Falling Into Place

Hattie Kauffman

Description

From her humble beginnings to the bright lights of network television, Hattie Kauffman weaves a story both heartbreaking and redemptive. Nationally recognized for her high-profile interviews and coverage of disasters and triumphs that affected millions, Kauffman candidly shares the experiences that made her into a perceptive and award-winning newswoman.An inspiring account of the Holy Spirit's transforming power, Kauffman's life is a true testament to God's goodness. Now available in trade paper.

Sujets

• Sociologie, société et politique

Informations

• Publié par: Baker Publishing Group
• Date de parution: 15 septembre 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781441242730
• Langue: English

Extrait

© 2013 by Hattie Kauffman
Published by Baker Books
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
www.bakerbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means for example, electronic, photocopy, recording without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-4273-0
Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Scripture quotations labeled CEV are from the Contemporary English Version © 1991, 1992, 1995 by American Bible Society. Used by permission.
Scripture quotations labeled NKJV are from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations labeled TLB are from The Living Bible , copyright © 1971. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.
Scripture quotations labeled KJV are from the King James Version of the Bible.
All dates, place names, titles, and events in this account are factual. The names of certain characters and some details have been changed in order to protect the privacy of those involved.
The author is represented by Ambassador Literary Agency, Nashville, Tennessee.
“I had always watched Hattie Kauffman on television and admired her work. She’s determined, focused, and a gifted reporter and storyteller. Now I know where she gets it from. Hattie’s story of how she ‘made it’ is the quintessential American success story, only Hattie’s childhood was so impoverished she couldn’t afford the bootstraps to pull herself up with. I read, stunned by the challenges she has faced, impressed with her ability to overcome them, and grateful for the lessons she has shared. I think you will be too.”
Deborah Norville , anchor of Inside Edition and New York Times bestselling author
“Hattie Kaufman has a gift. She has always known how to get to the heart of every story. Now she shares what’s in her own heart. And that’s the best story yet.”
Harry Smith , veteran television journalist, CBS/NBC
“ Falling into Place is a compelling story of life every dimension of life well told. From agony to deliverance, from a shattered heart to faith, Hattie’s story will resonate at some level with everyone. Read this book. It will nourish your soul.”
Larry W. Poland, PhD, chairman and CEO of Mastermedia International
“In the gripping story of her painful divorce and Christian conversion, TV correspondent Hattie Kauffman teaches us that the seeds of God’s love grow strongly oftentimes in the soil of suffering and always in the sunshine of surrender. Whatever cliff you are on, whatever abyss you are facing, Falling into Place will fill you with hope for a better tomorrow.”
Michael Guillen , PhD , former Harvard physics instructor and science editor of ABC News ; bestselling author of Can a Smart Person Believe in God?
To the descendants of John and Josephine
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Endorsements
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
Back Ads
Back Cover
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Doris, Jaki, Christine, James, and Tracy for your prayers.
Great gratitude to you, Trisha, for your steadfast guidance and friendship.
To Rick, much love.
To my sisters, Lilly, Jo Ann, Carla, Carlotta, and Claudia, thank you for allowing me to pull back the curtain, just a bit.
Love to those who have walked on: Mom, Dad, brother John . . . and of course, Aunt Teddy.
Chapter 1
The woman in front of me was in no shape to be on television. Her face was lifeless—her eyes red, swollen, vacant. She met my gaze as if begging to be told what to do, but I had no idea how to help her and felt every bit as lost as she looked. All I could think to do was recite the facts as I knew them. Maybe facts would bring clarity and direction.
You have a shoot this morning. You should take a shower.
My words bounced off her cold image in the mirror. She wasn’t listening.
I turned away, but movement felt nearly impossible under the weight of limbs too heavy to lift. My mind felt as though it were slipping in and out of time and I struggled to stay focused on what I was doing. Thirty minutes passed, maybe an hour. I hardly remembered showering, couldn’t recall picking out my outfit or applying my camera-ready makeup. Then I was in the middle of the kitchen, staring at everything and nothing in particular—the kitchen belonged to the woman I was yesterday. This morning, the space didn’t seem to know me. The instincts born of habit felt foreign and irrelevant.
