Tales of Wonder

Pray Better ... Here's How!

2012-01-25T08:40:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Yesterday was my oldest daughter's birthday. In honor of the day, I spent some time remembering all the things she's taught me about God, life, and growing deeper in my relationship with Jesus.

Here's one thing that she taught me about having a better prayer life:

We were late. Again. I put my hands on my hips and called up to Bethany’s room. “Aren’t you ready, yet?”

She peeked out from the doorway to her room. “What should I wear?”

“You aren’t even dressed?”

“Should I wear my black tank top or the long sleeved shirt with the horse on it?”

I pointed toward the window where rain pelted the glass with steady intensity. “Did you look outside?”

Her glance followed my gesture. “Oh.” She paused and frowned. “But I wanted to wear the tank top.”

“Wear whatever you want, just hurry up. We’ve got to go.”

Three minutes later, Bethany came down the stairs wearing her tank top.

My eyebrows raised, but I didn’t say a word, even though I knew the tank top wasn’t the wisest choice for a cold, rainy day. She’d learn.

And she did. Three miles down the road, goosebumps lined her arms and she was shivering. “I-I should have worn the long sleeves.”

“Yep.”

“B-but I asked you. You c-could have told me.”

I glanced back at her. “Yes, I could have. But I want you to learn to be wise. Next time, you’ll know what to do.”

She nodded and rubbed her hands over her arms.

As we drove the rest of the way (with the heat turned up), I recalled a verse about wisdom from Proverbs 8:11 (NIV): “For wisdom is more precious than rubies, and nothing you desire can compare with her,” and I realized that oftentimes I’m a lot like Bethany in my relationship with God.

I want answers, not wisdom. I want to know if should do A or B. Should I take this job or that one? Should I buy this house or that condo? Should I go here or there, do this or that?
But what if God was less interested in my choices than in my growth? Proverbs 4:7-8 (NIV) says, “Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get understanding. Esteem her, and she will exalt you; embrace her, and she will honor you.” For Bethany, wisdom cost some goosebumps. And to me, that was worth it. It was more important that she learn to look out the window and then choose her clothes wisely, than for her to be warm and comfortable on our trip to the store. So, what if, like any good parent, God wanted me to be able to look out the window, see the rain, and be able to choose wisely too.

As I considered my actions with Bethany that morning, I began to see that my own prayer life needed to change. I realized that it's better to seek wisdom than guidance. Not that seeking guidance is wrong, just like it was fine for Bethany to ask my opinion about her wardrobe choices. But wisdom, like precious gems, is even better. So, my prayers needed to shift away from "should I do A or B" and more toward "Help me to grow in wisdom so I will understand if I should do A or B."

My eyes caught Bethany’s in the rearview mirror. She was still shivering. I motioned toward the back of the car. “There’s a sweatshirt in the back for you.”

“Th-thanks. The tank top was a dumb idea.”

I grinned as Bethany grabbed the sweatshirt and slipped into it. Dumb, yes. But not disobedient. Her goosebumps didn’t mean that she’d done wrong, just that she needed to learn. And maybe it was the same for me. Just because I go through something hard doesn't mean that I didn't hear God when I decided to embark on that path. Perhaps at times He, too, just points to the rain and allows me to proceed into something unwise because he knows that in healing from that experience, He can make me wiser. Perhaps He plans to weave that experience into the fabric of who I am to make me more like Christ. Bad experiences, like Bethany’s goosebumps, can become real wisdom-builders. And God’s love is so great that He will not only transform the difficult experiences into something useful, but He will also grow me so I can be closer to Him and become the wise and mature person that He envisions me to be.

And that’s worth a little chill on a rainy day.

Why I Want To Be Like Tim Tebow...

2012-01-13T14:20:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

With the whole country talking about Tim Tebow of the Denver Broncos this week, I thought I'd weigh in too. Usually, I'm fairly skeptical about celebrities touting their Christianity. They often make me squirm because the God they tout often seems so different from the humble Savior that I know. But to me, Tim Tebow seems different. He inspires me.

Now let me start with a disclaimer -- I'm not a Broncos fan. Don't really care one way or another if they win or lose. (Alas, I am a Vikings fan. Condolences and sympathy cards may be sent to.... ;-)) But there's just something about this young, bright-eyed, in-love-with-Jesus quarterback that moves me. Maybe it's that he just seems so genuine. Maybe it's because he plays the game with such passion and joy (no matter how the game is going). Maybe it's because his teammates love him as much as his fans. Maybe it's just nice to see someone who meets success with honest humility. I don't know, but something about Tim Tebow makes me want to love Jesus more. And that's something worth celebrating.

So, as I watch this kid play the game he loves and give thanks and honor to God while he's doing it, I've decided I want to be like Tim. I want to:

1) Thank and praise God whether I win or lose...

2) Play the game with passion and joy in good times as well as bad...

3) Encourage and cheer on my teammates when I'm just the backup as well as when I'm starting on the field...

4) Believe just as fiercely when the game is going well or when it's not.

5) Live as if I truly do believe all things really are possible with God.

Mostly, I want to encounter life like Tim Tebow plays football -- with JOY, with PASSION, loving Jesus with all my heart and loving my teammates as myself ... when I throw a touchdown and when I fumble the ball. So, thank you, Tim Tebow for inspiring me to love God more fully, follow him more passionately, and live in JOY and HUMILITY in all circumstances!

2012: EnJOYment

2012-01-06T08:08:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

As I've been thinking and praying this week, I've decided my word for the year: EnJOYment! No matter what happens or what I'm doing, I want to find the JOY in it.

Step 1 for living in God's JOY this year: Recognize God's gifts to me in every circumstance of life!

Step 2 for living in God’s JOY this year: Remember that ALL things pass through God’s hands before they reach me.

Step 3 for living in God’s JOY this year: Live fully in THIS moment, not in regrets about the past or fears about the future. NOW is the moment to discover God’s love and grace!

Step 4 for living in God’s JOY this year: Trust God more, laugh more, remember that God delights in me (and you!)

REMINDER: Only the Wind Remembers (ebook) is still on special sale this week for $2.99 for the Kindle and Nook (or using the free Kindle app on your computer/iPad/etc).

For Kindle: http://amzn.to/rNRMgy

For Nook: http://bit.ly/vL8AJv

Happy New Year

2011-12-30T19:35:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Wishing you a wonder-filled New Year! May your year be one in which you ...

1) Discover something new and wondrous about God

2) Discover something new and insightful about yourself

3) Discover something new and useful about your life

And may God overflow your life with His breathtaking wonder!

P.S. Only the Wind Remembers, a story about the wonder of God's love where you least expect it, is still available as an ebook for the sale price on Kindle/Nook.)
For Kindle: http://amzn.to/rNRMgy
For Nook: http://bit.ly/vL8AJv

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

Got a Kindle or Nook for Christmas??

2011-12-26T10:15:00.001-08:00

Hi Friends,

Hope you all had a very Merry Christmas! We had a wonderful day here. And, as my Christmas gift to you, I rushed last week to get my book ONLY THE WIND REMEMBERS up as a new ebook for Kindle and Nook at a special sale price! So, if you got a Kindle or Nook (or iPad, or whatever) for Christmas (or if you already had one), I hope you'll consider downloading Only the Wind Remembers for only $2.99. Yay!

Here are some links to the book:

For Kindle: http://amzn.to/rNRMgy

For Nook: http://bit.ly/vL8AJv

You can also download the free Kindle app for your PC and read ebooks from your computer. Here's the link for the free app: http://amzn.to/oNw3fJ

And here's the free Kindle app for your iPad: http://amzn.to/agJ2lC

And of course for a Mac, simply visit the app store and download the free Kindle app there.

And here's a bit about the book itself:

Making peace with the past...

Discovering the only love that heals...

Ishi: the last of his tribe, utterly alone in the white man's world.

Allison: abandoned as a child, haunted by dreams of a mother whose face she cannot recall.

In 1911, the last Yahi Indian walked out of the woods and into modern civilization for the first time. Driven from a life of hiding, Ishi longs for one thing: to tell a secret tale, a fable of his people that only he knows. Allison Morgan understands how important it is to obey the tenets of propriety, especially when her anthropologist husband is entrusted with the care of the last "Stone Age" Indian in North America. Yet something about Ishi stirs echoes of memories long forgotten, compelling her to defy the rules. Secretly, she learns Ishi's language. And then the tale begins, bringing with it the promise of hope long abandoned. But in the midst of renewed dreams, will a tangle of hidden motives, personal insecurities, and long-masked secrets destroy her once chance to discover the truth?

Based on actual historical events, Only the Wind Remembers invites you to a times when everything was not as it seemed, when a simple tale held the key to hope, when only the wind remembered what it meant to be free.

Merry Christmas, Friends!

2011-12-23T11:18:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, Friends! Wishing you a wonder-filled Christmas and wondrous New Year.

Be watching for news of a new ebook release from me (Only the Wind Remembers) at a special discount for your Kindle or Nook just after Christmas!

And in the meantime, here are the lyrics to a favorite Christmas song that I'm contemplating this Christmas. Do you know this song?...

"Mary Did You Know"

[Originally written by Mark Lowry and Buddy Greene]

Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy would one day walk on water?
Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy would save our sons and daughters?
Did you know
that your Baby Boy has come to make you new?
This Child that you delivered will soon deliver you.

Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy will give sight to a blind man?
Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy will calm the storm with His hand?
Did you know
that your Baby Boy has walked where angels trod?
When you kiss your little Baby you kissed the face of God?

Mary did you know.. Ooo Ooo Ooo

The blind will see.
The deaf will hear.
The dead will live again.
The lame will leap.
The dumb will speak
The praises of The Lamb.

Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy is Lord of all creation?
Mary, did you know
that your Baby Boy would one day rule the nations?
Did you know
that your Baby Boy is heaven's perfect Lamb?
The sleeping Child you're holding is the Great, I Am.

Lessons from Disneyland

2011-12-16T09:23:00.001-08:00

Hi Friends,

We took a family trip to Disneyland last week (very tiring, lots of fun), and here are some things I learned along the way:

Lesson #1 from Disneyland: You can walk all day and not be discouraged if you're excited about where you're going. So, be excited about where God is taking you in life!

Lesson #2 from Disneyland's Tower of Terror: Scary rides are better if you hang onto someone you love and trust. Cling to God when you feel like the bottom is dropping out of life. He'll see you through to a safe landing!

Lesson #3 from Disneyland: No one likes waiting, but sometimes you have to wait to get somewhere great. Trust God and enjoy those around you in the waiting times!

Lesson #4 from Disneyland: Don't let fear stop you from getting on a really good ride. God is taking you on the ride of your life - jump aboard! (Lesson from Bria who took 2 days to try Splash Mountain, then loved it.)

Last Lesson from Disneyland: Life can seem like endless trudging from here to there, waits that are way too long, exhausting days, restless nights ... but look around you. You are a part of the magic Kingdom. There is beauty everywhere. And the One walking and waiting with you created it all. Take time to catch your breath in wonder. Take time to See and Rejoice!

Christmas Novellas!

2011-12-13T16:52:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

I have some fun Christmas books to tell you about this week. First, here's a Love Inspired Suspense called SEASON OF DANGER which contains two novellas.

Here's a bit about Silent Night, Deadly Night, the novella by Hannah Alexander:

After the murder of Tess Vance's fiance, Tess leaves her career as a musical talent agent and retreats home to her brother's rescue mission for the homeless in Corpus Christi, Texas. She finds solace helping others, and peace with ex-cop Sean Torrance, who has also endured great pain over the past year. Just as they begin to think life will settle for them, and their friendship will deepen into something more lasting, Tess finds herself the subject of a stalking, and the stalker hurts her by hurting and killing those she loves, including the homeless.

All of Sean's protective instincts rise to the top when the woman he has grown to love finds herself in danger once again. He'll do whatever it takes to protect her and the others he works with at the mission. As the owner and manager of one of the top radio stations in the region, he finds a way to stop the attacks, but it will mean betraying her trust. Can their relationship withstand the conflict?

Hannah Alexander website www.hannahalexander.com

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/######

AND here's a bit about Mistletoe Mayhem, the novella by Jill Elizabeth Nelson:

A romance-shy veterinarian and a widowed health inspector hunt the killer who used mistletoe extract to poison pets and people in a Tennessee mountain town.

After being jilted by her fiancé, Kelly Granger buries her broken heart in her work as a veterinarian in her home town of Abbottsville, Tennessee, located in the Great Smoky Mountains. She and her assistant, Tim Hallock, battle to save community pets from a violent and mysterious illness. Is this sickness a danger to humans? Her question is answered when state health inspector Matt Bennett is sent to investigate local eating establishments, including Kelly’s sister’s restaurant, for the cause of poisoning among the patrons. Kelly refuses to believe that her sister served toxic mistletoe extract to her customers—yet mounting evidence points in that direction. Kelly puts herself in harm’s way, facing down a vicious dog and even more vicious people, to uncover a common denominator between the human and animal illnesses. Matt has his hands full keeping up with her, as well as proving himself worthy of her trust—and hopefully, her love. Unless she has her heart set on her veterinary assistant, Tim Hallock. The question won’t matter if his investigation sends Kelly’s sister to jail. She’ll never have anything to do with him then. They need to uncover the truth. But will the answer cost them more than their romance? Will it cost them their lives?

CHAPTER ONE

Kelly Granger stared into Nick Milton’s bloodshot eyes and suppressed a shiver. It wouldn’t do to betray her fear of him, any more than to give that advantage to a wild animal.

Beefy face taut, Nick leaned toward her over the counter of the veterinary clinic’s reception area. “If my dog don’t perk up and shake off that drug you pumped into him, I’ll come lookin’ for you. He’s been layin’ around all afternoon, worthless as a tick.”

The slurred words betrayed the alcohol he pickled himself in daily. How did Chelsea live with this guy?

“Mr. Milton, Brutus’s behavior posed a danger to himself, the staff and other animals. In order to give him his check-up and vaccinations, it was necessary to administer a mild sedative first. I assure you, he will be himself by morning, barring a little stiffness in the vaccination site, which will also disappear.”

There, she’d delivered a reasonable explanation, and her voice didn’t even quiver. If she’d discovered any sign of abuse on Nick’s Doberman, she would have turned the dog over to the SPCA to get the animal away from his disgusting owner.

“Highfalutin, la-de-da doctor!” Nick shook a ham-sized fist in her face. “I’m holdin’ you to them words.”

Kelly gripped the edge of the counter. She would not back away. This creep might have a reputation for temper, but she was not going to be cowed. This was her clinic, and she’d done nothing wrong . . . except send her assistant, Tim Hallock, home early. Tim might be half Nick’s size, but at least he could have called the cops.

Nick turned and stomped out the door, admitting a burst of chill air, which washed over Kelly. She allowed herself a shiver. Some people needed a muzzle and leash more than their pets. She wouldn’t mind calling the police to let them know that Nick Milton was driving drunk again, except he wasn’t driving.

The Milton’s beat-up van sat in a parking spot outside the clinic’s picture window. Nick’s son, Greg, perched behind the wheel. Kelly’s glance met the teenager’s, and kid offered his usual juvenile leer. She marched to the door and turned the deadbolt as the van chugged out of the parking lot, spewing dark smoke from its tailpipe.

Releasing a breath, she looked out the picture window, which revealed a panorama of white-topped mountain ridges looming over the struggling business district. Even with Christmas nearly upon them, traffic was thin this early evening. Vehicle headlights vied with the twinkle of Christmas lights adorning the facades of buildings. Thankfully, no one seemed headed for the veterinary clinic. She’d dealt with enough excitement for one day.

Brutus had been the easiest patient—a routine well-check. Six other pets, cradled by distraught owners—one of them Kelly’s sister—had been presented this afternoon, each animal exhibiting the same awful symptoms. She was keeping most of them overnight on IVs to rehydrate them. Her patients would live, but more by the grace of God than human skill. She’d never seen anything like it and prayed she never would again.

Had Tim remembered to prepare the biological samples for submission to the state lab? They needed to discover what had made the pets so ill.

Kelly headed for the pharmacy, loafers squeaking faintly on the linoleum. Her pharmacy was more like a large closet than a room. The package lay wrapped and labeled on the counter. Kelly smiled. Reliable was Tim’s middle name.

A note in his handwriting sat by the box. She picked it up and read, “Courier service unable to make the pick-up until late tomorrow afternoon. One of the hazards of living in a Tennessee mountain town.”

Kelly groaned. Compared to the frenzy of her Nashville vet school experience, she’d loved returning to the gracious pace of life in Abbottsville, nestled in the heart of the Great Smoky Mountains. But around here, tomorrow was soon enough for anything to happen. Might as well get home and put her feet up.

On the drive to her modest bungalow, her thoughts refused to wind down. What if the illness was an epidemic—something bacterial . . . or even viral? Or maybe it was as simple as a contaminated batch of pet food? But what if this was a contagion that could affect people? What if . . . Whoa, girl! No point in stressing over what had hit the pets in Abbottsville until the lab returned results.

Darkness had fully fallen when she turned the final corner onto her street. She accelerated and then eased off the gas pedal. What was up with this? The automatic timer on her Christmas lights should have had her place aglow with festive decorations, but the single-story home was dark. A faulty timer? Better than some expensive electrical issue. It wasn’t a power outage. The porch light glowed on the two-story house next door, but no holiday decorations. Probably because her yet-to-be-seen neighbor had moved in only yesterday.

Kelly wheeled the Explorer into the driveway, and the headlights passed over a scene of Christmas decoration carnage strewn across her snow-dusted lawn. What in the world? She halted the SUV at an angle and scanned the mess of tinsel, strings of lights, straw from the crèche and holly and pine garland. Her stomach knotted. Who would do such a thing? Then she spotted the vandal, and her jaw dropped.

Available at fine bookstores everywhere, plus outlets at Walmart and Target, as well as on-line bookstores.

For more information and a chance to win a signed copy of the book, drop by http://www.jillelizabethnelson.com

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0373444699/jillelizabeth-20 CLICK HERE TO BUY THE BOOK NOW!

Tantrum at Disneyland?

2011-12-02T09:37:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

In honor of our upcoming Disneyland trip with the family, I thought I'd share an experience that happened a few years ago on another trip to Disneyland (plus some pictures from our previous trip too).

It happened like this (names have been changed to protect the guilty :-)):

"No! I don't wanna go!" Katy pushed out her lower lip and drew her eyebrows into a dark scowl. "I want Splash Mountain!" Her face wrinkled into a mask of stubborn fury.

Katy's look was so at odds with our surroundings that I had to shake my head. We were in Disneyland, where laughter and fun were the order of the day. How could anyone be gloomy when Mickey Mouse, Snow White, or Goofy stood on the corner to bring smiles to every face? After all, this was the Magic Kingdom.

"We'll go there next," Katy’s mother whispered. "But first, we're going on the Pirate ride. You'll like it."

"No!" Katy stomped her foot as we got in line for the Pirates of the Caribbean.

Soon, we were stepping into the big boats that would take us on our magic ride through pirate country. The soft music of crickets and water gently lapping against the sides of our boat did not calm Katy's angry spirit. She continued to glower. She refused to look around as we glided through the bayou. Her little sister cried out in delight and pointed to the tiny lights that were meant to be fireflies. Still, Katy didn’t budge. Even the pirate treasures did not interest her. She didn't "ooo" and "ahhh" as we floated through the middle of the big pirate battle, with cannon balls flying across our bow to land on either side. She didn't laugh at the rosy-cheeked man being dunked in the well or the pirates

chasing women through the windows of the town. She wouldn't join in as we all lifted our voices to sing "Yo ho, yo ho, it's a pirate's life for me."

Nothing got through to her. Even as we came around the last bend, still humming the pirate song, her frown had not dissipated. We all tumbled from the boat, the other children laughing, giggling, and excitedly talking about what they had seen. But not Katy. Despite all the magic of Disneyland, especially in the Pirates of the Caribbean, she was still mad.

I again glanced down at her small, grumpy face. Then, I stopped short as recognition whispered through me. She looked – gulp - an awful lot like me. In

fact, I was sure I had worn that same expression just a few weeks ago at church. I remembered the morning well. I had been scheduled to make an announcement about the women’s retreat at the beginning of the service, but the pastor said we didn’t have time. Then the worship team had cut my favorite hymn in order to put in some frothy chorus. And to top it off, the pastor shortened the time when we usually had prayer requests, but he left plenty of time for greeting one another. Nothing had gone the way I wanted it. I wanted Splash Mountain, not the Pirates!

Cold realization formed a lump in my chest as I grabbed Katy’s hand and headed out the ride’s exit. Had I been as silly as her, sticking out my lower lip at all the fun of the Magic Kingdom?

