceiling.

To all the mothers out there who think there’s no other solution, this letter is for you, too.
hang on. The sun will rise on another day.

L, I thought of you often and then again years later, when a mother a few miles away took her own life, and killed her children and husband too. There had been no argument. She was not crazy. But she was depressed and suicidal, and she kept it inside.

When I read the story I wanted to turn back time.
“If only,” I thought.
Even though she was a stranger, I had a feeling of loss and regret that our paths hadn’t crossed before she made that horrific decision. Could I have said something to make a difference? Yes, I thought. I would have tried.

But you can’t live in that thought.

You cannot reverse a bad decision.

You have to choose not to make one.

This letter is to wish you a happy Mother’s Day, L.

What kind of mother have you decided to be?

I have two children of my own now and their laughter fills the rooms that your children were once raised in.

We’ve had hundreds come through these doors – for fun, for counseling, and for celebrations, events for kids, and music by the fire. A little girl with one leg, battling cancer, sat in the living room with a fight in her heart to hang onto life.

Each day is a gift.

I’ve taken good care of your house, and the lives within it. These floors are covered with crayons and cars and nerf guns and shoes, just the way I like it.

Sadness and depression are not welcome here. They are not friends of mine. They are enemies in fact, and I don’t let them inside. I hope you don’t, either.

Thank you
for having the courage to reach out that day. Thank you
for saying something about your pain.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for stopping by the house years later to tell me that my words made a difference.

Thank you
for letting me know that you made the choice to live, and to be the mother you were created to be.

I cannot change my fathers decision but I can have peace and comfort that you changed yours.

On this Mother’s Day, it is one of the greatest gifts I can remember.

2 May, 2015 13:26

Words are currency
and the man in the Orange shirt

In the photo I’m wearing my fathers watch.

He died from a lack of hope when I was 7 and it’s the one thing I have that was his. I wore it on this day to signify hopelessness, as we journeyed downtown to deliver hope.

When I saw this photo of the man in the orange shirt, after our day on the streets with the homeless, I felt 7 again. I see the hopelessness in this mans eyes. I see my father, I see friends and strangers, I see someone’s mother or grandfather. Hope is essential to life.

Without hope, we can see no future.

It makes me sick inside to look at this photo and I cannot stay in that emotion for too long.

If I do, I’ll become what I once was. Someone stuck in the past, unable to experience the full joy of the present.

There are children to feed, sporting events to watch, lessons to teach, and a magnificent world to experience.

We can help change lives, but not if we lose our own.

Many of the homeless get stuck in looking back. They end up on the street because they cannot move past the loss, guilt, or a broken relationship, to envision hope.

I brought a team downtown Dallas on this day and in our hands we have nothing but words.

We do not serve them a pizza, or a meal, but we serve them words. Specific words that were designed just for them individually.
You matter.
You’re beautiful.
Rise up.
The time is now.
Never give up.

The same words are important for anyone, even the rich man who is homeless in his heart.

Look in the man’s eyes again, and you’ll see that homelessness is not about a lack of food or poverty. Homelessness originates from poverty in the soul.

Words are Currency. Write down your most profound thoughts and join us in the words matter campaign today. Please keep notecards in your car, in your purse, in your back pocket.

Be prepared to deliver these cards whenever you see someone in need of hope. It does not require much effort, it does not even require a conversation, you can hand out the note card and go on about your day.

Use your words, and change a life.


Visit me at www.tammykling.com

And please subscribe to my you tube channel at

29 April, 2015 11:27


Clarity precedes action.

In order to have the life intended, it’s important to eliminate confusion.

In life you’ll have a myriad of choices.

In order to make the best decision, you need clarity about which path to take even if you don’t have evidence.

How do you get clarity? Listen.

When I saw this image it was a reminder to remind you.

A year ago my boy asked me to get rid of my Ducati motorcycle and I did. He had a sense something bad would happen. I did it out of respect.

If we don’t listen – to our children – why would they listen to us?

Notice the boot in the right hand corner. It’s a horribly sad news photo and when I saw it I thought of her family. (Or his). That’s my boot. The black safety boots ones I wore. Only mine are on the floor of my closet as a reminder, everyday, of what I gave up.

That Ducati was an escape that made my heart happy. But the season had changed. That last lap on the bike around the racetrack was filled with questions. Did I own it for the right reasons? Was it conducive to my goals of raising warriors and walking them down the aisle? Was I committed enough to putting the time in to get good enough to stay alive?

Learning the technical aspects of operating a racing motorcycle is like learning how to write a book. It takes time. Dedication. Commitment. And there are specific technical standards that you have to know because publishers require it.

But I also had a sense of knowing that my season on that bike had ended. It was a weird sensation. No evidence, just a discernment in my spirit.

For me this image is a reminder to listen. And I share it with you not to make you sad, but to ignite contemplation. And maybe even to save your life.

This isn’t about motorcycles.
It’s about having clarity – every step of the way.

Grab hold of the adventure. But don’t forget to stop, and listen. Ask: Is this the path I’m intended to be on? Is this relationship, job, motorcycle, fill in the blank – meant for me?

Know where you’re supposed to be.
This is the first step to a supernatural life.

If you lack clarity, hit pause.
Are you on your own adventure, or someone else’s?


Visit me at


There is one magnificent image that come to mind when I think about transformation.


When I was in college I made a bet with my best friend that I would pay her $100 if I ever had kids. It was not in my game plan.

Today I have two amazing children that rule my life, tell me what to do, give me phenomenal life lessons, make me breakfast in bed, and keep me aligned with my goals. But my goals are very different today than they used to be.

After college I was completely focused on a successful career. But along the way, I had a crossroads moment.

It was one of those moments where after I had achieved so much success, I started longing for more. In an instant I realized I needed to change my life in order to have a different life.

I was a corporate executive running around the globe wearing suits and high heels. But one day I suddenly realized that I wanted a job that could change the world. I wanted career that was more than a job, so I started to write books and use words to change lives. I did not know what that looked like. And it scared me to think of giving up my amazing career in aviation.

When I look back at the transformation, I realize that I don’t look anything like I used to look.

Now, I’m writing this in my pajamas, (and its 3 o’clock.) I know, nothing to brag about, but before, I had my hair pulled back in a bun, and I wore conservative corporate suits daily as I met with CEOs in their offices around conference tables. Today when I meet with executives it’s likely I will have streaks of pink or blue in my hair, wear jeans, and it’s possible I’ll have one of my kids with me.

I have loosened up a lot and life is a crazy adventure.

But transformation never could have occurred if I wasn’t willing to let go of the life that I had.