You should eat breakfast.
But how could I, knowing he was just down the hall?
I tiptoed back past the guest room where he was sleeping and made my way to the master bedroom. Our new bedding looked regal in its gold and burgundy. It was only weeks ago we’d walked around Bloomingdale’s and decided which fabric and pattern we liked. The big sleigh bed itself was also new.
We have a brand-new bed.
Our wedding photo sat upon the dresser. We looked impossibly young. The groom didn’t have a single grey hair. I touched the picture, tracing my fingers over our faces, landing finally on our wedding kiss. We had awakened to this photo for seventeen years.
I carried the picture, in its marble frame, back to the kitchen and set it on the counter to face him when he got up. Then I walked out of the house to begin a three-hour drive to Lompoc for my shoot.
I was in no state to be behind the wheel of a car. As I headed up Sunset Boulevard and got onto the 405 Freeway, I was struggling to see through tears. By the time I merged onto Highway 101, crying became weeping. As I passed Ventura, my weeping turned to wailing. Tissues littered the front seat. Whatever had held me together was gone.
By Santa Barbara, I was cried out. I glanced at the clock, in a brief lucid moment, and realized I was an hour ahead of schedule. It hadn’t occurred to me to check the time when I was still at the house. I had simply needed to go . I pulled off the highway to regroup, gather myself, and reapply my eye makeup. Maybe I should try again to eat.
A few minutes later I found myself being seated in the hushed, elegant breakfast garden of the Four Seasons Hotel, overlooking the ocean. A waiter set freshly squeezed orange juice before me and asked if I’d like a New York Times .
What?
I stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. And then I was angry at his insensitivity. Who reads the New York Times on a day like this? Did I look like I wanted to read a paper?
Right. I’m a news correspondent. I read the New York Times every day.
I dumbly shook my head. Not this day.
Gazing at the brilliant blue of the ocean, I didn’t notice when food was set before me. When the waiter brought the check, I saw an hour had passed and I’d barely touched my plate. I couldn’t recall having a single thought during that time. It was as if I’d been clubbed on the head, so stunned that my thoughts had vanished.
Am I falling apart? You can’t fall apart, Hattie. You never fall apart.
That thin reassurance sent my mind tumbling back in time, searching for proof of this assertion.
Look Directly into the Camera
“Focus,” I tell myself, facing the huge studio camera.
I am twenty-six years old and about to anchor my first news broadcast. And in Seattle, of all places—the same city that couldn’t break us but came close, the city that was supposed to be a new beginning for Mom and Dad when they left the reservation—but where we seven kids found ourselves, more than once, huddled in a parked car on First Avenue waiting for them to come out of a tavern.
“Mom, can we go now? Please?”
“Soon,” she’d call to us, before disappearing again into the dark doorway of a bar, while we waited in the cold car. She’d emerge some time later, with a pronouncement of, “Soonly.”
“Mom, let’s go. We want to go home.”
“Soonly,” she’d sing. “Soonly.”
I pull my mind back from thoughts of my family and our history as I shuffle through the script pages and prepare to report Seattle’s morning headlines. Yet, who could’ve predicted that that shivering, skinny, Indian kid would someday be anchoring the news? Does it show? Will they see how far in over my head I am?
The station’s theme music comes on. With the floor director’s fingers punching the air just below the camera lens, the countdown begins: five-four-three-two-one—and I’m on . . . live television. Before I’m halfway through reading the second story on the teleprompter, the director’s voice crackles through my earpiece, “Drop page six.”
My brain works two paths. I am reading, hitting the words with overemphasized inflection, as I try to give them meaning and weight, while simultaneously reaching down to pull page six out of the pile in front of me and sliding it to the side. The teleprompter rolls on.
This chance to anchor is a complete fluke. I’m the rookie in the newsroom, a reporter for only a year. But the early morning newscast has just one anchor and one overnight reporter, and last night they both called in sick.
When my phone rang in the middle of the night, the managing editor asked if I knew how to anchor.
“Of