After all, Sunday morning services should be as joyful and fun-filled as Disneyland. I went to church to worship my God and Savior, to learn more about Him, and to enjoy His presence with others who love Him too. What could be better than that? Yet, instead of relishing the special time of gathering together in God's house, I was just as unhappy as Katy because everything didn’t go my way. I, too, had allowed selfishness to creep into my heart, so that I couldn’t enjoy the ride God was taking me on. What a shame!

These days, I try to remember Paul’s instructions: "Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others." (Philippians 2:4, NIV) That way, I can laugh and appreciate God’s Sunday morning Pirate rides, whether I’d rather be at Splash Mountain or not.

His Holiday Family by Margaret Daley

2011-11-28T21:12:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new novel I wanted to tell you about this week. It's HIS HOLIDAY FAMILY, a Love-Inspired romance by Margaret Daley, who has this to say about it:

When I decided to write a series about a town that goes through a hurricane, I wanted to give tribute to all the people who have gone through a disaster and rebuilt their lives. This series was written for the heroes and heroines who help others in a time of disaster.

Blurb for His Holiday Family by Margaret Daley:

When Hurricane Naomi tears through a small Mississippi town, a daring rescue unites two heroes. Nurse Kathleen Hart is a single mom racked by guilt over her husband's death. Firefighter Gideon O'Brien—orphaned as a young boy—has lost too many people he cared for. To rise above the storm's devastation, Gideon helps Kathleen and her sons rebuild their home. As Christmas approaches, they discover that even the strongest of storms can't destroy a romance built on the foundation of faith.

Excerpt from His Holiday Family:

Gideon O'Brien hopped down from Engine Two and assessed the chaos in front of him. Strapping on his air pack, he started toward his captain. A hand gripped his arm and stopped his forward progress. He turned toward the blonde woman who held him, her large blue eyes glistening with tears. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place where he knew her from. His neighbor's daughter, perhaps?

"My two sons and my cousin—their babysitter—must still be inside. I don't see them outside with the other tenants." Her voice quivered. She tightened her hand on his arm and scanned the crowd. "I'm Kathleen Hart. My sons are Jared and Kip. I tried Sally's cell but she didn't answer. Please get them out." A tear slipped down her cheek.

"Where are they?" Gideon moved toward his captain, his palm at the small of her back, guiding her in the direction he wanted her to go. Yes, he realized, she was his neighbor Ruth Coleman's daughter.

"Sally's second-floor apartment is on the east side, the fourth one down on your right. Number 212. Hurry." Her round eyes fastened on the fire consuming the three-story apartment building on Magnolia Street.

Gideon paused in front of Captain Fox. "Mrs. Hart says her sons and babysitter are still inside. Pete and I can go in and get them." He looked toward the west end of the large structure where the men of Engine One were fighting the flames eating their way through the top level. "There's still time."

"Okay." His captain surveyed the east end. "But hurry. It won't be long before this whole building goes up."

The scent of smoke hung heavy in the air. The hissing sound of water hitting Magnolia Street Apartments vied with the roar of the blaze.

Gideon turned toward the mother of the two boys. "We'll find them." He gave her a smile then searched the firefighters for Pete.

When Gideon found him a few feet away, he covered the distance quickly. "Let's go. There are three people trapped on the second floor. East end."

At the main entrance into the building Gideon fixed his mask in place, glancing back at the blonde woman standing near his captain. He had seen that same look of fear and worry many times over his career as a firefighter. He wouldn't let anything happen to her sons and Sally.

Gideon switched on his voice amplifier and headed into the furnace with Pete following close behind him. Through the thick cloud suspended from the ceiling in the foyer, the stairs to the second floor loomed. Crouching, he scrambled up the steps. The higher he went, the hotter it became.

Tasting the Turkey

2011-11-19T08:44:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Just had to share my turkey story to give you a little something to think about this Thanksgiving. Our family likes to remember this story before every Thanksgiving meal.

Are you tasting the turkey??? ...

"Ahhh," I sighed and smiled. It was delicious. I glanced around then snatched another bite.

This is my favorite part of Thanksgiving, I thought, licking my fingers as the turkey juices dripped down my hand. I loved to sample the little pieces of turkey that fell to the bottom of the pan during cooking. It was like a special, tasty prize that made my mouth water just to think about it. I jammed a fourth piece of turkey into my mouth and rubbed my belly, enjoying the dual pleasures of taste and smell.

At my Sunday School three days later, Pastor Ron visited our class. He sat down on the stool in front and straightened his collar. His eyes swept over the students. "Let me tell you a story," he began. "There was a man named Joe. Joe spent his life doing stuff that was very bad. He drank. He gambled. He lived a wild life. He swore all the time and never went to church. When he ran out of money, he robbed a store and then continued his bad living. On his death bed, Joe knew he was going to die, so he begged God for forgiveness and decided to trust in Jesus. That night, Joe died and went to Heaven, the same as if he had loved and served God all his life. What do you think of that?"

"Hey, that's not fair!," I burst forth. My cheeks grew red with annoyance.

"No, it's not fair," he agreed. "Not fair to Joe.”

“To Joe?” I questioned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it's not fair because Joe missed the greatest joys in life."

"But he was bad!” I exclaimed, sputtering in confusion. “If he could get into heaven, why should I bother to do what I’m told? I may as well go out and rob a store too!”

My Pastor smiled. “Do you really think so?”

I lowered my head and stared at my feet. Then, I shrugged my shoulders.

Pastor Ron cleared his throat.

I looked up at him again. His mouth was quirked in a strange half-grin.

"Tell me," he continued, "have you ever sneaked into the kitchen to taste a little bit of turkey before the Thanksgiving meal?"

I drew a quick breath and nodded my head. My eyes grew wide in shock. How had he known? I remembered back to my time in the kitchen just three days before. Yes, I knew very well what it was like to taste the turkey. It was great!

"Well," he said, glancing at the rest of the class, "that's just what it's like for you and me. All the time we spend serving God in this life is just like sneaking into the kitchen to taste the turkey. We get a little taste of heaven before the great banquet. Joe, on the other hand, doesn't get to taste the turkey in this life. He has to wait. Just think of all the fun he missed out on here in this life."

"Wow," I whispered, "I never thought of it like that.

Pastor Ron chuckled. "Now, every time you sneak a bit of turkey, you can think about the fact that every day you spend serving God is a little taste of heaven here on earth."

To this day, I still sneak my little bit of turkey before the Thanksgiving meal, and every time I thank God for another day spent in His love, tasting the turkey of Heaven.

The Essence of Spiritual Life

2011-11-11T09:47:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

In my reading this week, I came across this passage on the essence of spiritual life written by Evelyn Underhill. The thoughts and observations struck me, especially today as I'm preparing to have lots of girls over for

our Christian Cowgirl sleepover event. Today, it's very tempting to surrender to "the busy click-click" of life, just as Evelyn warns against.

Anyway, here is what she says:

"Thousands of devoted men and women today believe that the really good part is to keep busy, and give themselves no time to take what is offered to those who abide quietly with Christ; because there seem such a lot of urgent jobs...to do. The result of this can only be a

maiming of their human nature, exhaustion, loss of depth and of vision; and it is seen in the vagueness and ineffectuality of a great deal of the work that is done for God. It means ...surrender to the busy click-click of the life of succession; nowhere, in the end, more deadly than in the religious sphere. I insist on this because I feel, more and more, the danger in which we stand of developing a lopsided Christianity; so concentrated on service, and on this-world obligations, as to fofrrget the needs of constant willed and quiet contact with that other world, where fro mthe sections of service and the power in which to do it proceed. We mostly spend those lives conjugating three verbs: to Want, to Have, and to Do. Craving, clutching, and fussing, on the material, polical, social, emotional, intellect ual - even on the religious - plane, we are kept in perpetual unrest: forgetting that none of these verbs has ultimate significance, expect so far as they are transcended by and included in, the fundamental verb, to Be: and that Being, not wanting, having, and doing, is the essence of a spiritual life."

A little dense reading-wise, but good stuff! I find that I can easily get caught up in the to-do list and fail to just "be" before God. And then, just like she says, I lose depth and vision.

So, a prayer for us: Lord, help us all to Be first, to connect with You, to bask in the wonder of Your presence. May we resist the temptation to want and have and do before we want You, have You, and rest in You!

A blessed weekend, filled with some quiet moments to enjoy God and be at peace before him to you!!

Reading C.S. Lewis

2011-11-04T18:18:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

This week I've been reading Mere Christianity and Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. Great stuff! So, I thought it would fun to share a few of my favorite quotes from my reading this week. Here ya go:

1) From Screwtape Letters (remember this is the demon Screwtape talking to his nephew Wormword): "We want him [Wormwood's 'patient' that they are trying to lure from his faith] to be in the maximum uncertainty, so that his mind will be filled with contradictory pictures of the future, every one of which arouses hope or fear. There is nothing like suspense and anxiety for barricading a human's mind against the Enemy [i.e., God]. He wants men to be concerned with what they do; our business is to keep them thinking about what will happen to them.

2) Also from Screwtape Letters, Screwtape's instruction to his nephew, Wormwood: "You must bring him [the 'patient'] in which he can pacts self-examination for an hour without discovering any of those facts about himself which are perfectly clear to anyone who has ever lived in the same house with him or worked in the same office."

3) From Mere Christianity: "We must not be surprised if we are in for a rough time. When a man turns to Christ and seems to be getting on pretty well (in the sense that some of his bad habits are now corrected) he often feels that it would now be natural if things went fairly smoothly. When troubles come along -- illnesses, money troubles, new kinds of temptation - he is disappointed. These things, he feels, might have been necessary to rouse him and make him repent in his bad old days; but why now? Because God is forcing him on, or up, to a higher level: putting him into situations where he will have to be very much braver, or more patient, or more loving, than he ever dreamed of being before. It seems to us all unnecessary: but that is because we have not yet had the slightest notion of the tremendous thing He means to make of us."

4) Along the same lines form Mere Christianity: "If we let Him - for we can prevent Him, if we choose - He will make the feeblest and filthiest of us into a ... dazzling, radiant, immortal creature, pulsating all through with such energy and joy and wisdom and love as we cannot now imagine, a bright stainless mirror which reflects back to God perfectly (though, of course, on a smaller scale) His own boundless power and delight and goodness. The process will be long and in parts very panful, but that is what we are in for. Nothing less. He meant what He said."

Do you have a favorite C.S. Lewis quote?

What's Up With Marlo's Writing...

2011-10-29T14:14:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Just wanted to give y'all a little update about what's going on with my writing so you can pray! So, here's the scoop:

1) I've completed the rough draft of the proposal for the nonfiction book I've been wanting to write -- the book that takes a close look at the life of Mary to talk about how to face hard times and be transformed. So far, the working title is HIGHLY FAVORED: Living the Life You Never Dreamed. Of course, it will probably be retitled a few times before making it into print! The proposal is on my agent's desk now. If he gives me the go-ahead, I'll write some sample chapters and then we'll start looking for the right publisher. Prayers appreciated for all of those steps!!

2) In the meantime, I'm starting work on a new fiction proposal. This week on my Facebook page I asked readers whether they preferred romantic suspense or straight romance. So far, the votes are leaning more heavily toward suspense (feel free to weigh in on your preference if you haven't done so already!). I have some preliminary ideas stirring, and I'm hoping a few will gel and I'll be able to get a proposal done soon for a new fiction project as well (wouldn't that be fun?!).

3) I'll be speaking about writing at the Castro Valley writers' seminar on Feb. 18th. I'm also the speaker for the Carmel Presbyterian Church's upcoming women's retreat on March 16-18. I'll be speaking on the topic of ... HIGHLY FAVORED: Recapturing Wonder When Life Goes Awry. The retreat will be at Mount Hermon, and it's looking like it will be a great time.

So, that's the latest. Please be praying for me when God brings me to mind!

Thoughts on Walking in the Dark

2011-10-21T10:19:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

A number of my friends and family are walking through the darkness in their lives right now. As I've been thinking about them and praying for them, I've also been thinking about the three alternatives for walking through the dark. I believe that everyone has to face the darkness at times in their lives. But what we do in those times, our choices about how to respond make a huge difference in where we end up. So, here are a few quick thoughts on those three options:

1) There are those who deny the darkness, claim it doesn't exist, put on a happy face and believe that faith is just saying "God is good, all the time" as a way to run from the pain of dark times. They don't want to face doubts, to ask the hard questions, to allow their hearts to be broken by sorrow. Deep down, they fear their faith will be broken, too, if they allow any doubts or questions to surface. The only problem is that those who don't face the darkness, those who try to skirt around it, also skirt around God's efforts to help them grow deep with Him. They stick with their comfortable cliched faith, and that’s pretty much where they’ll stay.

2) There are those who God calls deeper, but in the face of the pain and darkness they turn away. They try to lessen the discomfort by turning to other things, distracting themselves to try to protect themselves … perfectly reasonable, except it results in a hardened heart, and they end up enduring the pain without gaining its rewards.

3) Then, there are those who God calls deeper, and they beat their fists bloody on His chest as they fight, struggle, doubt, hurt, wrestle, complain, cry out, accuse, rant, rave, rage, weep … these are the Jobs and Davids, the Habakkuks … they are the ones who say the wildest things, express their hearts with shocking honesty, they lay bare the wounds and face God will all the confusion, hurt, and doubt in their souls. But that’s the difference, they face Him. Always facing Him. And in time, they are changed forever. They glimpse the wonder, they put their hands over their mouths … they see God as they never could have before, and somehow they’re glad of it. And, when they say “God is good” it’s no longer a cliché, it’s a statement born out of the darkness, and it means something completely different than the same words spoken by those who have never come through that dark night. It’s a deep and profound thing. They have come through the darkness and discovered incredible light.

And that, I think, is the hope offered to all who walk in the dark. That’s why we keep fighting on even when we can't see … because there is no other way to get to that other side, there is no other way to come to that place where we’ll see Him as we never could have before.

So, for everyone who now finds themselves facing a time of darkness, hang on, hang in there, and keep facing Him through it all. There is light on the other side ... I promise, and so does He.

Christmas Gifts by Gail Gaymer Martin

2011-10-20T18:40:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new novel I have to tell you about this week:

CHRISTMAS GIFTS
including Small Town Christmas
Love Inspired Duet - November 2011

Mini-Matchmakers And An Old Fashion Christmas

When the new second grade teacher, Amy Carroll, meets the precocious twin sisters, she knows she has her hands full, but when she learns they live on the street where she is staying with her grandmother and they have a single father who is handsome and needs help, Amy’s hands are beyond full. But Amy’s from Chicago and falling in love with a small town man is not part of her plan. Can God waylay Amy’s desire to return to the big city? Can Mike Russett open his heart to love?

Martin’s story contains strong characters and touching scenes - Romantic Times

Multi-award-winning novelist, Gail Gaymer Martin writes Christian fiction for Love Inspired and Barbour Publishing, where she was honored by Heartsong readers as their Favorite Author of 2008. Gail has forty-nine contracted novels with over three million books in print. She is the author of Writers Digest’s Writing the Christian Romance. Gail is a co-founder of American Christian Fiction Writers, a keynote speaker at churches, libraries and civic organizations and presents workshops at conference across the US. She was recently named one of the four best novelists in the Detroit area by CBS local news.

This duet novel also includes Brenda Minton's Her Christmas Cowboy

Available in all stores where books are sold
To Purchase online click link: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product//0373877056?ie=UTF8&tag=novgaigaymar-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0373877056

Excerpt Chapter 1

“Mrs. Fredericks.” The office secretary leaned into the room. “Mr. Russet is here to see you.”

“The twins father.” A heavy sigh whisked the air. “Ask him to wait a moment.”

Amy took another step toward the door. No doubt the sigh signaled trouble.

“Please wait a moment, Miss Carroll. “The twins will be in your class. It might help you to meet the girls. They have a propensity for getting into trouble.” She motioned.

“They’re right across the hall in the cafeteria. It’ll give you a heads-up for Monday.”
Trouble. Amy swallowed. “I suppose that would be. . .practical.”

“Yes, and you’ll keep an eye on them while I talk with their father.” She chuckled and motioned her to follow.

Amy followed her across the hall and spotted the girls seated on each side of a cafeteria bench, cuter and sweeter looking than she’d imagined. Though not identical twins, their features were similar with bright Caribbean blue eyes.

The child with a tawny ponytail swung her legs over the bench. “It wasn’t me, Mrs. Fredericks.”

“Yes, it was.” The blonder twin slipped from her seat, her hair gathered into a ponytail on each side of her head. “Holly tore up my drawing in art class.”

“Please sit for a moment.” She gestured to the benches. “I want you to meet someone.”

They scrutinized Amy with a mix of speculation and determination. “Miss Carroll. This young lady is Holly.” She rested her hand on the one with honey brown hair and the deep frown. “And this is Ivy.”

Ivy gazed at her, curiosity written on her face.

Holly and Ivy? Amy wondered. She stepped closer. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Neither responded.

Mrs. Fredericks eyed them. “Miss Carroll will be your new teacher on Monday.”
Holly’s ponytail flipped as she swivelled toward Amy while Ivy stared at her wide-eyed.

“I’ll leave you with Miss Carroll, and you can have a nice talk.” She turned to Amy. “I’ll be back shortly.” She strode away but paused before exiting. “When I return, I’ll introduce you to the girl’s father. I’m sure you’d like that.”

“Our dad?” Two voices rang in unison.

Amy wasn’t sure she wanted her first parental contact to be with an irritated father, but she offered a nod. When she turned, the twins were peering at her again, Holly with her arms crossed at her chest and Ivy with her fist jammed into her waist.

She slipped around the end of the bench and sat at the table. Behind those sweet faces, Amy sensed sadness. She looked from one girl to the other. “What are you doing in the cafeteria.”

Holly looked away. “Mrs. Fredericks made us sit here.”

“Hmm?” Amy tapped her finger against her cheek. “I wonder why?”

Ivy bit her lip. “Kids who misbehave have to sit in here and wait.”

Holly’s frown deepened. “I didn’t do anything bad.”

Ivy pressed her face closer to Holly’s, her look searing through her sister. “You tore up my drawing.”

“But you said it wasn’t any good.”
Ivy fell back to her seat. “If I wanted to tear it up, I would have done it.”

“That’s right, Ivy.” Amy focused on Holly, monitoring her tone. “What kind of pictures were you drawing?”

Holly’s shoulders relaxed. “Pictures of Pilgrims and Indians for our social studies.”
Amy nodded. “For Thanksgiving.” Blending learning with fun was good classroom planning.

“Uh-huh, and. . .” A movement by the door caught her attention.

“Daddy.” The girls shot from the bench and ran to a harried looking man who stood inside the doorway, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

Amy’s heart gave a twinge. A five o’clock shadow encompassed his lean jaw, his chestnut hair tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it many times. His straight eyebrows stretched above his caramel brown eyes, flashing with emotion.

He rocked on his heels. “You must be Miss Carroll, the new teacher.” He strode toward her. “I’m the girls’ father, Mr. Russet. It’s nice to met you.” Frustration winked behind his pleasant grin.

Amy met him halfway while the twins hovered at his side. She dropped her palm into his, aware of his warm grip. “Good to meet you, too.”

Behind him Mrs. Fredericks grinned. “I’ll see you on Monday, Miss Carroll.” She gave her a wave and vanished.

When she looked back, the man studied her with curiosity. “I’m sure we’ve met.”

Amy drew back. “Met?”

“Years ago at Ellie Carroll on Lake Street.”

“Yes, that’s it.” Amy’s memory gave a tug.

“We live across the street.” The twins voices melded together.

“She stood bewildered.

His grin widened. “Maybe eleven years ago.”

“I don’t think so.” Yet a memory shimmered in her mind. “I was eighteen then.”

“I was twenty-three, working as a handyman.” He grinned. “Maybe you’ll remember me as Mike.”

“Mike?” The recollection jarred her. “You dug out Grams old shrubbery and planted new ones.” She pictured him in the summer sun, his muscles flexing while his shirt hung on a deer ornament in the tree-sheltered yard.

“The same.”

Amy studied his face. His unruly hair hadn’t changed. She remembered how it ruffled in the breeze, his lean handsome face taut with concentration. She’d flirted with him. But when she went inside, her grandmother notified her he was newly married. Heat rose up Amy’s neck with the recollection. She hoped he didn’t remember she’d toyed with him.

When God Seems Late...

2011-10-12T09:25:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

I enjoyed these thoughts from author friend Jennifer Slattery today:

Have you ever felt like God forgot about you? Like when you’re caught in an impossible situation with nowhere to go, searching for the life line that never seems to come? Maybe your rope got stuck in the parcel post or passed through a few too many hands along the way. But it doesn’t matter. You’re in a bind and you need God. Now. But then, when you least expect it, God does show up, and contrary to your panicked thoughts, the world didn’t end. In fact, once the storm passes and you take a step back, you realize God was there all the time. And He really did know what He was doing.

I’m always in a hurry. I’m about as far from a procrastinator as you can can get, unless of course we’re talking about errands. But other than that, I’m on constant overdrive. Not because I’m terribly ambitious, but because I can’t let go of the reigns. I expect things to get done a certain way and in a certain period of time. When they don’t I hit panic mode. And I could rationalize it a million ways, but ultimately it comes down to lack of trust. It’s like I forget that God is bigger than His creation, which includes my tiny little role in it.

Which is why I love the Bible passage about Martha and Lazarus. Martha and I would have been great friends. Or at least a highly efficient team. Although I’m sure our anxious thoughts and frantic behaviors would have given us both a migraine.

In John chapter eleven, we are told that Martha’s brother is sick. And what did you do in first century Palestine when someone you loved fell ill? You sought out the Healer, of course. And I imagine if He was a close friend of the family, as Jesus was to Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, you’d expect a rather quick response. But what does Jesus do when he learns of Lazarus’ illness? He tarried, on purpose. Didn’t He love Lazarus? Verses five and six say He did: “So although Jesus loved Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, He stayed where He was for the next two days.”

When He finally arrives at Lazarus’ home in Bethany, it’s too late. Lazarus is dead. Martha is distraught, and even accusatory.

John 11:21 “Martha said to Jesus, ‘Lord, if only You had been here, my brother would not have died.’”

Translation: God, You’re too late.

Lazarus had been dead for three days. Martha’s faith and hope had come and gone. She’d gone from fervent prayers to mourning.

Jesus’ response? I’m bigger than that, Martha.

John 11:25 “I am the resurrection and the life.”

And we know the rest of the story. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead and God’s power was revealed. And I’m sure when it was done Martha could have kicked herself for her lack of faith. Just like I frequently kick myself for mine. But the account of Lazarus has a way of bringing me back to reality. The God that made me, that saved me, is bigger than anything I could face. And His timing is always perfect.

So what happens when God is late? Now that is a question without a logical answer, my friend. The more rational question would be, when is God late? And my response would be never, even if it appears things have regressed to the point of decay.

Find out more about Jennifer at http://jenniferslatterylivesoutloud.com/

Adopting Mugsy ...

2011-10-06T11:18:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Well, if you haven't heard, we did something crazy this week. On Saturday, the Christian Cowgirl (youth) group went to the Valley View Ranch Equine Rescue adoption event at the rodeo grounds. There, we learned about how they rescue horses from being shipped out of the country to slaughter and saw about 30 horses that were ready for adoption. (Find out more at www.valleyviewranchequinerescue.org)

On Sunday, our family went back to see which horses were adopted so we could let the cowgirl group know. AND ... that's when the crazy happened. [NOTE: If you're the parent of one the Cowgirls, don't tell what we did - Bethany wants to surprise her friends! :-))

Yep, you guessed it, we brought home a cute little solid Paint gelding named Mugsy, age 1 1/2. How could I resist when the girls huddled together to see if they had enough money saved up, all together, to adopt the sweet little guy. And even Bria, age 6, whose been

saving for a bike for months and months and months, went up to her Daddy and said, "Daddy, I don't need a bike. I want to get the horsie." So, they went into his pen, brushed him, petted him, handled him, and he loved it.

And that's how I lost my mind! And found a new horse.

But it was a good reminder of what God did for us ... we were alone, abandoned, headed for slaughter. But God adopted us into His family ... but not for free, we were bought for a price! Jesus gave everything He had to save us. And now, we are HIS!

So this week, we're giving Mugsy what he needs - wormer that he thinks is nasty but it made him clean, food, water, and today the vet comes out for his vaccines (which he also won't like, but it will help him grow and be healthy).

So it is with God. Once we are His, he cleans us up and cleans us out (and that ain't always pretty, easy, or pleasant!). And He gives us what we need to grow.

As you go about your week, I hope you'll think of Mugsy ... and remember, God loves you not only enough to pay everything to rescue you, but also to give you what you need to become who you need to be - no matter how yucky that medicine may be!

Building A Family by Lyn Cote

2011-09-30T13:46:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the book I wanted to tell you about next week (a little early). It's Building a Family by Lyn Cote. Here's a bit about it:

Lawyer Eleanor Washburn defends wayward teenagers and supervises volunteers for Habitat for Humanity without missing a beat. But she is unnerved by fascinating single dad Pete Beck—especially since his chaotic life includes a little girl wishing for a mother. Sweet Cassie has Eleanor yearning for what's been missing from her lonely existence. Soon, both dad and daughter are chipping away at Eleanor's defenses. Can she find the courage to risk losing her heart to this ready-made family?

Dragons of the Watch by Donita K. Paul

2011-09-30T13:43:00.001-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the book I wanted to tell you about this week. It's THE DRAGONS OF THE WATCH by Donita K. Paul. And here's a bit about it:

The Chronicles of Chiril continue as Ellie and Bealomondore find themselves trapped in an isolated city guarded by dragons and separated from everything they know and love. How can they escape? Along the way they meet a group of wild children and a very old man, whose needs they must meet before they can find their way home. With the help of the dragons of the watch, they discover that their fate depends upon their ability to recognize and step in line with the Creator’s will.

About the Author:

Donita K. Paul retired early from teaching school, but soon got bored! The result: a determination to start a new career. Now she is an award-winning novelist writing Christian Romance and Fantasy. She says, “I feel blessed to be doing what I like best.”

When Life Goes Awry...

2011-09-23T09:28:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

I'm working on a proposal for a new nonfiction book that I hope will encourage you in your life journey with Jesus. (No title yet ... I'll let you know when I come up with something better than "Think of Really Good Title"). Anyway, here are some ideas I'm working with for the new nonfiction book proposal. See what you think! ...

So, is your life going just as you hoped and planned? No? Well, me neither. In fact, when people ask me for a sentence that defines my life I tell them it's this: "Your plans? Ha ha!" says God.

But I also find that I'm in good company. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the life of Mary, the mother of Jesus. If there's anyone whose life was the opposite of her hopes and plans, it was hers. Yet, I also think about the wonder she witnessed. Both wonder and disappointment. Beauty and sorrow. She touched it. Lived it. Embodied the journey of us all.

There she was, engaged, planning on a nice, quiet, happy life. And boom, an angel appears. Forget your plans, he says, God’s got different ones. You’re having a baby, and it's not gonna be your husband’s. You get to have God’s son. I suspect being unwed and pregnant was soooo not part of her plans!

But Mary reacts pretty well to the change of her plans. “I’m God’s servant,” she says. And then we get her whole prayer praising God in Luke 1:46-55 that we like to read at Christmas time.

But it doesn't stop there. She’s coming up on 9 months pregnant and what should happen but a decree – she has to go to Bethlehem. A long trip on the back of a donkey. I’ve been 9 months pregnant, so I can you tell you that there’s no way that a trip like that was a part of Mary’s plans. Couldn't God make it a little easier? Couldn't He intervene?

No. And worse yet, when they get to Bethlehem, they can’t even get a room. (Side note: We always translate the Greek word as “inn” in our English versions of the Bible, as if there’s some sort of Motel 6 there in Bethlehem. But that word is usually used for a guest room in a relative’s house. So, it could be that Joseph went to his relative’s house there in Bethlehem and found that other relatives were there first and had taken up all the space. I wonder if it was because they had to travel slowly because of Mary’s condition that there was no place for them once they got there?) I also wonder if they were thinking that surely God would provide a room for them, a nice place to have that baby that was supposed to be God’s son. But no. A stable. And not one of those cute, clean little “stables” like we have in our nativities at Christmas. Think poop, flies, and stink.

Eventually, the magi come. Now, that’s more like it. Gold. Frankincense . Myrrh. Gifts fit for a king. At last! Except that no sooner do they leave than the soldiers come. And they aren't bearing gifts. They're bearing swords, ready to kill all the baby boys. Talk about a nightmare. And Mary and Joseph have to run off to Egypt, a foreign country, where they’re all alone. Mary's hopes, Mary's plans, ruined again.

In time, they come back to Israel, and we get one story in the Bible about Jesus as a youth. One single story. And what’s he doing? Yep, giving his mom grief. At twelve, he stays behind in Jerusalem, and gives his mom the scare of her life. That sure wasn’t a dream come true for her. If you've lost a kid in a store, you can get a taste of the panic Mary must have been feeling.

And if that’s not enough, her son grows up. Now, if I were the mom of God’s son, I’d be dreaming of some big stuff. In fact, you can see some of Mary’s plans in her original prayer –

--bringing down rulers, maybe she’s thinking of Rome,

--helping the humble,

--bringing abundance, food, to the hungry,

--bringing glory to Israel like they once had.

But instead, her son is wandering around homeless riling everybody up. So much so that she and some of Jesus’ brothers have to go to talk some sense into him. And when she gets there, does Jesus say, “Mom, great to see you! Come on in, sit by me.”?? Noooo. He says, “Who are mother and my brothers… These are my mother and my brothers,” as he points to other people around him – not to her. Jesus’ public ministry certainly wasn’t Mary’s dream come true.

And then, of course, comes the worst of all. Can you imagine it? Watching your first born son arrested, beaten, spat upon, and then nailed to a cross to die. Because where was Mary then? She was at the foot of the cross. Can you imagine standing there as the blood drips, and his anguished cries echo in your ears. Your son. The son you love. I can imagine nothing worse. Nothing more gut-wrenching and horrific. That was never, ever, ever in Mary’s plans. That was the greatest nightmare come true of all time.

AND YET… and here’s the most marvelous point of all. It is in that horrific moment, in that moment that encapsulates the very epitome of what it means for plans and hopes to go awry, to die – in that moment we find the most incredible, wondrous, breathtaking act of God of all time. It is the moment of redemption, of glory, of splendor, of the answer to all the prayers and hopes from the beginning of time until now. It is at that moment that we find the salvation of all mankind.

There, at the precise moment when all Mary’s hopes died. When all her plans came to nothing. That was the moment of answer. That was when truly the poor were provided for, a ruler of evil was overthrown, and mercy was given, just as she prayed all those years before. It was the moment of glory.

I think it may always be that way. That there, at the very place where our dreams don’t come true, where our expectations are shattered – that is where God is standing in the greatest power. Those are the moments, the places that change the world, where we find a depth and wonder deeper than we ever dared to dream.

Because, this I know for certain: the life God gives you is not the life you dreamed. It is the Kingdom of Heaven lived through you. It is wondrous. It is incredible. It is unexpected. And it is found at the foot of the cross.

Faith in the Fog

2011-09-17T10:46:00.001-07:00

Hi Friends,

The girls had a field trip yesterday at the beach, where the fog rolled in and made the day cool and the visibility small. As I walked the beach, thinking about the difficult things that many of my friends and family are going through, I was reminded of this story:

On some days, I can almost glimpse eternity. It stretches outside my office window (yep, that's my view in the picture), reaching down the green valley lined with oaks, touching the distant, snow-frosted mountains. On those days, I gaze out over the tall Monterey pines and search out that special place where sky meets earth in a blaze of blue glory. And I know that God is real, that He created all this beauty, and that He shares it with me because He loves me. On those days, I have no doubts, no questions, no fear.

Too bad every day isn't one of those days. On many days, I can see no mountains, no valley. Even the tops of pines are blotted from my view. Instead, fog is laced through the bottom branches and swirls in thick ripples across the ground. Grayness presses against my window and forms tiny water droplets on the glass. It covers the mountains, masks the oaks, camouflages the pines.

On one of those days not so long ago, I sat at my desk and peered out into the day, and saw nothing but waves of thick fog.

“So, how do you like your new office?” My husband’s voice sounded from the doorway behind me.

I turned and smiled at him.

“I love it. And the view out this window is incredible. You ought to see it.”

Bryan strode through the door and leaned against the windowsill. His eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, really. Oaks and pines, and snow-tipped mountains kissing the sky.”

Bryan’s eyebrows rose. “Very poetic, but it looks like a bunch of fog to me.” His voice lowered to a mutter. “Snow-kissed mountains. Yeah, right.”

I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “You’ll just have to take my word for it. On a clear day . . . wow, you can see forever.”

Bryan shrugged his shoulders. “If you say so.” He dropped a handful of mail onto my desk, then turned and left.

In the moments that followed, I shuffled through the mail then allowed my gaze to again travel out the window. The fog wouldn’t lift today. And maybe not tomorrow. It could be days, I knew, before I caught sight of the mountains or valley again. But the vision of snow-topped mountains and the deep green of the valley oaks remained fixed in my mind. I knew the mountains were out there, even though I couldn’t see them. I trusted that the trees remained as green and beautiful, even when they were lost to my sight.

As I sat and listened to the silence tangle with the fog outside, I was reminded of the Bible’s definition of faith. Hebrews 11:1 (NIV) says, “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”

I used to live as if faith was seeing the mountains. I believed that if I only had enough faith, I would see God clearly, I would always know what He wants, I wouldn’t have any doubts, any questions. There would never be any fog.

But these days, I'm beginning to see faith differently. Faith, I'm coming to believe, doesn’t dispel the fog, but is found within it. Faith isn’t about seeing the mountains. It’s about believing they are there when all my senses deny it. It’s about believing in that spot of blue glory when all I see is the persistent grayness.

There are times when I wonder if God really loves me, when hurt and confusion press against the window of my soul, when doubts creep in and twine around my thoughts as surely as the fog twists through the trees. That’s when faith flourishes. As surely as I can say I know the mountains and oaks and pines are there, even though I can’t see them, so I can say, I know God loves me even though I can’t see it now. I know that I am His and that He died for me. I choose to believe what I cannot see. For faith is not seeing, but believing, even in the fog. Especially in the fog.

The Wedding Kiss by Hannah Alexander

2011-09-12T09:29:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the book I have to tell you about this week. It's The Wedding Kiss by Hannah Alexander. Here's a bit about it:

Against the backdrop of 1901 Eureka Springs, Arkansas, and the surrounding countryside, one simple kiss draws two people into a discovery that will forever change their lives.

Marriage seems the only option for Keara McBride and Elam Jensen after Keara's father gambles away her home and ends up in jail, and Elam's children need a mother's care. When the Jensens seal their vows at the altar with a kiss, however, their marriage of convenience seems much less convenient. The first kiss they share before a church filled with witnesses ignites a beacon of attraction that leaves them both feeling guilty. Elam's wife, Gloria--who was also Keara's best friend--has been dead less than a year. How can they betray her like this? And yet...oh, that kiss. When a stranger who bears a striking resemblance to Gloria shows up injured on the front porch on Elam and Keara's wedding night, the whole family is thrown into confusion, suspense and danger. But does this stranger also hold a key to the Jensens' future happiness?

Published by Summerside Press> http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN978-1-60936-308-6

His Mercy in Disguise

2011-09-09T09:57:00.001-07:00

Hi Friends,

This week, I wanted to share some tidbits of encouragement for those of you going through something difficult. So, here ya go:

1) Just discovered this beautiful, powerful, deeply encouraging song by Laura Story. It's called "Blessings" and it asks what if your healing comes through tears, what if the trials of this life are His mercy in disguise. Profound! Check it out here: http://bit.ly/ieOec2

2) A message from the sign I keep on my desk: "Trust Me. I have everything under control. --Jesus"

3) Thought for the day: Life may not make sense to you, but it makes sense to God. Hang in there and trust Him through all of it.

Are you going through a trial now, searching for His mercy in disguise? Feel free to share in a comment and I'll be praying for you this week!

When Life is Puzzling ...

2011-09-02T13:50:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

This week I've been talking with a number of people who are going through very puzzle-like times. They're handling some very dark pieces and it seems like nothing is ever going to fit together like it should. So, as I've been pondering and wrestling in prayer, I was reminded of this story. I found it encouraging. I hope you will too. It happened like this:

“No, Sweetie, that doesn’t go there.” I pointed my finger at the puzzle piece in my two-year-old daughter’s hand.

Joelle studied the bright piece and frowned. Vivid reds and pinks splashed over the cardboard surface. “Flower. Go dere.” She again pushed it into the open space along one side of the puzzle.

“It won’t fit. You’re not ready for that piece yet.”

“Fit. Go dere.” Her brows furrowed as she turned the piece sideways and tried again. Push, turn, shove, turn, stare, frown. And still the piece wouldn’t slide into place.

I tapped my fingers on the table and reached for the puzzle piece.

Joelle hid it against her chest.

I had to admit, it was a beautiful piece. Rose petals shone against the deep green background and created an enticing image of color. But no matter how hard Joelle tried, it wouldn’t fit into spot she had chosen for it.

I watched her struggle for a few more minutes, then searched through the pile for the right piece. I finally found it – a piece covered in shades of ugly brown with dark knobs for the tree trunk. “Here, love, try this one.” I handed her the picture of the brown trunk.

She looked at the piece in my hand, then at the pretty flowers in hers. She pushed my hand away. “No.”

I wiggled my fingers. “This is the one you need.”

“No.” She pointed at my hand. “Yucky.”

I looked down at the piece. She was right. It was yucky compared to the flowers. But it was the piece she needed at this time. The only one that would fit in order to make the picture complete.
The difference was that I had the whole picture in mind, the whole puzzle. She, only the piece in her hand. It took Joelle five full minutes to finally put down the flowered piece and try the one I was holding out to her.

Not that I blamed her. I prefer flowered pieces too. In the picture of my life, I’ve often tried to shove in the pretty piece – something that looks good, seems appealing. I want success in my career now. I want my relationships to be easy and comfortable. I want my children to always choose what’s right, and my health to be excellent.

But sometimes God holds out a piece that isn’t nearly so attractive. He calls me to a difficult task, to face failure or fear, to endure a painful situation, or to invest in a relationship that seems to bring only heartache. At those times, the piece He’s giving me looks brown, gnarled, and ugly when I want bright and beautiful.

And sometimes, I, too, want to hang on to my idea of how my life should be right now. Sometimes I want to force a pretty piece, one I like better, when God’s giving me the less attractive piece because in the end that’s the one that will make the picture of my life right.
“For I know the plans I have for you,” God tells the people of Israel in Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV), “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” And the same holds true for me. He knows the plans He has for me. His plans, not mine. Plans that take into account the whole picture of my life, the picture He is creating especially for me.

So today, as I watched my girls put puzzle pieces together, I was reminded that God knows all the pieces of my life, where they fit, and in what order they must be placed.

And when he hands me a piece that isn’t all flowers, I need to trust that He sees the whole picture, and one day that picture will be beautiful.

From This Day Forward by Margaret Daley

2011-08-31T16:43:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new book I have to tell you about this week:

From This Day Forward
By Margaret Daley

Rachel Gordon is stranded in South Carolina, pregnant, a recent widow when her husband fell overboard on the voyage to America. Nathan Stuart, a physician who came home from serving in the American army during the War of 1812, disenchanted with his life and the Lord, rescues Rachel and saves her life. Feeling responsible for her, Nathan tries to discourage her from living at a rundown farm her husband bought to start a new future in America. He wants her to return to England.

Rachel refuses to go back to England where her father disowned her for marrying against his wishes. The farm is all she has, and she is determined to make it on her own. But Nathan has other ideas and becomes her farmhand to discourage her from staying in America. Instead he ends up protecting her and being challenged by her. Can two wounded people heal each other?

Chapter One Excerpt:

March 1816

“We are going to die,” Rachel Gordon’s young maid cried out.

Rachel looked up at the clouds rolling in. Dark, ominous ones. She shivered and pulled her shawl tighter about her as the breeze picked up. A storm brewed, and she still had several miles to go until she reached her new home in South Carolina. “God willing, we will make it, Maddy.”

Fear deepened the lines on Maddy’s plain face. “’Tis like the squall on the boat.”

Lightning flashed, momentarily brightening the shadows of the forest. A clap of thunder rumbled the ground. Maddy screamed. The old gelding that pulled the cart—all Rachel’s meager coins could afford—increased its speed, weaving from side to side. Out of control.

Determined to be there before nightfall and in one piece, Rachel gripped the reins and fought to slow the maddening pace of the horse. Finally it resumed its plodding step. The weather-beaten cart she had bought near the dock in Charleston hit a bump in the road, jostling her into Maddy. Her maid clutched the seat with one hand and held onto Rachel with the other.

Steadying herself, Rachel rested her wrists on her rounded stomach. She had more than herself and Maddy to worry about now. Her life had changed so much since she left her ancestral home in England. She had married, conceived a child, and was now a widow, all in the space of a year. And worse, she was going to a place she had never seen because she had nowhere else to go. Her husband had used most of their money to purchase this plantation she was traveling to. It was her future, whether she wanted it to be or not.

The warmth of a spring day quickly faded as the sky grew blacker. Rachel stared at the menacing clouds through the treetops and realized she would not make it to her new home before the storm broke. She scanned the area for a place to seek shelter.

Sinister shadows lurked just beyond the road. Again she shivered, her imagination conjuring images of wild animals staring at her from the depths of the forest. She’d heard stories about the bears. Huge. Fierce. Sharp teeth and claws. Shifting on the seat, she darted a glance from side to side, feeling as though she were some beast’s next meal. She could not stop, even if it poured down rain.

Oh, how she missed England, with its gently rolling hills and refined beauty—not this raw wilderness. Like a fish floundering on land, she did not belong here. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this strange environment.

Drops of water spattered her. The wind picked up.

“That man on the boat told me about a big cat. They are out there.” Maddy whimpered, draping her shawl over her head and hunching her shoulders. “Lord, have mercy on us.”

Rachel forced herself to keep her gaze fixed on the road ahead. Once they were at the plantation Maddy would settle down. The squall two days out of Charleston had nearly sunk the ship they had traveled in. Surely this storm would not be as bad.

Taking deep breaths, Rachel calmed her racing thoughts and heartbeat. Pain spread through her lower back. She gripped the reins, the leather digging into her palms. The pain dulled to an ache. Another deep inhalation and the panic nibbling at her composure abated. Soon she would be at her new home and could sit in front of a warm fire, put her legs up, and rest. Hopefully the letter her husband had sent ahead would alert any staff to her arrival. Her glance strayed to the tall pine trees, swaying in the gust. Everything would be all right when she arrived at Dalton Plantation.

But even with Maddy next to her on the seat, the feeling she was the only person in the world overwhelmed her.

The wind picked up, whipping strands of her long brown hair that had escaped its coiffure about her face and threatening to whisk away her bonnet. Lightning zigzagged across the sky, followed by thunder. Maddy jumped in her seat. The gelding’s ears flattened.

A chill embedded itself deep in Rachel. She arched her back to ease the pang still plaguing her. Suddenly lightning struck a tree nearby, its flash a beacon in the growing darkness. A crack as the pine split into two pieces echoed through the forest. Immediately afterward, a boom of thunder cleaved the air. Maddy shrieked. The horse increased its pace while a few more splotches of water splashed Rachel. Then all at once rain fell in gray sheets.

The gelding lurched forward even faster. Rachel grasped the reins, trying to maintain control. She pulled on the leather straps to slow the horse. Nothing. He kept galloping down the road, oblivious to his surroundings, as though the hounds of hell were nipping at his hooves.

When Life's Murky...

2011-08-26T10:45:00.001-07:00

Hi Friends,

In my heart, I'm a scientist. Got my BS in Chemisty, taught high biology, and worked in the research department of a pharmeceutical company. I guess it all started in the seventh grade when I first looked through a microscope at a drop of pond water. I still remember my amazement at all that I could see through the microscope – dozens of little amoeba, paramecium, and specks of who-knew-what. The water teemed with life and activity that had been invisible to my naked eye.

Since then, through years of life that rarely goes as expected, I've discovered that life itself is a lot like a drop of murky pond water. It's often unclear, difficult to see through, and hard to understand.

But faith is a microscope. It shows me what I cannot see without it. Without faith, God’s hand in my life, his workings, his glory, are all invisible to me. All I see is the murky, yucky-ness.

When I look at life through the microsope of faith, through the lens of hope -- when I focus in on God and his workings even in the small stuff, then I truly see. God is moving. There is LIFE in the murkiness, and there is PURPOSE even in the muck.

May you see even the smallest details of your life today through the eyes of faith and hope. May you focus in through the muck, see the hand of God, and be filled with AMAZEMENT!

Thoughts on Galatians 6, Shrimp, & Servanthood)

2011-08-19T08:01:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

If you've been following my posts on Facebook (www.facebook.com/MarloSchalesky) you know that I've been reading through Galatians this week. I also ate lunch at Bubba Gump's yesterday with the fam (I had the shrimp cocktail! ... but not the beer - ha!). And that reminded me of this story of shrimp and servanthood. Read on to find out more . . .

I’ve discovered the secret to better understanding my Bible – eat out more often! Who would have thought I’d gain valuable insights into scripture at my favorite seafood restaurant? But I did.

I’d been thinking about Galatians 6:1-10 and wondering how to reconcile its seemingly contradictory message. On the one hand, Galatians 6:2 (NIV) told me to “Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” And then, only a few verses down, Paul instructs “each one should carry his own load.” (Gal. 6:5, NIV)

Huh? Which is it? Do I carry others’ burdens or make everyone carry his own? Which fulfills the law of Christ?

That night at Bubba Gump Shrimp Company, I discovered the answer was both.

There I was, sitting with my family at Bubba Gump’s, munching a plateful of delicious peel-n-eat shrimp. Servers buzzed around, bringing buckets and plates of steaming food, scribbling down orders, clearing leftovers from the tables around me. Amidst smiles and clinking glasses, they asked Forrest Gump trivia questions and recommended their favorite dishes.

I stuffed in another juicy shrimp and reached for my iced tea glass. It was empty. But no worries! Unlike other restaurants, at Bubba’s you don’t have to try to catch your server’s eye, or raise your glass when they pass and jiggle the ice. Instead Bubba’s has this simple, yet ingenious, contraption of two license plates hooked together. When the blue “Run, Forrest, Run” sign is showing on the table, the servers know you have what you need. But flip the license place to the “Stop, Forrest, Stop” sign, and whoever the closest server is will stop and ask what they can get for you.

An empty ice tea glass meant that I needed to flip the sign. So I did. A moment later, a server stopped. Seconds after that, my ice tea glass was full again. And all the while, busy servers still zipped around the tables, getting customers just what was needed.

As I drank tea and watched the woman at the next table flip her sign, I discovered the secret to the mystery of Galatians 6. Each server was carrying his or her own load. No one was slacking, all were working hard to make sure the customers had what they needed. But they were carrying each other’s loads too. As soon as a sign was flipped, someone was there, whether it was their assigned table or not.

The key was they weren’t focused on themselves, on getting credit for being a great server, or making sure they didn’t do more than others. As in Galatians 6:4, instead of comparing, their focus was on making sure the customers, all the customers, were happy. Their goal was to serve, to do good to those of us who were seated. And because of that focus, they became an excellent example of Galatians 6.

The attitude of the servers at Bubba’s is what I want in my life – relationships in which the main concern is not “getting ahead” but rather “doing right,” where I’m working together with others to do good and to serve.

Relationships like that have to start with me. My focus needs to be in line with what Paul instructs in Galatians 6:10 (NIV), “Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people…” That, I’ve come to see, is what it means to fulfill the law of Christ in my life. It means to be focused not on self and getting an advantage, but on doing good and serving, and banding together with others to serve better and help more, all of us doing carrying our own loads and also the burdens of one another.

And happily for me, it also means it’s okay to eat out a little more often!

What God Really Wants

2011-08-12T10:22:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

This week, on a whim, my daughter Bethany and I played hookey from home and ran out for a bit of evening shopping and a movie. (Okay, that's picture's not Bethany, it's Jordyn, but her and her daddy were so cute I just had to share!) We walked the mall, chatted about the upcoming school year, gasped over the price of the Hello Kitty backpack she wanted (no we didn't buy it!), picked out shirts for her sisters, and browsed through the earrings at Claires. Then, we munched Sour candy and Junior Mints through the final Harry Potter movie together. It was a great time, and I realized how much I enjoy spending time with my daughter. I could have done all those things alone, but it was much more fun with her along.

So I was reminded of a story that my husband, Bryan, told me about when he was a teen. Here's that story, which reminds me again of what God wants from ME (and you!):

Dad Vs. Godzilla (from Bryan):

“Aw, com’on Dad, not now,” I groaned, shifting my legs across the couch while flipping the channel between an old rerun of Godzilla and the pro bowler’s tour. “It’s Saturday. I wanna relax.” I sensed the last word coming out with a bit of a whine and winced. I didn’t want Dad to think I was a whiner.

Dad sighed and went back to the garage. I could tell he was disappointed. He wanted me to help him with his old Chevy Caprice, but it was Saturday, my day to kick back and enjoy lethargy. It had been a hard week, I told myself. Practice had been tough, and my classes not much easier. I was tired. I deserved a rest. I owed it to myself to take a day off and do nothing. Besides, I didn’t know anything about cars anyway, at least compared to my Dad. He didn’t really need my help.

Some tools clanked in the garage as my Dad began the work. I felt my conscience prick me, but I squashed it down. The pillow behind my head felt good. I stretched my arms up and let out a long sigh, allowing my muscles to melt into a shallow pool of leisure.

What did Dad want my help for anyway? He could do just fine without me. I flicked the remote control again and watched Godzilla stomp through Tokyo. Smash, crash, roar ... the same ol’ Godzilla. Flipping off the TV, I closed my eyes. This was the life—complete relaxation.

My eyes were closed for about two seconds before my conscience started to jab at me again. What would it hurt to help Dad for a little while? Maybe I should at least go out and see what he was doing. Or maybe I should just forget it and let Dad do his thing? I didn’t care about that old, dilapidated Chevy. A Ferrari, maybe, but a Caprice? Even Godzilla was exciting compared to that. I rolled over and slammed the pillow over my head. Sounds of tools jingling in the garage still assaulted my ears. A groan erupted from deep in my throat. “It’s Saturday,” I reminded myself, “I just want to kick back.”

My head bounced up with a jolt as a sudden impact hit the couch. I peeked from under my pillow with a growl and saw Mom sitting about a foot from me, a huge load of laundry piled at her side. She sat staring at me for a moment, then proceeded to start folding socks. I buried my head again. Mom looked at me and remained silent. Something was wrong.

The clang of a large wrench on cement startled both of us. I looked apprehensively at Mom. Her eyes were on me again, with that troubled look that made me uncomfortable. My eyes slid down to contemplate the floor.

“He just wants to spend time with you,” she murmured, her eyes flitting back to the pair of socks in her hand. That was all. With one last look, she stood up and went to the kitchen, her words still ringing in my ears.

“He just wants to spend time with you.” I lay back and thought about that, suspecting that what Mom said was true. I was lucky to have a father that loved me enough to want to do things with me. Lots of my friends had fathers who worked all the time or were never home for one reason or another. My best friend didn’t have any father at all.

Suddenly, I felt like a heel. It was true that Dad didn’t need my help, and he certainly didn’t need my expertise, but he did want my company. And I had groaned and whined and chosen Godzilla over my Dad. My head buried itself into the pillow again.

I sighed. There was only one thing left to do, go out and help Dad. Slowly, I flung my feet to the floor and trudged out to the garage.

“Hi Dad,” I muttered. “What do ya want me to do?” The words came more enthusiastic than I felt.

Dad pulled his head out from under the engine and wiped the back of one greasy hand over his forehead. Slowly, a big smile of delight replaced the sad look that had been on his face moments before.

“Hey, son,” Dad grinned back at me. “Grab me a five eighths wrench over there,” he motioned to the tool box with his chin, his hands embedded again in the Chevy’s engine.

I rolled up my sleeves and hurried to get the wrench. For the rest of the day, Dad and I worked side by side, sweating, grunting, and sharing little bits of our thoughts over the old engine. By the end of the day, my face was as grease smeared as Dad’s, and I had a long tear in my shirt where the Chevy had gotten the better of me. But, the time with Dad had been worth it. It had been a great day, much better than reruns of Godzilla.

The next day, as I sat in church and listened to my Pastor speak about how God has adopted us as sons, I thought about my day with Dad. Was my Heavenly Father like my earthly one? Did He ask me to do things, like come to church and help out with youth activities just because He wanted to spend time with me? It was a startling thought.

Maybe God didn’t need my help at all, but He wanted it anyway—just like Dad. God could do anything He wanted without my help, but maybe He wanted me to be involved with the things He was doing just so I could spend time with Him, and come out looking like Him at the end of the job.

How many times did I miss out on God’s fellowship because I didn’t want to bother to do what He was doing? How many times had I shrugged aside my relationship with my Heavenly Father for things that were as stupid as Godzilla reruns? All of a sudden, little excuses like “I’m too tired,” “I do enough already,” and “My help isn’t really needed anyway,” seemed silly to me. How could a person be too tired for God, or get too much time with Him?

That was many years ago now. But today God’s reasons for wanting me to do ministry have stayed the same. I’m still just the son who He longs to spend time with. Now I know that God cares a lot more about me and my relationship with Him than He does about how much I can do, or how well I can do it. It’s not my abilities He wants as much as my companionship. And what can be better than spending time with God, the Creator of all the Universe, who could have and do anything He wants, and what He wants most is ME!

Needless to say, I don’t watch much Godzilla anymore. Instead, I grab the tools and say, “Let’s go!” whether it’s Saturday or not.

When You're Feeling Like Dirt...

2011-08-04T13:01:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

I've been thinking about this verse from Psalm 103 (verse 14) today: "for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust." Dust doesn't seem very beautiful or important or desirable. In fact, it just seems kinda, well, dirty. But God sees dust differently. He loves His dusty children. So, as I've been thinking about the verse, and pondering the attributes of dust, I remembered this story that grew out of a scene from my very first book, Cry Freedom. See what you think:

Twilight tossed its gray mantle across the sky and into my newly dusted living room. Shadows crept over the floor, darted into corners, and settled in my mind. Weariness whispered through me. Why did I have to clean, and scrub, and do all this work anyway? I wanted to read a good book, watch a movie, anything else but clean the living room for the Bible study group that would meet there that night. Why did I always have to be the one who did the work?

I threw my cleaning rag onto the coffee table and melted into the recliner. In a moment, the oven timer would buzz, and I would have to leap up and finish preparing the cake for the night’s study snack. Why couldn’t I just be free, free to spend my evening however I wanted? Free to do as I pleased?

A butterfly flitted outside the window. I watched it fly high, then low, before it paused on the rosebush just outside the pane. Eggshell wings fluttered in slow motion. Up and down. Up and down. Then, the creature dropped from the branch and flew into the sky. I followed it with my eyes until it became only a black speck against the clouds. Then, it disappeared.

“Make me like the butterfly, Lord,” I whispered. “I want to be free to fly into the sky, rest on the roses, and drink in the beauty of your creation.” I leaned back my head and stared up at the window that shone from our second story. “Lord, give me wings.”

I waited. And sighed. And shifted in the chair. But I felt just as tired, just as earthbound as ever.

Then, something happened. A shaft of light, as bright as a blade, sliced through the upstairs window and illuminated a path the floor. And in the light, I saw them – a hundred, a thousand tiny motes of dust. They drifted in the light like bright bits of glimmering gold.

I grabbed my dust rag, and started to stand. But then, I sat back again. I had worked for hours to eradicate the dark bits of dust that marred my furniture, countertops, and television screen. But this dust was different. These tiny motes weren’t dark, weren’t dirty, or ugly. They were beautiful, shining like miniscule stars in the last rays of day.

I dropped my rag, settled back into the chair, and wondered at the splendor of the dust. How could something that was no more than dirt be so beautiful? After all, it was only dust. I watched a few motes drift lower, out of the shaft of light. They turned gray again, just ugly little specks that floated onto an end table. Only in the light were they lovely. Only there did they shimmer like jewels.

As I sat and pondered the secret of the dust, I remembered a verse from the Psalms: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.” (Psalm 103:13-14, NIV).
I am dust, I thought. Not some winged butterfly, not a creature that flies wherever it pleases, but dust. Dirty, ugly dust. But in God’s light, I too am transformed. “I am the light of the world,” Jesus said in John 8:12 (NIV). And like the dust, I am only beautiful when I am aloft by his power, illuminated by his love.

As pretty as the butterfly was, the dust that glimmered like sparkling gold was much more beautiful. It stayed, it shone, and as long as it remained in the light, it was stunning.
I had prayed for the ability to order my day as I pleased. But, God offers a freedom that’s more incredible, more real, and more wondrous.

In his light is the freedom to rest in his grace and love. That is the mystery, and the wonder, of true freedom. So now, I no longer pray for wings like the butterfly. Instead, I pray to stay within the light.

How to Be a Big, Fat Liar...

2011-07-27T11:38:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

This week I was talking to a friend about how we so often hide our struggles and make believe everything is fine when it's not. As we talked, I was reminded of the story below and what I learned from it.

Are you hiding a struggle? How can we be praying for you as you face the challenges of your life?

Think about that as you read on . . .

It was a big, fat lie. I smiled as I said it. And what’s worse, I told it in the church foyer.

A friend touched my shoulder. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine. Thanks.”

She nodded and made her way into the sanctuary.

Fine. I’m doing fine. I’ve told that lie a hundred times, maybe a thousand. But it was never bigger than that morning. Two days before I’d found out that the baby I was carrying had died. And in two days more I was scheduled for surgery to remove the empty egg sac that was still in me. So, I was not fine. Not at all.

I wouldn’t have thought twice about my lie except when I came home that day I found one of my lovebirds dead at the bottom of the cage. I trembled as I backed away and called to my husband. “Bryan, can you come in here?”

He walked over and stared at the bird. “What happened?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I dunno. It looked fine yesterday.”

“How did it go from fine to dead in a day?” Bryan
put on a gardening glove, reached in the cage, and removed the dead bird. “Well, there’s no marks on it. Feels a little skinny though. You’d better look in that book we got on lovebirds.”

I shivered and turned away.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” I said the lie again, softer this time, quieter.

“Fine, huh?” Bryan put the dead bird in a box, then waited as I retrieved the book about lovebirds and flipped through the pages.

I read about various diseases and sick birds. Then, I stopped and looked up. “Wow, look at this.” I pointed to a paragraph in the book. “It says here that a lovebird will hide its sickness until it’s about to die. You can’t tell it’s even sick unless you weigh it twice a week.”

Bryan nodded. “It’s too bad. If we’d have known, we could have tried to do something.” He tossed the book onto the table. “Too late now, of course.”

I sank into a chair and stared at the one bird left in the cage. “If only we’d known . . .” It was then that my lie came back to me. Fine. Thanks. I was no different than that foolish lovebird. By instinct, I, too, hid my emotional and spiritual sickness. Hid it so well that no one would know I needed help.

Perhaps that’s why the Bible says, “Therefore each of you must put off falsehood and speak truthfully to his neighbor, for we are all members of one body.” (Ephesians 4:25, NIV) I’d always thought that verse meant I shouldn’t try to manipulate others with my words. And it does mean that. But maybe it also means that I must open myself to those around me. I need to allow them into my life with truth and honesty. I have to be vulnerable if I am to be healed.

And if I’m not, I may find myself, one day soon, face down at the bottom of my cage.

Finding Peace in the Rush

2011-07-21T10:39:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Well, it's been a busy week around here. On Sunday, Bethany left for Hume Lake for church camp (our first one off to camp for a week!). On Monday we went to Lockwood (about two hours away) to pick up a new horse for a one-week trial. On Tuesday, we had a lunch meeting for a new ministry (yay!) at church, plus lots of arena time trying out Frenchie (the new horse). Yesterday was the Bean's (aka baby Jordyn) 6 month doctor appointment, a blood test for me, and a long and fruitless trip to Dublin (another almost 2-hour away trip) to see a used car that wasn't even there (ack! waste of time!). And today's another medical test for me, more trying the horse time, rodeo, and hopefully catching up on exciting things like laundry and dishes. Tomorrow's more horse, etc., and Saturday mutton busting for Jayna at the big rodeo.

All that to say, I'm feeling a bit stressed in all the rush. So, the question is, how can I live in the peace God promises and provides in the rush of everyday life? Here are some thoughts:

1) Walk with God. That means instead of rushing from one thing to the next, slow down and realize that God is with me (and you!) every step of the way.

2) Don't lead. Follow! Take several moments during the day to settle my mind and make sure I am following God's lead instead of simply rushing off to do what I think needs to be done. Just because something should be done or needs to be done doesn't mean that God is asking me to do it right this minute.

3) Look and really see. Be aware of how God is working around me. Look and see others. Smile. Recognize the beauty God has placed around me. Pausing in wonder at how amazing God is and what He's doing and has done only takes a moment, yet it refreshing the soul in huge ways.

4) Enjoy. God gives many small yet wonferful moments to enjoy each day. Don't miss them. Savor them!

5) Stop long enough to be thankful. Sometimes I just need to pause, take a deep breath, and thank God for the things that have caused the rush: kids, horses, cars, clothes, email from friends, food, dishes, books, opportunities to serve, doctors and tests, kidneys ... all are BLESSINGS. Remembering to be thankful replaces panic with peace!

What are some things you do to find peace in the rush of life??

Life Full of Hurdles? Consider This...

2011-07-15T11:58:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Well, after weeks of facing horrible kidney stones (again), two surgeries (again), painful 2-foot-long stents in both my ureter tubes (again) and a stint in the hospital (blech), followed by the big Firecracker Frenzy gymkhana show and week away with the family (fun too!), God has reminded me of a horse story about facing the same trials over and over again (Note: the first couple pictures are of Joelle on her new horse, Ruby, doing hurry scurry in June - I don't have a picture of Oreo over the jumps). This story encouraged me when thinking about going through the same hard things that I've been through before, and I thought you might find hope in it too as you face hurdles in your own life. See what you think . . .

I held my breath as my six-year-old, Joelle, rode her Paint mare into the arena. The gate closed behind her. She paused and glanced at the three short jumps of the Hurry Scurry race. A small smile brushed her lips.

Then, she urged the horse forward.

I gripped the fence rail and watched Oreo approach the first jump at a gentle lope. Closer, closer, up and over. I let out my breath.

Joelle and Oreo turned the far pole and headed back, over jump number two. Clear. Over jump three. Clear again. And through the timing poles, perfect.

I whooped and cheered and pressed my hand to my thudding heart.

They’d done it, and done it beautifully.

A wide grin lit Joelle’s face as she patted Oreo’s neck and guided the mare out the gate.

I rushed over to them, calling, “You did it, you did it, you did it!”

Joelle turned. “Oreo did it.” She leaned over and hugged the horse’s neck.

And she was right. Oreo did it, but only because they’d practiced and practiced and practiced. When we’d gotten Oreo just two months before, the mare was terrible at jumping. She’d hesitate as she approached the jump, then she'd stumble over, her back feet banging the crossbar. The jump was always jumbled up afterward. It was ugly. It was awkward.

But Joelle didn’t let Oreo quit. She kept giving her chance after chance to figure out how to do it right. At home, they'd lope around the arena and jump and jump and jump, until Oreo hesitated less and less, until her legs cleared more frequently, until the awkwardness decreased with each try. And Joelle didn't get angry at Oreo for not doing well. She didn’t scowl or scold, punish or frown. She just kept giving her chances to practice, and encouraging her with pets and praise for each improvement.

Later that day as Joelle went up to get her second place ribbon for the Hurry Scurry, I thought about how God’s interactions with me are a lot like Joelle’s with Oreo. I too have things I’m not so good at. Sometimes, it’s considering others first, or trusting him in difficult circumstances, or finding peace in chaos (that's a tough one for me!), or fighting fear in certain specific areas of life.

As I approach those hurdles, I often hesitate, I stumble over, I bang my feet, and it can be both awkward and ugly.

Then, too often, my response to a not-so-perfect jump is to think badly of myself, to criticize and accuse and feel that surely God is scowling and scolding, punishing and frowning. I condemn myself for not having enough faith, for not flying through a situation perfectly, or not being as good as someone else going through a similar thing.

But standing there, cheering for Joelle and Oreo reminded me of James 1:2-4 (NIV): “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”

I used to read this verse as “be happy about your hardships,” which seemed crazy. But now I believe James really means that we can be glad that we don’t go through trials for nothing. God uses the hurdles of life to help us become the people he envisions us to be. We just have to keep going, keep trying, because that’s what perseverance is.

So, when I face the same tough hurdles of life over and over, it’s not because God is punishing me, it’s because he’s giving me an opportunity to practice, grow, and improve until I can jump smoothly. He's saying, "You'll get it. Let's try it again. I'm giving you another chance, and another, and another." He doesn't expect me to be able to clear every jump the first time, or even the second or third. Instead, he’s giving me a chance to get a little better, a little faster, a little smoother, until I’ve mastered the things I once wasn’t so good at. Perhaps, in time, I too will be like Oreo, flying over the jumps with my feet not even touching. And maybe, someday when I reach heaven, there’ll be a prize for me too, and then even the angels will clap and cheer.

Above is a picture of Joelle doing Speed Barrels on Ruby at the Firecracker Frenzy.

And finally a picture of Jayna going over the jumps with Valentine:

Forever After by Deborah Raney

2011-06-27T13:59:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Well, after a rush to the ER, 4 days in the hospital, raging fever, 2 surgeries, and a diagnosis of kidney stones and infection, I've gotten a bit behind on my blog (surprise, surprise!). Soooo, here's the book I wanted to tell you about last week. It's FOREVER AFTER by my friend, Deborah Raney. Here's a bit about it:

FOREVER AFTER
by Deborah Raney

Forever After is the second book in Deborah Raney's Hanover Falls Novels series from Howard/Simon & Schuster. The first novel in the series, Almost Forever, won the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence and a HOLT Medallion Award of Merit.

Synopsis: Lucas Vermontez was a proud firefighter like his father. Now, not only has he lost his father and his best friend, Zach, in the fire at the Grove Street Homeless Shelter, but the devoted rookie can no longer do the work he loves after being crippled in the tragic event. When friendship with his buddy's beautiful widow turns into more, he wonders what he could possibly offer Jenna. Jenna Morgan is trying to grieve her husband's death like a proper widow, but the truth is, she never really loved Zach. His death feels more like a relief to her. But that relief is short-lived when she loses her home and the financial support of her in-laws. Now the secrets of her past threaten to destroy her future. Almost Forever, Book 1 in the Hanover Falls Novels series, won the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence in 2011.

DEBORAH RANEY's first novel, A Vow to Cherish, inspired the World Wide Pictures film of the same title and launched her writing career after 20 happy years as a stay-at-home mom. Her books have won numerous awards including the RITA, National Readers Choice Award, HOLT Medallion, the Carol Award, and have twice been Christy Award finalists. Deb also serves on the Advisory Board of the 2500-member American Christian Fiction Writers. Her 20th novel released this month from Howard/Simon & Schuster. She and her husband, Ken Raney, enjoy tending wildflowers and native grasses in the Kansas prairie garden in their large back yard. They also love traveling together to conferences, and to visit four children and three little grandsons who all live much too far away.

Being Like Play Dough

2011-06-15T13:14:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends!

Well, with the kids home on summer break, we're doing all kinds of activities, including playing with play dough (while trying to keep it out of the carpet - ack). Here's something I learned from playing with play dough:

I could see it in my mind, the vision of a delicate bird, made from yellow play dough. I placed the dough on the table before me and began to shape the soft, pliable material as my four-year-old twins rolled their lumps of dough into different figures.

“Look, I made a snake!” Bria called.

“I did a hamburger. Yum!” Jayna held up her creation.

I grinned and worked at my dough. In some places, I pressed, in others, I smoothed. I squeezed,

I plumped, I removed unneeded pieces to certain areas and added to others. I made bumps that would become wings, lines that would define the tail, and tiny balls that would be squeezed into a beak and two eyes.

Jayna stopped her work and leaned toward me. “What’s that?” She pointed at the clay in my hand.

“You’ll see.”

“Is it a cat?”

“You’ll see.”

Bria furrowed her eyebrows. “I think it’s a flower.”

I chuckled. “Just wait, and you’ll see.”

They settled back into their chairs, played with their dough, and kept watching for my creation to take on a recognizable shape.

I continued pressing, pushing, smoothing, trimming and adding. Then, the questions started again.

“Why are you doing that?”

“Why do you need that?”

“What’s that for?”

I had the vision of a beautiful bird in my mind, but the twins couldn’t see it yet. To them, what I was doing seemed strange and meaningless.

I pulled out a butter knife and did some detail work. “Trust me.” I pressed lines into the wings to make feathers. I shaped the eyes and trimmed the beak. I removed bits to refine the feet and tail feathers. Then, I held it up. “See.”

Jayna sucked in a breath. “A bird.”

Bria sat up straighter. “That’s a hummingbird.”

“Yes, it is.” I grinned at them. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” they said in unison.

As I held the play dough bird in my hand, I considered the work it took to make it, work that didn’t make sense to my two little observers. But I knew what the dough would become all along. I set the bird on a shelf for the twins to admire then popped back into my office.

There, I found an email from a disgruntled co-worker, an overdue notice that had come in the mail, a reminder of the deadlines I was having trouble meeting, and a message from the vet about my very sick horse. I put my head in my hands. I’d prayed about all those things, but nothing seemed to be getting better. As I looked at all the reminders of the hard things in my life, it just didn’t make sense. I couldn’t see how God was working. Here I was, squeezed, pressed, dented, hurt. And God seemed so distant.

“Lord, I’m tired. Where are You?” I whispered.

I waited for an answer, but I didn’t get one. All I got was the image of my play dough hummingbird flitting through my mind along with a few scripture passages:

“For we are God's workmanship....” Ephesians 2:10 (NIV), “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” 2 Corinthians 4:8-9 (NIV), and “We are the clay, you [God] are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.” Isaiah 64:8 (NIV).

Finally, I understood. I am the hummingbird. I just need to trust Him, to remain soft and pliable in His hands. Just because things don’t make sense to me, just because I can’t understand what He’s doing, just because it all seems like a big, useless lump, doesn’t mean that God is absent. It simply means that He has His own vision in mind. And maybe, just maybe, He’s pressing, smoothing, squeezing, poking in order to shape me into the person I am meant to be. Perhaps He’s closer than I can even imagine.

So in times of pressing, I’m learning that I need to trust that “… in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28 (NIV) If I place myself in his hands, nothing that happens to me is pointless. He can, and does, use everything, even the things that don’t make sense, to form me into the vision He has for me. And that vision is to be like His Son.

Dragons of Chiril by Donita K. Paul

2011-06-15T13:10:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new book I have to tell you about this week: Dragons of Chiril by Donita K. Paul. Well, it's not exactly new, it's a re-release, with a new title, of Donita's previous book, The Vanishing Sculptor. Here's what Donita has to say about it:

The Vanishing Sculptor confused people, well, mainly my readers. They said the title sounded like a mystery. Was I writing mysteries now? Where are the dragons? Come on, Mrs. Paul, we want dragons. So Vanishing Sculptor got shelved and in its place came Dragons of Chiril. The title fits better with Dragons of the Valley, the second book in the Chiril Chronicles, and Dragons of the Watch, the third book. Dragons of Chiril comes out on June 21st, 2011. You could say it has been reborn, but not in the spiritual sense. There is one sentence in the whole book that is different. LOL I wonder if sharp readers will be emailing me.

I’m not worried. The feedback I’ve gotten so far is that the title and cover are much more suitable. Of course, there is the one reader who liked the first title better.

The story is:
Before DragonSpell, on a different continent and a different time, a young emerlindian’s desperate decision threatens to disrupt the foundation of the world.Tipper has been caring for her family’s estate for years now, ever since her father disappeared, making a living by selling off his famous artwork. Then she learns that three statues she sold were carved from an ancient foundation stone, and the fabric of her reality is crumbling. She must find the three statues and reunite them, positioned exactly in the right form.She must free her father and save the world. But she can’t do it alone.Her ragtag band of adventurers includes Beccaroon, a giant parrot; Bealomondore, an aristocratic young artist; a handsome dragonkeeper prince; the Wizard Fenworth; and the tumanhofer librarian Librettowit. Together they travel through valleys and kingdoms and consort with purveyors of good and agents of evil to find and reunite the missing statues. Will they learn to rely on Wulder’s grace and guidance along the way?

Dragons of the Watch will be the last book in this series. It comes out in October.

Neat Lessons from Saturday's Rodeo

2011-06-08T12:52:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Last Saturday, a cold, windy, rainy day, was the Jr. Rodeo. Bethany and Joelle tied goats for the first time, and did a few gymkhana events. Jayden, Jayna, and Bria did stick horse racing and boot racing. And Jayna won at mutton busting. Here are some things I learned from them on Saturday:

1) From Jayna, champion Mutton Buster, who rode the sheep for 8.5 seconds (3.5 seconds longer than the boy who got 2nd): To win in life, you have to be brave enough to try and strong enough to just hang on. You don't have to tame life's muttons, and sometimes you're going to fall (that's to be expected), but if you get on and try when others are too afraid, and you hang on when things get rough and bumpy, you might just get the prize that God has for you. So, no matter what life throws at you, be brave and hang on!

2) From Joelle, who tied her goat to perfection, but it got loose a half second too soon: Sometimes even when you do things just right, things do go as planned or hoped. Don't despair! Tie your goats the best you know how, and let God take care of the rest. And maybe you'll get some perfect snapshots of life along the way.

3) From Bria, who was behind in the stick horse race, but came from behind to get a 3rd place trophy: Don't worry if others seem to be beating you, just keep running your own race. Don't get discouraged, don't give up, but see the race through to the very end.

4) From Bethany, who didn't win a buckle, but who ran her races faster than she ever has before, and had a lot of fun doing it: Don't compare yourself with others, but run your own race, and enjoy every minute of the race God has set before you.

5) From Jayden, who threw a fit and didn't want to run his races and have fun: Don't throw a fit when things don't go your way, instead look for new opportunities to find joy in what God is setting before you.

6) From Jordyn, who spent the day cuddled in the car while the wind and rain stormed outside: Don't panic when life is storming around you because God has set you in a safe place and He is watching over you.

7) From me, who stood out in the rain and wind, freezing and watching and cheering: Even when you're in a storm, cold, shivering, and wet, there are moments of pure joy. Watch for them, revel in them, and know that every day, even the yucky-weather ones, are a gift from God.

Second Chance Dad by Roxanne Rustand

2011-06-07T15:42:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new book I have to tell you about this week:

SECOND CHANCE DAD
ISBN: 978-0-373-87673-0
Love Inspired
June, 2011
Roxanne Rustand

He Was A Challenge She Couldn’t Ignore...
The minute she steps foot in his dark, miserable house, Sophie Alexander knows Josh McClaren is not her usual patient. But the single mom and physical therapist is desperate to make a life for
her and her young son. And she’s definitely no quitter! It’s obvious to Sophie that handsome, cantankerous Josh hides his pain behind a wall of grief. Little by little, Sophie and her son,
Eli, do more than help Josh find his faith again. They make Josh wonder if there’s a family in his future after all....

Aspen Creek Crossroads: Where faith, love and healing meet.

This book is available at :
www.christianbook.com
www.bn.com
www.amazon.com
and fine bookstores everywhere.

Drop by Roxanne's website and get a free downloadable cookbook. http://roxannerustand.com/cookbook-and-recipes

Here's one of her favorite recipes as a tease.

CARAMEL BLONDE BROWNIES
1/2 cup melted butter (no substitute!)2 cups brown sugar2 eggs1 Tbsp REAL vanilla2 cups flour1/2 tsp salt2 tsp baking powder1 cup M&Ms
Combine first four ingredients and beat really well, then stir in dry ingredients. Don’t overbeat. Add the M&Ms last.
Pat into a well-greased 9×13 pan, then bake 30 minutes at 350 degrees. Do not overbake–these should be nice and chewy, so watch them carefully!
Hope you enjoy these, and come back again for other recipes. And if you’d like to share a favorite, that would be great!

Roxanne Rustand can be found at www.roxannerustand.com and her "All Creature Great and Small" blog, http://roxannerustand.blogspot.com. If you'd like to see the foal at her house (or barn), drop by http://roxannerustand.blogspot.com/2011/05/new-baby-at-our-houseand-it-nickers.html

To subscribe to her quarterly e-newsletter, which offers prize drawings, family recipes and news about her books, go to: http://roxannerustand.com/newsletter-signup

Thoughts on Psalm 100 - Where Do You Worship?

2011-06-01T11:04:00.001-07:00

Hi Friends,

Lately I've been thinking about worship as an everyday attitude, so this morning as I was singing, exercising, and talking to God (while telling Jayden to not touch that and pick this up and stop putting that in his mouth and that belongs to sister and put it back), I also thought about Psalm 100.

Here are some thoughts about the Psalm and where we worship ... or at least what it means to worship, really ...

Where do you worship? When I ask people that question, I always get the same answer – the church they attend on Sundays. And no wonder. On Sunday mornings we go to worship services, are called to worship by worship leaders, sing songs led by worship teams. In our culture, worship is what we do on Sunday mornings. Work is what we do the rest of the week.

But a closer look at Psalm 100 shows us that maybe we’ve got it all wrong. Psalm 100:2-3 says:

2 Worship the LORD with gladness; come before him with joyful songs. 3 Know that the LORD is God. It is he who made us, and we are his….

At first glance, these verses don’t seem to have anything to do with our work week. That is, until we realize the Hebrew word used for “worship” in verse two is the same word (abad) used in Exodus 20:9: “Six days you shall labor and do all your work …” It’s also often translated “serve.”

Consider the difference when we read Exodus 20:9 in that way: “Six days you shall worship, you shall serve, and do all your business . . .” Worship, then, is not just that thing we do in the church building on Sunday mornings. Worship is what we do in our business; it’s what we do the other six days of the week.

If worshipping God, serving Him, is for our workday, then how does that change how we go about doing our regular work? Again, Psalm 100 helps us to understand.

Verse two calls us to worship the Lord with gladness. What attitude do we bring to our work? Do we complain about it as if it’s a burden? Is our work something we just get through to make a few bucks? Or do we engage in our business with an attitude of joy and thankfulness? If work is worship, then our attitude needs to be one of gladness to serve.

Psalm 100 also calls us to come before His presence with singing. While our actual work situation may not allow us to literally sing, we can, at least, pay attention to what’s coming out of our mouths at work. If work is worship, then things like grumbling and gossip are out of place. Instead, our speech needs to be more like a song – filled with light and grace.

Verse three reminds us to know that the Lord is God and we are His. We are not the “god” of our workplace. When we manage others, interact with customers, deal with fellow workers in the workplace, we do it with humility knowing that God is the “big boss” and we are not.

In the end, Psalm 100 tells us that the Biblical view of worship is for everyday, for our work days. It’s not just a Sunday event. We do it with gladness, grace, and humility, knowing that we are worshipping our real boss in heaven.

Throw the Devil Off the Train by Stephen Bly

2011-05-31T13:49:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new book I have to tell you about this week. It's THROW THE DEVIL OFF THE TRAIN, a Western by Stephen Bly. Here's all about it, including a fun ELK CHILI recipe!

BOOK BLURB:

It's 1880.

Catherine's got to escape from her hometown in Virginia. She heads west to marry a childhood friend she hasn't seen in 17 years. She needs a fresh start and he's got a booming business in Paradise Springs. She'll do almost anything to get there. . .except reveal her true last name.

Race heads west set to avenge his brother's death, with a body aching for sleep, and determined to avoid the conniving lady with a throw-away heart. But it's a long, cramped, chaotic train ride from Omaha to Sacramento.

The only thing these two agree upon: they despise each other. And something evil's on board. As they gnaw on each other's nerves, a holdup, hijack, kidnapping and gold mine swindle shove them together, then push them apart. Fiery, opinionated and quick to react, can they team up long enough to throw the devil off the train?

AUTHOR BIO:
Stephen Bly is a Christy Award winner for westerns and author of 105 books of fiction and nonfiction, some of them co-authored with wife, Janet. They live in north-central Idaho at 4,000 ft. elev. on the Nez Perce Indian Reservation. They have 3 married sons, 4 grandchildren, and 1 great-grandchild.
Throw The Devil Off The Train can be ordered through your favorite local or online bookstore, such as www.Amazon.com. It's also available through http://BlyBooks.com

STEPHEN BLY’S SPICY ELK CHILI

Many of you have asked me. . .well, only one, maybe two. . .for my world famous recipe for chili. This is an expected and anticipated dish at every Wild Game Feed potluck at our northern Idaho church each November. It’s also a staple at our Broken Arrow Crossing events in the summer. Broken Arrow Crossing is the false-front town I’ve built beside our house. Wife Janet calls it our ‘theme yard.’

So, now the secret’s out. You can create your own chili sensation, Bly-style.

Ingredients:
2-4 pounds of elk meat (for my pals in Quebec, that’s Wapiti meat)
1 16-ounce jar of Pace salsa (“medium” for most gringos; I prefer “hot”)
2 cans of Hormel Chili With Beans (life is too short to wait for beans to soak)
1 green bell pepper (make sure it’s crisp…the red or yellow bells will work good too)
Several fresh jalapeno peppers (don’t wimp out; leave the seeds)
An unending supply of Montreal Steak Seasoning
Red Tabasco Sauce

Directions:
Apply for an out-of-state elk tag from the Idaho Fish & Game Department. Clean your Winchester 1895, 405 caliber rifle. Fly to Idaho and camp deep in the forest along the upper stretches of the north fork of the Clearwater River. Shoot your elk (whether you taxidermy the head or not is your decision). Pack meat in dry-ice and take it home with you on the plane. OR. . .accept that package of wild game meat your brother-in-law keeps trying to give you every Christmas.

The night before. . .put one cup of water, 2-4 pounds of elk (steak or roast) in the crock pot. Season with Montreal Steak Seasoning to taste. Turn that sucker on low, then go to bed.

Sometime the next day. . .drain most of the juices off the meat (yes, you can make elk gravy for breakfast, provided you don’t put it on biscuits that come out of a tube). Place meat in very large pan (the one on the bottom shelf at the back that takes forever to yank out). Dump in your two cans of Hormel Chili Beans (or more if you’re feeding the starting offensive line of the Green Bay Packers, or their equivalent). Important note: never use cheap canned beans that taste like they were soaked in fast food restaurant catsup.

Gut out your bell pepper and carve it into ½ inch squares, then sauté (that means fry ‘em in a skillet, but don’t burn ‘em black or let ‘em get mushy). Toss them in the big pan.

Cut the stems off the jalapenos, quarter them and toss them in. If your fingers blister while cutting the peppers, you have to invite me over for supper. Add a bunch more Montreal Steak Seasoning (bunch=6 tads) and red Tabasco.

Stir everything together and simmer the chili for an hour or so. (Simmer is what happens when you ought to throw another log in the stove, but you wait until half-time of the football game and the fire almost goes out.)

Now, it’s time for the taste test. After stirring the chili again (wooden spoons seem to be less susceptible to corrosion), take a small taste. You may want to add more Tabasco. (Note: if an obnoxious nephew is visiting, let him test the chili. It’s about right if he spends the rest of the day out in the yard with his head buried in leaves, sand, or snow.)

Serving size: this varies. Most times, the bowl is scraped clean with only 10 to 12 people. But, with luck, there will be some leftovers and you’ll get to have it cold for breakfast for several days.

NOW AVAILABLE! Throw The Devil Off The Train, western romance by Stephen Bly

Order through your local bookstore, your favorite online bookstore such as www.Amazon.com or get an autographed copy from http://BlyBooks.com/store.htm

Lessons from the Log Ride

2011-05-26T10:55:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

On Sunday, Joelle got to go to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk to celebrate her birthday with her sisters. It was lots of fun and reminded me of this story from a few years ago -- something I learned about life and God at the Boardwalk one summer:

The creak of the ferris wheel called petulantly to the seagulls as we walked down the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. Sweat trickled down my forehead to make a damp trail on the side of my face. I squinted into the hot California sun. Another 100 degree day in September. I still wasn’t used to it.

Earlier that day, Christy had turned up her innocent six-year-old face and pleaded to go to the Boardwalk. So, we forsook the comfort of air conditioning to brave the tortures of sun and surf.

The Boardwalk teemed with people in swimsuits and sunglasses. I squeezed Christy’s hand and brushed her hair back with my fingertips. She was as hot as I was. “Just a few more minutes,” I assured her, “and we’ll be there.”

Within moments, we reached the ride we had all been looking forward to – Logger’s Run. I shaded my eyes from the glare as I looked at the twisting trail of canals far above. With a shriek of pure joy, the kids in one of the plastic logs plummeted to the end of the ride. Splash! Sunlight danced off droplets of water like a thousand tiny diamonds.

I smiled. Christy would love this ride. The water, the logs, the bumping along in bright blue channels, the final plunge, the big splash . . . it was just the type of thrill that suited her.

“Here we are. The log ride,” I said. “Are you ready for some fun, Christy?”

To my surprise, she answered, “No!”

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I don’t wanna go.” She crossed her arms and pushed out her lower lip.

“But this is the kind of ride you like the best.”

“I don’t wanna go.” She stomped her foot and gave me that “I need a spanking’ look.

“Fine,” I muttered. “we’ll sit here on the bench and wait while everyone else goes on the ride.”

She glared at me, walked over to the bench, and sat down.

What had gotten into her? The heat? The fear of something new? I watched the others get in line. It didn’t make sense. The ride would cool her down, and she knew that I would be right there with her if she became afraid. Besides that, it was fun!

I shook my head and let a frown creep over my face. We had come to the Boardwalk because Christy had asked. Now she sat on the bench, in the blistering sun, and refused to enjoy the best ride of all. It was crazy.

I opened my mouth to blast her with my opinion, but God stopped me. I looked down at her, her brow still furrowed in stubborn rejection.

Was Christy a bit too much like me? Did I sometimes make that same surly face to God? I remembered a gentle urging to talk to my neighbor about Jesus. I hadn’t done it. And last spring I thought I might start a new Bible study in my neighborhood. But the heat of life and the fear of the unknown had stopped me. Had I refused the best ride in my spiritual life?

God often asked me to plunge forward with what He wanted for me, to take a risk, to try something new with Him. But, my tendency was to hang back, to sit on the bench while others enjoyed the ride.

Perhaps the uncomfortable things that God was calling me to do would actually refresh me, and be a lot of fun besides. I knew, too, that God would be with me the entire time, right there holding me tight as I bumped along the channel of His will. What had I been missing by my reluctance to do something new and join Him on the “Logger’s Run” in my life?

“There they are.” Christy’s words startled me. Sure enough. The others had finished the ride. They came laughing down the steps, their shirts wet, their hair dripping.

“That was great!” Bryan strode over to us with a grim still spread across his face. “You guys should have come.”

I smiled up at him. Yes, we should have. And from now on, I would.

In the heat of everyday life, I couldn’t afford to miss any more log rides with God.

(I didn't have a log ride picture, so here's another - older girls on the ride, twins watching.)

Dining with Joy by Rachel Hauck

2011-05-16T12:00:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends!

Here's the new novel I wanted to tell you about this week. It's Dining with Joy by Rachel Hauck. Here's a bit about it in Rachel's own words:

From Rachel:

Thanks for having me today!

I’m no genius in the kitchen, but my heroine, Joy Ballard, finds herself doing a job she can’t do for all the right reasons. She’s a cooking show host who can’t cook!

When I started this book, that premise got a good laugh from those who heard it. Then, I’d ask, “But what’s that story about?”
The person would shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

I had to ask a lot of questions about what a woman hosts a cooking show when she can’t so much as fry eggs. I didn’t want an insincere, lying heroine. She’s not a manipulator or conniver.

Joy simply found herself filling a job she was asked to do – by her father. She was great in front of the camera. Just not behind the stove.

Not long ago, I stood on stage at church with my worship team praying before the service started. Head back, eyes close, I said in my heart, “Lord, help us. You have to help me. I’m so weak in leading worship. I cannot do it without You.”

While I’m a decent singer, and I can lead the people to worship Jesus, I’m not a musician. I’m not one who can skillfully bring the band and the worship sound together. And until I found myself with a “starting over” band, I never realized how gaping this weakness was for me.

A few days later, I was thinking of all the great worship leaders, singers and musicians. Of great writers. And I just felt weak and inadequate in the two main callings of my life.

Again, I went to the Lord. “Why can’t You find a good worship leader for church? Why can’t you help me be a more successful writer? I see people who are good at what they do, succeeding.”

This is what He said to me. “… most people won’t give me their weaknesses.”

I was stopped cold. I understood that a lot of times God invites us on a journey to participate with Him in some aspect of our lives or others, but because we are not good at that thing, or because we are weak with fear or shame or whatever, we say no.

It’s in our weaknesses His strength is manifest. God is not looking for mighty men and women, He’s looking for weak men and women in which HE can show His might.

Don’t misunderstand, God loves excellence, skill and devotion. While leading worship practices, I have to be excellent as I can be to bring the team and songs together.

I’ll never have a recording or national ministry as a worship leader, but for our little church in Florida, I’m God’s girl. For now.

That, in some ways, is Joy’s journey. She said yes to her father’s desire.
Can we say “Yes?” to our Father’s desire for us? Offer Him all of our strengths AND weaknesses? He’s more than willing to overcome.

In my story, Joy’s secret is revealed and takes a pretty good tumble, but love is waiting to catch her. In the form of cowboy chef and hero, Luke Redmond.

Sigh… Love wins.

One of the things Joy discovers along the way is her father’s banana bread recipe. It’s delish!

Here it is:

Charles Ballard’s Banana Bread
From Connie Spangler

1 3/4 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1t. baking soda
1/2t. salt
1/2t. cinnamon
2 eggs
3 mashed ripe bananas
1/2 cup oil (I use canola)
1/4 cup plus 1 T. buttermilk
1t. vanilla
1/2 cup choc. chips
1/2 cup p.butter chips

In a large bowl stir together flour, sugars, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon. In another bowl, combine eggs, bananas, oil, buttermilk and vanilla. Add to flour mixture, stirring just until moistened. Fold in chips. Pour into a greased 9-in. x 3-in. loaf pan. Bake at 325 for 1 hour and 20 minutes or until it tests done. Cool on a rack 10 minutes before removing from pan.

Tips for baking banana bread:
DON'T over mix the batter, just until moistened. Banana bread is always best if after its cooled to wrap up and serve the next day.

ENJOY!

RACHEL’S BIO
Rachel lives in central Florida with her husband and writes books from the second floor of what she calls her “turret tower.” A gift from the Lord. Besides “Dining with Joy,” Rachel has written fourteen other novels. Also out is “Softly and Tenderly” which Rachel wrote with country artist, Sara Evans.

Visit her web site at http://www.rachelhauck.com/

Tidbits of News

2011-05-13T19:50:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

It's been a busy week mostly away from my computer, so this week I'd like to share with you some tidbits of news in case you missed any of it. So, here ya go:

1) My interview with Focus on the Family about infertility and miscarriage aired this week on Monday and Tuesday. Lots of encouraging emails have come in from listeners who were impacted by the segments. Yay, God! Here's the link to Focus broadcasts in case you missed it: http://www.focusonthefamily.com/radio.aspx

2) My "Childless on Mother's Day" story went live today on the new HELD blog from Hannah's Prayer Ministries. You can find it here: http://bit.ly/mlTbXr Thought from that story: God has not abandoned you, even when prayers go unanswered and hopes seem crushed. Instead He's asking you, "Am I enough? Even now, even in these difficult circumstances. Do you still love me when all seems wrong?"

3) Jayna, Joelle, Bethany, and I had a great time riding in the Salinas Valley Fair (in King City) gymkhana show this week. Jayna won high point in the 6 and under division, and the rest of us won ribbons and also had LOTS of fun in the show, then at the fair too. Below are some pictures:

Jayna starting out in the Bi-rangle race (the second event).

Me taking off around the third barrel in cloverleaf barrels, ready for the all-out run home!

Bethany and Rusty ran like the wind!

Beautiful form for Joelle! She had her fastest runs ever.

Thoughts on Being "Mom"

2011-05-04T09:37:00.001-07:00

Hi Friends,

In honor of Mother's Day, I thought I'd share a few thoughts on being "Mom."

Being "Mom" is . . .

Beautiful, wondrous, nerve-wracking, crazy, incredible, scary, and worth every minute.

My mom-in-law says motherhood the hardest job you'll ever love. And so it is. There are moments of breathtaking wonder. Then, there are times when I'm sure I'm losing my mind permanently.

People say children will change your life. I have not found that to be entirely so. I still do the same things I did before. I write, go out to eat, stare at the blank computer screen and think about how I ought to be writing, sneak a game of computer solitaire while no one’s looking, scrub toilets, read a good book (though, I must admit, it's been mostly Dr. Suess and Sandra Boynton here lately). What has changed, however, (besides the amount of laundry) is who I am. I am "Mommy" now, and that makes all the difference.

Someone looks up at me with big, wide eyes and knows that everything is all right now because Mommy's here. Someone watches how I interact with others and takes her cue from me. Someone laughs when I come into the room and sometimes cries when I leave it (I'll be glad when we're over this latter part). Someone races across the room, then looks at me with a big grin, wanting my approval. Someone gives me big, open-mouth kisses and nuzzles into my neck when I pick her up. Someone puts her fingers up my nose then puts my fingers up hers. Somebody smiles, a huge joy-filled smile, when I read books and make silly noises. Someone stops to listen when I sing and doesn't care if I'm out of tune and my voice cracks. Someone pulls the sheet over her head, then pulls it down again fast and waits for me to say "peek-a-boo." Someone draws me pictures, picks me flowers, and borrows my earrings.

Those are the precious moments. They are treasures mined from a field of dirty diapers, concerns about eating, sometimes-little-sleep nights, toy-filled floors, crying (several of us), doctor appointments, and (from Jayden) nooooooooooo Mama, no nap for me - waaaaaaaaa.

So, being Mom has changed my life a little, but has changed me a lot. I'm someone new now. .. Someone with greater joy and a lot more crazy. Someone who saves a scrawled "I Juv Mom. - Jayna" note like it's a treasure, and a picture of lopsided cat like it's Monet. I yell more and smile more. I laugh more and cry more too. I forget where I put my watch and spend half the day picking up toys and finding toilets that certain little someones have forgotten to flush.

But I can tell you this: My mom-in-law was right. I’m glad there’s someone who calls me Mommy, little someones (six, in fact,) who remind me daily that God has looked upon me with kindness, who remind me that God loves me no matter what, tears, tantrums, and all.

When Sparrows Fall by Meg Moseley

2011-05-03T14:23:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

I'm excited to tell you about a brand-new, just released TODAY (yay, Meg!), novel by first-time author, Meg Moseley. I hope you'll check out her very first novel, When Sparrows Fall!

Here's a bit about it, and below is a special message from Meg:

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Freedom. Safety. Love. Miranda vows to reclaim them--for herself, and for her children.

A widow and mother of six, Miranda Hanford leads a quiet, private life. When the pastor of her close-knit church announces his plans to move the entire congregation to another state, Miranda jumps at the opportunity to dissolve ties with Mason Chandler and his controlling method of ruling his flock. But then Mason threatens to unearth secrets from her past, and Miranda feels trapped, terrified she’ll be unable to protect her children.

College professor Jack Hanford is more than surprised when he gets a call from his estranged sister-in-law’s oldest son, Timothy, informing him that Miranda has taken a serious fall and he has been named legal guardian of her children while she recovers. Quickly charmed by Miranda’s children, Jack brings some much-needed life into the sheltered household. But his constant challenging of the family’s conservative lifestyle makes the recovering mother uneasy and defensive—despite Jack’s unnerving appeal.

As Jack tries to make sense of the mysterious Miranda and the secrets she holds so tightly, Mason’s pressure on her increases. With her emotions stirring and freedom calling, can Miranda find a way to unshackle her family without losing everything?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Meg Moseley is a Californian at heart although she’s lived more than half her life in other states. She formerly wrote human-interest columns for a suburban section of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, and home schooled for more than twenty years. Meg enjoys reading books, traveling, gardening, her three grown children, and motorcycle rides with her husband Jon. They make their home in northern Georgia.

Visit her website at: www.megmoseley.com.
Read her blog at: http://megmoseley.wordpress.com/

A MESSAGE FROM MEG:

The writing of When Sparrows Fall required months of research into spiritual abuse in the church. I wanted to expose the legalism and man-made rules that put such heavy burdens on believers, especially in certain circles of Christianity. I found plenty to expose, but I was surprised to find so much legalistic garbage in my own heart too. It was humbling. It made me realize that legalism is a trap any of us can fall into, without even knowing we’ve fallen.

I continued to work on the novel but with a softer heart and a new emphasis on the grace of God. Finally, it was the best I could do. As much as I wanted to offer a perfect story as an offering to the Lord, every human offering is flawed. Only Jesus can present a perfect offering, and He already did, once and for all. “It is finished,” Jesus said on a long-ago Friday afternoon, and that’s the Gospel. Right now, this very moment, the good news is as true as ever. We can drop those man-made burdens and live free in the grace of God, loving Him because He first loved us.

And lastly, here's the Amazon link:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1601423551?ie=UTF8&tag=megmoselcom-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1601423551

The Fine Art of Insincerity by Angela Hunt

2011-05-03T09:09:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,
Here's the book I have to tell you about this week, complete with prologue and trailer. I love Angela Hunt's books, and I think you will too. Check it out!

The Fine Art of Insincerity
Three Southern sisters with nine marriages between them — and more looming on the horizon – travel to St. Simons Island to empty their late grandmother’s house. Ginger, the eldest, wonders if she’s the only one who hasn’t inherited what their family calls “the Grandma Gene”— the tendency to enjoy the casualness of courtship more than the intimacy of marriage. Could it be that her sisters are fated to serially marry, just like their seven-times wed grandmother, Lillian Irene Harper Winslow Goldstein Carey James Bobrinski Gordon George? It takes a “girls only” weekend, closing up Grandma’s memory-filled beach cottage for the last time, for the sisters to unpack their family baggage, examine their relationship DNA, and discover the true legacy their much-marrying grandmother left behind.

The Fine Art of Insincerity is a stunning masterpiece. I was pulled into the lives of Ginger, Pennyroyal and Rosemary--sisters touched by tragedy, coping in their own ways. So real, so powerful. Pull out the tissues! This one will make you cry, laugh, and smile. I recommend it highly. --Traci DePree, author of The Lake Emily series

“Only Angela Hunt could write a relationship novel that’s a page-turner! As one of three sisters, I can promise you this: Ginger, Penny, and Rose Lawrence ring very true indeed. Their flaws and strengths make them different, yet their shared experiences and tender feelings make them family. From one crisis to the next, the Lawrence sisters are pulled apart, then knit back together, taking me right along with them. I worried about Ginger one moment, then Penny, and always Rose—a sure sign of a good novel, engaging both mind and heart. Come spend the weekend in coastal Georgia with three women who clean house in more ways than one!”
Liz Curtis Higgs, best-selling author of Here Burns My Candle

THE FINE ART OF INSINCERITY
ANGELA HUNT

Prologue
Ginger

“You can’t tell your sisters,” my grandmother once told me, “what I’m about to tell you.”

I listened, eyes big, heart open wide.

“Of all my grandchildren—” her hands spread as if to encompass a crowd infinitely larger than myself and my two siblings—“you’re my favorite.”

Then her arms enfolded me and I breathed in the scents of Shalimar and talcum powder as my face pressed the crepey softness of her cheek.

My grandmother married seven times, but not until I hit age ten or eleven did I realize that her accomplishment wasn’t necessarily praiseworthy. When Grandmother’s last husband died on her eighty-third birthday, she mentioned the possibility of marrying again, but I put my foot down and told her no more weddings. I suspect my edict suited her fine, because Grandmom always liked flirting better than marrying.

Later, one of the nurses at the home mentioned that my grandmother exhibited a charming personality quirk—“Perpetual Childhood Disorder,” she called it. PCD, all too common among elderly patients with dementia.

But Grandmother didn’t have dementia, and she had exhibited symptoms of PCD all her life. Though I didn’t know how to describe it in my younger years, I used to consider it a really fine quality.

During the summers when Daddy shipped me and my sisters off to Grandmom’s house, she used to wait until Rose and Penny were absorbed in their games, then she would call me into the blue bedroom upstairs. Sometimes she’d let me sort through the glass beaded “earbobs” in her jewelry box. Sometimes she’d sing to me. Sometimes she’d pull her lace-trimmed hanky from her pocketbook, fold it in half twice, and tell me the story of the well-dressed woman who sat on a bench and fell over backward. Then she’d flip her folded hankie and gleefully lift the woman’s skirt and petticoat, exposing two beribboned legs.

No matter how large her audience, the woman knew how to entertain.

I perched on the edge of the big iron bed and listened to her songs and stories, her earbobs clipped to the tender lobes of my ears, enduring the painful pinch because Grandmother said a woman had to suffer before she could be beautiful. Before I pulled off the torturous earbobs and left the room, she would draw me close and swear that out of all the girls in the world, I was the one she loved most.

Not until years later did I learn that she drew my sisters aside in the same way. I suppose she wanted to make sure we motherless girls knew we were treasured. But in those moments, I always felt truly special.

And for far too long, I believed her.

© 2012 by Angela Hunt, used by permission. Do not reprint without permission. For more information, visit www.angelahuntbooks.com

To order: www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1439182035/booksbyangelae0d

To download the Angela Hunt iPhone/iPad app: http://mobileroadie.com/apps/angela-hunt

Horse Show & The Thief on the Cross

2011-04-27T08:34:00.001-07:00

Hi Friends,

Well, we had our first gymkhana show of 2011 on Saturday -- my first show since last July. Besides me, Bryan, Bethany, Joelle, and Jayna also rode. We had LOTS of fun, and Jayna even won high point in her division (FC 10 and Under). She was the youngest rider there. Bethany posted her fastest times ever, and Joelle also had her best times on Ruby. Bryan bettered his times on Smokey by a ton, but still didn't beat Jewel (though he did edge her out for the overall "A" division title). Anyway, it was fun to be back in the saddle and running events. Yay!

In other news, we had a wonder-filled Easter thinking about how Jesus died for us and rose again to beat death and forgive our sins forever. On that note, here are some thoughts about the thieves who were crucified with Jesus:

After pondering the story of Jesus' death and resurrection this past weekend, I've come to realize that we are all the thief on the cross. The only question is, are we the thief who recognizes who we are and cries out for Jesus to remember us? Or are we the one who mocks Jesus because we don't really believe He is the God who will beat death and rescue us? Of course, we all want to be the wise thief ... but how do we live? Do we live each day as if we are trusting and believing in the One who will save us? Do we face our own crosses, our fears, difficulties, and disappointments by looking to Him and casting ourselves on His mercy? Do we really live in submission, hope, and trust? Or are we hanging there in our fears, bitterness, and discouragement and trying to handle it all alone, pushing Him away, not truly believing His plan for us?

As you ponder those questions, here is a little poem that I wrote about the saved thief a few years ago. May you remember to cast your cares on Him today and know that He remembers you!

The Thief
Luke 23:35-43

Hung upon a cross to die
Was just what I deserved.
A thief was I, a scoundrel.
No plea had I reserved.
But Him, on the other hand,
Who hung there at my side,
He had not killed nor stolen,
He had not even lied.
Why hung He there, so sadly,
Amid the mocks and jeers,
Mutt'ring not a single word
Among His silent tears?
"Save yourself," they screamed at Him.
"And us," my partner cried.
He just turned and looked at me
And quietly He sighed.
Suddenly I spoke my heart,
My fears began to flee.
"When you get into your kingdom, Lord
Please remember me."

Chocolate & Easter - Do You Recognize God's Gifts?

2011-04-20T09:19:00.001-07:00

Hi Friends!

May God take your breath away this week with the wonder of his resurrection! And as you celebrate, here's a little story that happened a couple years ago that will hopefully help you savor all of God's gifts in your life. It happened like this:

Trumped. By chocolate.

I had worked all week with my almost-four-year-old, Joelle, on the meaning of Easter. We’d made little paper Jesus figures and pinned them to the cross. We’d washed feet, made pretend alabaster jars of paper and sprayed them with perfume for Jesus’ head. We’d put Jesus on a paper donkey and made palm branches, then placed him in a garden made with flowers from the yard. And on Friday, we’d taken Jesus from the cross, wrapped him in fabric, and placed him in the tomb, a box with a rock on top.

Now it was Sunday morning. We raced to the tomb and found the stone rolled away. Joelle opened her box and saw the fabric. But Jesus was gone. He was risen. We cheered and laughed and clapped our hands. We hollered, “He is risen!”

Then, we hunted for Easter baskets.

That was my undoing. Joelle found her basket, and the chocolate in it. “Chocolate!” she shrieked.
I picked up the basket and set it on the counter. “We’ll have that after lunch, okay?”

She nodded.

“Now, let’s get ready for church.”

She cast one last, longing glance at the candy, then tromped upstairs.

In fifteen minutes, we had dressed in our fancy Easter dresses and hurried off to church. We weren’t there for two minutes when the moment arrived. I held my breath as Pastor Mark walked up and leaned over the row of seats in front of us. He looked at Joelle and smiled. “So, can you tell me what Easter’s all about?”

My chest puffed. Surely Joelle would know the answer to that! After all, we had a whole week of activities behind us. Jesus is risen. I rehearsed the words in my mind, willing her to say them.

She lifted her chin.

I smiled.

Joelle smiled. And then she told Pastor Mark the meaning of Easter, in single word: “Chocolate!”

My face fell.

My husband snickered.

Mark laughed.

I groaned.

Chocolate. I’d been beaten by a handful of candy. Somehow, a few chocolates in the bottom of a basket overwhelmed a whole week of stories and crafts and activities. But then, I should have known. Joelle loves chocolate. She always has. To her, it’s the best thing in the world.

Music started at the front of the church. Joelle settled into her seat. A minute later, Grandpa arrived and sat next to us. Joelle sidled over to him.

He gave her a hug and whispered, “Happy Easter.”

And then, something amazing happened. Joelle told Grandpa the story of Easter – all of it, about Jesus and the perfume, Jesus on the cross, Jesus risen from the tomb, Jesus alive forever and in our hearts.

My husband looked over at me and winked.

I shook my head. Joelle did know what Easter was all about. Jesus, and chocolate. Both made her happy.

I glanced over at her grinning face. Then, I realized the truth. To her, there was no profound difference between the secular and the holy. To her, everything good was holy, even chocolate. Especially chocolate. Jesus being alive was good and wonderful. Chocolate was good and wonderful. So what better way to celebrate the ultimate gift of Christ’s resurrection than with the best thing we have – chocolate.

Joelle understood that. And maybe she was right. Maybe the separation between God-things and regular-life-stuff wasn’t as wide as I’d thought. After all, Scripture says, “Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights…” (James 1:17, NIV). Every good gift. Life . . . and chocolate.

I smiled and rose to my feet and the first song began. Today, I would thank God for Jesus, and for every good gift that I could enjoy because of him, because he rose on the third day. I would thank him for salvation, for freedom, for life and love. I would even thank him for chocolate.

Tea for Two by Trish Perry

2011-04-19T20:32:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the book I have to tell you about this week. It's TEA FOR TWO by Trish Perry. Here's a bit about Trish and the book, plus a yummy recipe from the book too. Enjoy!

About Trish:
Award-winning novelist Trish Perry has written eight inspirational romances for Harvest House Publishers, Summerside Press, and Barbour Publishing, as well as two devotionals for Summerside Press. She has served as a columnist and as a newsletter editor over the years, as well as a 1980s stockbroker and a board member of the Capital Christian Writers organization in Washington, D.C. She holds a degree in Psychology.

Trish’s latest novel, Unforgettable, released in March, and Tea for Two released in April. She invites you to visit her at www.TrishPerry.com

About Tea for Two:

Zack Cooper tries his best to raise his children, but he's losing his grip on them in their teen years. They've both had scrapes with the local law.

Tea Shop owner Milly Jewel has the perfect woman in mind to help Zack. Counselor Tina Milano meets weekly at the tea shop with her women's group. Milly encourages Zack and Tina to work together to draw the teens back before they get in even hotter water. Milly never thought things might heat up between Zack and Tina. Or did she?

Tina's connections with the Middleburg police department prove a mixed blessing for Zack and his kids. Both her best friend and old boyfriend are officers on the force.

And when Tina's women's group gets wind of her personal pursuits and clashes, they want to help. The group's meetings at the tea shop take on a slightly different flavor. Tina wonders who, exactly, is counseling whom.

And a yummy recipe for Chocolate Mousse Cake:

Ingredients:

6 ounces crushed malt balls
8.8 ounce container mascarpone cheese
7 ounces heavy cream, whipped
3 seven ounce packages white chocolate & Macadamia cookies
1 cup Bailey’s Irish cream liqueur (for non-alcoholic version use Irish Crème coffee creamer)

Chocolate mousse:
10 ounces chopped dark chocolate
2 eggs (room temperature)
¼ cup caster sugar (very fine granulated sugar)
¾ cup heavy cream, whipped

Directions:

Make chocolate mousse—
In microwave-safe bowl, microwave chopped chocolate until almost melted, stirring after each minute. Set aside to cool slightly.
Beat eggs and caster sugar with electric beater for five minutes.
Stir in cooled chocolate.
Fold in ¾ cup whipped cream.
Refrigerate until needed.

Set aside ¼ cup crushed malt balls.

Fold together mascarpone, 7 ounces whipped cream, and remaining malt balls. Remove the base of an 8-inch spring form pan and place the ring on a large serving plate (ring will serve as a mold for the cake). Cut a strip of parchment paper and line side of ring. Dip cookies, one at a time, into liqueur and place in single layer in mold to cover base. Spread half mascarpone mixture over cookies. Top with another layer of cookies dipped in liqueur.

Spread chocolate mousse over cookies. Top with one more layer of cookies dipped in liqueur. Spread remaining mascarpone mixture over cookies and sprinkle with the ¼ cup reserved malt balls.

Cover and refrigerate overnight. Then remove spring form, peel away parchment paper, cut, and serve.

When You're Asking "What..."

2011-04-13T10:09:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends!

I've been talking about the funny things kids say this week on my Facebook page, and I was reminded of something that happened while I was teaching Sunday School a few years ago and how God used it to teach me to trust Him more instead of always asking "What's next" and "Hey, what's up with this?" and "God, what, what, what in the world is the plan here?!" It happened like this:

It was just like every other Sunday morning at church. I waited in the preschool classroom with my box of supplies sitting at my side, eager to present the day’s lesson on how Jesus can make us fishers of men. I’d worked especially hard on the lesson, praying and arranging all the parts to fit together in the best way to communicate the message to the kids. Now, everything was ready.

Before me, brightly colored yarn and construction paper peeked over bins of broken crayons. Sticks that would later become fishing poles poked from the box at my side, and my Bible story book rested, open and ready, on the table in front of me. Even the dry erase board shone clean and white, with colored pens lined up in preparation for the day’s teaching. I said a quick prayer that the lesson I’d prepared would impact the hearts and minds of my young students.

In minutes, they arrived – a jumble of small, flowery dresses, clip-on ties, shiny shoes, and children’s Bibles clenched in restless hands. As soon as they sat down, it began – the barrage of “what” questions.

“What story are we reading today?”

“What are those sticks for?”

“What are we going to make with those?”

“What’s in your box?” “What song are we going to sing?”

“What are you gonna write on the board?”

What, what, what . . .every question they could think of except “What do we need to do to get started?” Of course, I should have been used to it. The questions were nearly the same every Sunday. And just like last Sunday, and the Sunday before that, I answered them all with an assortment of “You’ll see’s,” “You’ll have to wait’s,” and “Trust me’s.”

But, this morning I wished it would have been different. I had hoped the kids would want to experience the lesson one step at a time, discovering each part as an ongoing adventure, rather than needing to know it all, all at once. Maybe it was because I’d prepared the lesson with particular care, and the order of events was essential to what I wanted to teach them. Or perhaps it was because today, especially, I didn’t want the surprise of what would come later to be spoiled by too many questions now. Or perhaps the real reason was because their questions echoed too closely the ones I’d been asking God just last night.

“What are you asking me to do this for?”

“What am I going to do if it doesn’t work out?”

“What is the purpose of these problems in my life?”

“What are you doing to me?” "What is going on here? Gimme a complete explanation!"

What, what, what . . . every question I could think of except “What do I need to do to follow your will right now, right away?” Like my Sunday School kids, I always want to know the end before the beginning, I want to know what everything’s for and how it will all turn out. I’m not content to take God’s well-planned lessons one step at a time, being obedient at the moment without having to know what comes next.

And just like when I’m the teacher, God answers my questions not with explanations, but with “trust me” – trust Him that He has a plan for my life, trust that He knows what He’s doing in the timing and order of it, trust that the lesson is a good one. “’Therefore do not worry about tomorrow,’” He says, “’for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.’” (Matthew 5:34 NIV) He asks that I first learn what He’s teaching me today, right now, before I worry about what’s to come tomorrow.

And, just like my Sunday School kids, I have trouble with that, especially when doubts and questions arise, or when the plan seems to be going askew. Yet, even when life is the most confusing, even when I see strange sticks poking from God’s supply box, still, the best answer to all my “what’s” is a simple “trust me…you’ll see.”

What do you need to trust God for in your life today??

Daddy in the Making by Lyn Cote

2011-04-10T14:44:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new book I have to tell you about this week:

Daddy in the Making
2nd in New Friends Street series
by Lyn Cote

ISBN-13:978-0-373-87663-1
Harlequin Love Inspired Romance
Released Apr 2011

Blurb:

Brought together by a Matchmaking Dog-- Dr. Jake McClure’s basset hound has fallen in love. With a single mom, her adorable twins and the orphaned kittens they rescued. Man’s best friend suddenly won’t budge from Jeannie Broussard—and Jake can understand why. Jeannie is full of love, laughter and everything Jake has been missing in his life lately. As Jake spends time with Jeannie and her girls helping to build her Habitat for Humanity house and rescuing stray animals, a bond forges between them, and soon Jake is wondering if he’s the perfect fit in this fatherless family....

To purchase, drop by http://booksbylyncote.com/SWBS/

New Friends Street: Where love and dreams find a home.

Bio

When Lyn Cote became a mother, she gave up teaching, and while raising a son and a daughter, she began working on her first novel. Rejection followed. Finally, Lyn got "the call." Her first book, Never Alone, was chosen for the new Love Inspired romance line. Since then, Lyn has had over thirty novels published. In 2006 Lyn's book, Chloe, was a finalist for the RITA, one of the highest awards in the romance genre. And her Her Patchwork Family was a Carol finalist in the short historical category in 2010. Lyn’s brand “Strong Women, Brave Stories,” always includes three elements: a strong heroine who is a passionate participant in her times, authentic historical detail and a multicultural cast of characters. Lyn also features stories of strong women both from real life and true to life fiction on her website homepage, http://www.LynCote.net. Lyn also can be found on Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads. Drop by and "friend or follow" her. Now living her dream of writing books at her lake cottage in northern Wisconsin, Lyn hopes her books show the power of divine as well as human love.

One of the secondary characters in this book, Millie, is famous for her Baked Macaroni and Cheese.

Here's my recipe.

Lyn Cote's Baked Macaroni

I adapted this recipe from my 1940 Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook. I've cut the fat content from the original and changed to whole wheat or SMART TASTE macaroni to up the fiber. So you can indulge with this recipe, knowing that it's healthy! 1 lb. whole wheat macaroni or Ronzoni Brand Smart Taste pasta (fortified with Calcium, Vitamin d and Fiber)

****

White sauce:
6 Tb butter or margarine
¾ c. flour
5 c. skim milk
¾ tsp salt
¼ tsp pepper

*****

1 lb grated medium cheddar cheese (Or if you want to give this a Mexican flavor, substitute pepper jack cheese.)

1 c. bread crumbs (or crushed tortilla chips)

Cook macaroni, drain and put into greased, deep casserole dish or bowl. Make the white sauce and take pan off heat (to keep the cheese from becoming stringy). Add 2/3rd's of the grated cheese. Stir till melted. Pour over macaroni. Sprinkle remaining cheese and bread crumbs over top. Bake at 350 F for 30 minutes. May serve as side dish or main course.

Drop by http://www.LynCote.com to learn more about Lyn's literary concoctions. And catch up on her free read, La Belle Christiane, an original manuscript never published, a new scene every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

A Rare Moment Alone . . .

2011-04-06T10:10:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

It's quiet for a moment at my house ... a rarity around here. The girls are at school, Jayden's at Grandma's next door, the baby's sleeping, Bryan's at a meeting. So, there's just me, tempted to do the dusting, fold the clothes, answer email ... in other words, fritter away this gift of a few moments to spend alone with God. But today, I'm not going to. Instead, I've come across this passage in my Bible:

When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. Then he placed his right hand on me and said: “Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and behold I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys to death and Hades” (Revelation 1:17-18).

And I'm caught by the magnificence of Christ and the wonder of being able to spend time with him. How could I waste that chance? How could I choose dusting instead? What am I thinking to even consider the call of dirty dishes and unfolded laundry?

So instead, I'm thinking about this: Imagine for a moment that you’re sitting in your favorite chair. One leg is tucked beneath you. Your Bible is in your lap, and soft music is playing in the background. Then, without warning, Christ himself is standing before you. His eyes are blazing like fire, his hair is as white at lightning, his waist sparkles with gold, his face is shining like the sun at high noon. What would you do? Would you cover your face, fall at his feet, jump up and hug him?

John, the apostle who knew Jesus so well, the one who spoke of Christ’s love most often, chose option #2. He fell at Jesus’ feet as though dead. His reaction shows us how incredible, breath-taking, magnificent Christ’s presence is.

Yet Jesus calls us daily into his presence and tells us, as he told John, “Do not be afraid.” So, I don't want to take that call lightly? I want to live in the reality of the amazing privilege we have to be able to talk with the One who not only died on the cross for us, but who holds our very lives in his hands. “The First and the Last,” the “Living One,” the One who holds the keys of death and Hades – he is the One who calls us to spend time with him today, to tell him our concerns, to listen to his guidance. He is the One who longs to share with us what’s in his heart, who desires to change us, be with us, and fill us with his wisdom and joy. He is the One who loves us.

May I never forget the wonder of that reality! Especially today!

The Story Jar by Robin Lee Hatcher & Deborah Bedford

2011-04-04T09:53:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new book I have to tell you about this week . . .

In time for Mother's Day giving...

THE STORY JAR by Robin Lee Hatcher and Deborah Bedford

ABOUT THE BOOK:

A lovely novel of three women, their stories threaded together through the concept of The Story Jar…

The jar itself is most unusual—not utilized in the ordinary way for canning or storing food, but as a collection point for memories. Some mementos in the jar—hair ribbons, a ring, a medallion--are sorrowful, others tender, some bittersweet. But all those memories eventually bring their owners to a place of hope and redemption in spite of circumstances that seemingly have no solution.

Fresh, insightful, yet courageous in the face of difficult life issues, this collaboration by two talented writers first profiles a pastor’s wife with two young daughters who faces cancer just as her own mother did before her; and then a remarried mother working through a difficult relationship with a rebellious runaway daughter. The third woman, alone with two teenaged boys who no longer pay much attention to her and seem headed for trouble, discovers the long-lost “story jar” and its significance. She comes to realize she can bring her own sorrows and frustrations to the feet of the Good Shepherd, the Great Physician, the Healer of the brokenhearted. She too will have memories for her own story jar.

“…It captures with surprising sensitivity…communion with God, and some excruciatingly exquisite moments of parental love…” Publishers Weekly

Included in the book are heart-warming tributes on motherhood from novelists such as Jerry Jenkins, Francine, Rivers, Karen Ball, and Debbie Macomber.

************************
ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

Robin Lee Hatcher is known for her heartwarming and emotionally charged stories of faith, courage, and love. She makes her home in Idaho where she enjoys spending time with her family, her high-maintenance Papillon, Poppet, and Princess Pinky, the kitten who currently terrorizes the household.

When Deborah Bedford isn't writing, she spends her time fly-fishing, cheering at American Legion baseball games, shopping with her daughter, singing praise songs while she walks along the banks of Flat Creek, and taking her dachshund Annie for hikes in the Tetons where they live.
********************

THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY JAR
by Robin Lee Hatcher

In September 1998, I received a story jar as a thank you gift after speaking at a writers’ conference in Nebraska. The small mason jar, the lid covered with a pretty handkerchief, was filled with many odds and ends – a Gerber baby spoon, an empty thread spindle, a colorful pen, several buttons, a tiny American flag, an earring, and more.

The idea behind this gift was a simple one. When a writer can’t think of anything to write, she stares at one of the objects in the jar and lets her imagination play. Who did that belong to? How hold was he? What sort of person was he? What does the object represent in his life?

Writers love to play the “what if” game. It’s how most stories come into being. Something piques their interest, they start asking questions, and a book is born.

A week after receiving my story jar, I attended a retreat with several writer friends of mine, Deborah Bedford included. On the flight home, I told Deborah about the jar. The next thing you know (after all, what better thing is there for writers to do on a plane than play “what if”?), we began brainstorming what would ultimately become The Story Jar. We decided very quickly that we wanted this to be a book that celebrates motherhood, that encourages mothers, that recognizes how much they should be loved and honored.

The Story Jar was first published by Multnomah in 2000, but eventually went out of print. Thus Deborah and I are delighted that Hendrickson wanted to bring it out in a new, revised version because we believe these stories can inspire others, just as it did this reader back in 2001:

"I am an avid book reader and have read thousands of books––maybe more––since the age of 5. I can honestly say that [The Story Jar] has touched me more than any other I have read. I cried, I laughed, and I relearned things that I had forgotten long ago as well as realizing things I never knew. Thank you for sharing your stories with your readers. They are truly inspiring. I plan on giving it to all the ‘mothers’ in my life for Mother's Day."

You don’t have to be a writer to want a story jar. It can be a family’s way of preserving memories. Consider having a family get-together where everybody brings an item to go into the jar, and as it drops in, they tell what it means to them, what it symbolizes. We can learn something new about our loved ones when we hear their memories in their own words. Or do what my church did a number of years ago to create a memory for a retiring pastor. Inspired by The Story Jar, members of the congregation brought items to the retirement dinner to put into a story jar or they simply wrote their memories on a piece of paper to go into the jar. It was our way of saying thanks to a man and wife for all of the years they’d given in God’s service.

A story jar can be a tool for remembering all the wonderful things God has done in our own lives. As Mrs. Halley said, not all of God’s miracles are in the Bible. He is still performing them today in countless ways today, changing lives, healing hearts.

The Story Jar on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1598566652/novelistrobinlee
The Story Jar on ChristianBook: http://www.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/product?event=AFF&p=1138486&item_no=566659

Robin Lee Hatcher http://www.robinleehatcher.com/

Deborah Bedford http://www.deborahbedfordbooks.com/

Fun News for the Week . . .

2011-03-30T13:42:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Got some fun news for you this week (in case you haven't heard already) - yay! So here ya go:

1) Shades of Morning was named a finalist in the inspirational category for the big RITA award (from Romance Writers of America). I was soooo excited to get the call telling me my book had made the finalist list. Whoo Hoo! Here's a list of all the finalists: http://bit.ly/gCoTb3

2) My article on "Infertility: Can Your Marriage Survive?" is up on Kyria/Marriage Partnership this week (Christianity Today, Inc.). You can find it here: http://bit.ly/hrTWzb Yippee! Check it out!

3) If you didn't see my books on CSI, below is the link where you can see the episode online on the CBS site. Go to the 6:24-6:30 mark and watch for the books on the shelf (I think they'll make you watch a couple commercials beforehand, though). Nick reaches between 3 of my books (Veil of Fire, Cry Freedom, and Only the Wind Remembers) to retrieve the all important notebook. Some have asked how my books ended up there. Well... my cousin has a prop company in Hollywood, so my books are available for shows. The exciting thing, though, is that the set designer actually chose them and placed them so prominently in the shot. FUN! Here's the link: http://bit.ly/gOXeon

And last but not least, I thought I'd share a Poem to Ponder this week ... just a little something I wrote to help reflect on God's glory and wonder ... in hopes that it will help you be filled with His wonder and emptied of any fear. Here ya go:

GLORY
Glory.
His glory flames through my soul,
Illuminates my night,
The blazing dawn of glory
Of God who is my light.
Glory.
His glory like the fiery sun
Sears my soul with joy.
My vision fills with wonder
No fear may dare destroy.
Glory.

Are You Ready for Life's Storms?

2011-03-23T10:05:00.001-07:00

Hi Friends,

First, I thought it would be fun to share a couple pictures from our recent church-directory-photo shoot from church, so here ya go:

Then, since it's been raining like crazy lately and my patio HAS NOT flooded like it did last year, I thought it would be fun to share this story from the last time we got a huge downpour:

I gripped my umbrella in tight fists and stared through the rain that careened off the fabric above me. Then, I took a few steps forward and waved at the yellow, husband-shaped blob that stood a few feet away, the image obscured by the water pouring between us.

Bryan tugged at his mustard-colored rain slicker and didn’t wave back. In fact, he didn’t even turn as he sloshed through the foot-deep water that threatened the foundation of our house.

“Hey, you need help?” I shouted the question over the roar of the rain.

He glanced back and squinted. “Get a hose.”

A hose? With all this water, it seemed that the last thing we needed was a hose.

Bryan waved his hand toward the garage. “Get all the hoses you can find. Hurry.” He knelt down and starting digging into the hole where the drainage pipe was supposed to be.

“What happened?”

“Drains must be plugged. We need to siphon off this water before it damages our foundation.”

I nodded and jogged to the garage. There, I found three hoses and hauled them back to the ever-deepening pool over our patio.

Bryan grabbed the first hose, shoved it under the water, then pulled the other end downhill to the lawn. After a few minutes, he stood and strode back toward me.

I held out the second hose. “Is it working?”

He grimaced and took the next hose. “Yeah, but it’s slow. We really need the drain pipes to work.”

“Why aren’t they?”

“I don’t know.”

Bryan set the second hose to siphoning while I worked on the third. But even with all three hoses, the level of the water didn’t seem to be lowering. And the rain just kept pouring down.

For the rest of the afternoon, we labored in the pounding rain to keep the water from flooding our basement. It was hard work with pumps and hoses, buckets and brooms. We sloshed, we hauled, we siphoned, we swept. We watched, we waited, we hoped, and we wondered what had happened to the drains.

In the months previous, when the sun was shining, nothing seemed wrong. The patio was clean and shiny. The drains looked fine. But the first big rainstorm of the year proved that something had gone wrong.

The next day, after the rains had let up, Bryan came in from working in the yard. He called to me from the front room. “I figured out what happened.”

I peered around the corner. “What?”

“Seems that a bunch of grass had grown into one of the pipes, plugging it. The water couldn’t get out. That’s why it backed up.”

“Guess we should have checked that.”

“I didn’t even know that pipe was there.”

“Well, we certainly know it now.” And now, we’d know to keep it clear. But it was too bad we hadn’t paid enough attention to the pipes while the weather was good. It took a storm to show us that everything wasn’t as clear and free-flowing as we’d thought.

Life is a lot like that, too. When the sun’s shining and all seems well, it’s easy to think our faith is all right. It’s easy to forget to keep things cleared out and the pipes flowing. I miss my regular time of Bible study and prayer and think, “Oh well, I’ll just do it next time.” Little issues pop up, and I simply deal with them, forgetting to cast all my cares upon God, because he cares for me (1 Peter 5:7).

But then the rainstorm hits. Something hard and unexpected happens. Fears, worries, doubts pile up and threaten my foundation. And in the midst of the storm, it’s hard work to clear the flood. Instead, it’s better to pay attention when the sun’s shining. It’s better to keep the lines of communication open and flowing freely between me and God before the rains start to fall.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 (NIV) tells us “Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.”

By praying continually, by being joyful, by giving thanks, I can keep my spiritual “pipes” open so I won’t be caught by surprise when life’s storms hit. I need to pay attention while the sun’s shining so that when it rains my faith is ready to flow freely through pipes kept clear by prayer and faithfulness.

Why Hurts are like Caterpillars

2011-03-17T08:55:00.000-07:00

Hi Friends,

Well, the caterpillars are out in force this week at our house and my 5-year-old, Jayna, has decided that collecting fuzzy black caterpillars is the most fun thing ever. Earlier this week, she put them all in a bucket, then scattered them over the front deck - oh joy. So, while I was trying to avoid stepping on them on the way out to the car, I was reminded of this story (so maybe her caterpillar collecting was really a prompting from God after all...). Anyway, it happened like this:

A pair of black, beady eyes stared into mine from across my pillow. I leapt up. “Aargh! Ewwww!” My yell reverberated off the rafters. I bit my lip to cut off another shout.

Bryan jolted up and rubbed his hand over his face. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

“Yuck! Look.” I pointed a shaking finger at the green, squirmy caterpillar now inching across my pillowcase. A chill fishtailed down my spine.

Bryan glanced at the insect and yawned. “Oh, is that all?” He laid back down and rolled over.

I scowled. Didn’t he realize that nasty green worm had been just inches from my nose? That was worth a good yell, and then some. I reached over and plucked a fistful of tissues from the box beside the bed. Then, I poised my hand over the squirmy creature and took a deep breath. Icky little worm. I paused. It wasn’t a worm. And I knew it. It was a caterpillar. My instincts said to smush it, mush it, squish it into oblivion. But I didn’t. Instead, I wrinkled up my nose and carefully scooped it into the tissues. Next, I went downstairs and placed it gently on the deck railing outside.
For a moment, I watched as the caterpillar crawled to the back side of a post and disappeared. Then, I went back to bed.

“It would have been easier just to squash it,” Bryan murmured.

I sighed. “I know.”

“Nature lover.” I could hear the smile in his voice as he rustled deeper into the covers.

I checked my pillow one last time (no bugs!) then closed my eyes. Bryan’s words rang in my mind. But it wasn’t because I was a nature lover that I didn’t smush the caterpillar. It was because, as much as I didn’t like green, squirmy critters on my pillow, I did love butterflies. And I had faith that my beady-eyed intruder would soon turn into a beautiful butterfly. That’s why I scooped instead of squashing.

As I laid there, with sleep eluding me, I began to think about the wonder of transformation. A caterpillar, I realized, wasn’t the only yucky thing that had happened in my life. There were other things, like infertility, failures, difficult relationships, that I wanted to just squish and forget about. But perhaps, just perhaps, God could transform those too, just like the caterpillar. Maybe He could transform my pain, my experiences, into something useful in the lives of others, something beautiful in the Kingdom of God.

I glanced at my jewelry box on the dresser. Inside were three different cross necklaces and a gold pair of cross earrings. The cross – a perfection picture of how God transforms the ugly into the beautiful. I wouldn’t wear a hangman’s noose or a guillotine or a gilded electric chair. But I do wear crosses. Why? Because God has transformed the cross. It’s where death turned to life, where joy triumphed over sorrow, where my life was redeemed. The cross, once nothing more than an executioner’s tool, is now a symbol of God’s redeeming love. And if God could do that, and if he could turn a squirmy caterpillar into a gorgeous butterfly, then he could take the awful things in my life and transform them, too, for His glory.

Romans 8:28 (NIV) says that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” It doesn’t say that all things are good that happen in my life, but that God can turn the hard things into good. He can make them into a shining testimony of His love and faithfulness.

But if they are going to be transformed, I need to take those difficult, sometimes painful experiences, and offer them to Him. I need to open my hand and let the caterpillar go free, believing in faith that one day soon it will be changed into a beautiful butterfly.

BATHSHEBA by Jill Eileen Smith

2011-03-15T09:29:00.001-07:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the novel I have to tell you about this week. It's BATHSHEBA by Jill Eileen Smith. Here's a bit about it:

Can love triumph over treachery?
Bathsheba is a woman who longs for love. With her husband away fighting the king’s wars, she battles encroaching loneliness–making it frighteningly easy to succumb to the advances of King David. Will one night of unbridled passion destroy everything she holds dear? Can she find forgiveness at the feet of the Almighty? Or has her sin separated her from God—and David—forever?
With a historian’s sharp eye for detail and a novelist’s creative spirit, Jill Eileen Smith brings to life the passionate and emotional story of David’s most famous—and infamous—wife. You will never read the story of David and Bathsheba in the same way again.

You can purchase a copy of Bathsheba at:
Amazon
CBD
and wherever fine books are sold.

Get Out of that Cage!

2011-03-09T11:33:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

We've had nice weather this week, so the girls have been out catching lizards and bugs to put in the bug and frog habitat that Jayna got for her birthday. They're having a good time studying the wildlife in the cage, and while they've been doing so, I remembered a story from a couple years ago that really spoke to me about living in freedom without fear. I found this helpful, and I'm hoping you will too. So, here's how it happened:

“Mommmmyyyy!” Bethany raced into the house with a small wire cage gripped tightly in her hands. “Look, look, look, look!” She skidded to a stop before me and shoved the cage under my nose. “Look what Grandpa caught for me. Isn’t it cool?”

I looked down into the cage at a pale green grasshopper and a bit of fresh clover. I forced a smile. “Oh, isn’t that great.” Just what I needed, another bug in the house.

“I’m going to keep him in my room. Whoo-hoo!” She darted up the steps and into her bedroom. She spent the next hour putting the tiny cage on her dresser, on the floor, on the table next to her bed, on the windowsill, and finally, back down in the kitchen.

For three days, I watched that poor little grasshopper as he sat on the wire mesh and twitched his legs. By that time, the clover had withered and the grasshopper had lost its brand-new appeal.

“Why don’t you let that thing go now,” I said to Bethany as she wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a snack. “He’ll die if you keep him in there for too long.”

She studied the insect for a long moment, then shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, okay.” She reached for plug on the side of the cage.

“Nooo, not in the house! Take it outside.” I waved my hand toward the door.

Bethany snatched the cage and took it out to the front deck. A few minutes later, I heard her shout. “Mom, it’s still in the cage.”

I dried my hands on the dishtowel and hollered back. “Let it out, Bethany.”

“It won’t go!”

“What do mean, it won’t go?” I stepped outside to see the cage open and the little grasshopper still clinging to the mesh inside.

“See.”

I squatted down. “Hmmm.”

Bethany waited.

I waited.

The grasshopper waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally, we gave up and left it in its open cage on the deck. “It’ll go out eventually,” I told Bethany.

Three days later, that grasshopper was still in his cage with no water and no food.

Bethany crossed her arms and frowned. “How come it won’t go out?”

I shook my head. “Silly, isn’t it? It’ll die in there if it doesn’t get out soon.” I tipped the cage, picked up a stick, and beat on the far end until the grasshopper fell through the opening. A moment later, it hopped away.

Bethany took my hand. “Would it really have died?”

“I think so.”

We sat down on the step and stared at the place where the grasshopper disappeared. Strange, I thought, how a creature would sit in a cage and suffer when the way to freedom was open just beside it. But then, I wondered if I was much different.

John 8:36 (NIV) tells me, “So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” Christ has set me free, too. Free from sin, from worry, from fear.

Yet, sometimes, I forget that because of Christ I am free indeed. Instead I live as if worry and fear should be normal parts of my everyday life. Bills come and I worry about how I will pay them. I have tests at the doctor’s office and am afraid of what the results might be. I worry that I’ll do poorly on an assignment, fail at my job, or that no one will show up to my church small group.

So I sit in the cage of my fears and get weaker and weaker while the door is standing open beside me. But God has not called me to live in the wire mesh of fear. Instead, He calls me to trust Christ enough to get out of the cage and explore the life that He has for me. He calls me to be free.

Unforgettable by Trish Perry

2011-03-08T16:18:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new book I have to tell you about this week. It's UNFORGETTABLE by Trish Perry.

A little about Unforgettable:

Rachel Stanhope tries to see the good in everyone. But even her good graces are challenged when she meets Josh Reegan outside her Arlington, Virginia dance studio on a brisk fall morning in 1951. Admittedly, he’s attractive, but she finds his cynicism and cockiness hard to tolerate.

A hard-news journalist and former World War II Air Force pilot, Josh considers distractions like ballroom dancing frivolous wastes of time. He has yet to shed his wartime drive to defend good against evil whenever he can. Yes, Rachel’s confident nature is a refreshing challenge, but he wouldn’t tangle with her if his newspaper hadn’t roped him into covering one of her studio’s competitions in New York City.

Between Arlington and New York, between the melodrama of ballroom antics and the real drama of political corruption, between family involvement and romantic entanglement, Rachel and Josh have their hands full. The last thing either of them expects is mutual need and support. But once they stop dancing around the truth, the results are unforgettable.

A little about Trish:

Award-winning novelist Trish Perry has written eight inspirational romances for Harvest House Publishers, Summerside Press, and Barbour Publishing, as well as two devotionals for Summerside Press. She has served as a columnist and as a newsletter editor over the years, as well as a 1980s stockbroker and a board member of the Capital Christian Writers organization in Washington, D.C. She holds a degree in Psychology.

Trish’s latest novel, Unforgettable, releases in March, and Tea for Two releases in April. She invites you to visit her at www.TrishPerry.com

3 Things I Learned from Riding

2011-03-02T09:44:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

After nearly 9 months, yesterday I was finally able to ride my horse again ... yay! It felt great to get back in the saddle and lope around (and even do a bit of jumping and practicing barrel racing). With being pregnant, and then having new baby here, I can't remember the last time I did something fun for me ... until yesterday. So, even though it was a short ride in a wet arena, squeezed in before the rains came in last night, I'm happy!

So, here are some things I learned for life from my ride:

1) Today is a gift - receive it, "open" it, enjoy it. Don't let worries about the rains coming in tomorrow, or regrets about yesterday, hold you back. Don't be afraid - live every moment in the joy and grace that God gives you. Accept God's gifts for you today, and live in them fully!

2) Don't stare at the obstacle you're going over or around. Instead, keep your eyes up. If you look at the jump as you're going over it, or fix your eyes on the barrel as your going around it, the horse will knock it over. You have to look up as you jump, keep your eyes up and look to the next barrel as you turn. So, keep looking up to God as you encounter obstacles in life - look toward what He's doing in you (perfecting you, making you more like Jesus) and His promises of peace, help, comfort, love, and don't get fixated on the problem you're encountering. Remember what Paul says - "But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 3:13-14 NIV)

3) If you can, share your fun with someone you love. Laugh together, enjoy one another. Bethany rode with me yesterday, and it was a great time to talk and enjoy one another as well as the horses. So today, remember to take some time to enjoy the ones you love.

And finally, in honor of my horse, Jewel, who was such a good girl for me yesterday during our ride, I'm reposting the the video I did for Shades of Morning with her. Enjoy!

Springtime of the Spirit by Maureen Lang

2011-02-28T14:58:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new book I have to tell you about this week. It's . . .

Springtime of the Spirit
By Maureen Lang

The winter of an unjust war is over. A springtime of the spirit awaits.

Germany, 1918
Four years of fighting have finally come to an end, and though there is little to celebrate in Germany, an undercurrent of hope swells in the bustling streets of Munich. Hope for peace, fairness—the possibility of a new and better tomorrow.

It’s a dream come true for Annaliese Düray. Young and idealistic, she’s fighting on the front lines of Munich’s political scene to give women and working-class citizens a voice in the new government. But she’s caught off guard by the arrival of Christophe Brecht—a family friend, recently returned from the war, who’s been sent to bring her home.

It’s the last place she wants to go.

Christophe admires Annaliese’s passion, unable to remember the last time he believed in something so deeply. Though he knows some things are worth fighting for, he questions the cost to Annaliese and to the faith she once cherished. Especially when her party begins to take its agenda to new extremes.

As the political upheaval ignites in Munich, so does the attraction between Annaliese and Christophe. When an army from Berlin threatens everything Annaliese has worked for, both she and Christophe face choices that may jeopardize their love, their loyalty, and their very lives.

A note from the author:

Writing this book taught me some of the political ideals so many people fight either for or against haven’t changed in hundreds of years. In light of what’s happening today around the world and even here in America, this book reminded me to trust that the future is in God’s hands and to pray for His guidance in every decision—even the ones about government.

Maureen Lang is the award-winning author of several novels, including The Oak Leaves, On Sparrow Hill, and most recently, The Great War series. She has won the Inspirational Readers Choice contest and a Holt Medallion Award of Merit and was a finalist for the Christy Award. Maureen lives in the Midwest with her husband and three children. Visit her Web site at www.maureenlang.com or on her blog or Facebook page:

http://maureenlang.blogspot.com/
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/maureen.lang

Springtime of the Spirit can be purchased wherever books are sold or online:

Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Springtime-Spirit-Great-Maureen-Lang/dp/1414324375/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_1

CBD
http://www.christianbook.com/springtime-of-the-spirit-great-war/maureen-lang/9781414324371/pd/324371?item_code=WW&netp_id=839197&event=ESRCN&view=details

Barnes and Noble
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Springtime-of-the-Spirit/Maureen-Lang/e/9781414324371/?itm=1&USRI=springtime+of+the+spirit

A special bonus: Whisper on the Wind, another book in Maureen Lang’s Great War Series, is available for a free Kindle download for a limited time through www.amazon.com

Happy Reading!

What's Your Busyness Masking?

2011-02-23T17:52:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends!

With my husband, Bryan, going in for hernia surgery tomorrow, I was reminded of this story from his appendix surgery a few years ago. With the new baby and a million other things keeping me extra-busy these days, this was a timely reminder for me. Maybe you'll find it helpful too. It happened like this:

The sight of my husband curled up on the bathroom floor should have been my first clue. After all, you don’t see a 6’3”, 220 lb. guy rolling around in fetal position every day.

I stepped through the door and touched my fingers to his shoulder. “Uh, are you okay?”

“Auurrgh.” He rolled over on his back and stared up at me.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just a little gas,” he wheezed. “I’ll be all right in a minute.”

A minute came and went. “Maybe you need to go to the hospital?”

“Nooooooo.” He waved his hand at me.

“What can I do?”

“Call the doc. Maybe it’s the antibiotics he prescribed last week.”

I did.

“Can I talk to him?” was the first thing the doctor said to me.

I poked my head back into the bathroom. “Doc’s on the phone.”

Bryan reached out his hand and grunted at me. A couple minutes later,
he hobbled out of the bathroom and handed back the phone. “Doc says I’d better get to the emergency room. Fast.”

My heart leapt to my throat and stomped out a rapid beat.

Eight hours later, they wheeled Bryan into the operating room for emergency surgery to remove his appendix. Just before he left the pre-op room, he raised a pale, shaky hand toward me. “Pray for me, huh?.”

I nodded. “I will.” My voice caught.

Then, they took him away, leaving me to do the waiting, the awful, interminable, watch-the-minutes-tick-by-like-hours waiting. Waiting filled with fear, worry, and scattered prayers. And in those quiet, endless minutes, with no crying baby, no yelling 3-year-old, no laundry, no phone, no work to be done, no to-do list a mile long, my prayers were strained, shallow, cold. I prayed as if I were talking to a stranger. What was wrong with me? Why was it so hard to pour out my fears to God and take refuge in Him?

That’s when I realized that my relationship with God had grown shallow over the days and months of busyness. I’d been doing many of the right things -- going to church, reading my Bible, praying for the needs of my family and friends. But somehow I had lost that intimate connection with God.

After a couple hours the doctor came out to the waiting room. His smile relieved the tension in my chest. “Surgery went well. No complications.”

“Did it . . .”

He shook his head. “No, the appendix didn’t burst.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “But I have to say, it was biggest, nastiest unburst appendix I’ve ever seen. The thing was this long.” He measured a span of about six inches with his fingers. “It had to have been cooking in there for a good week.”

“A week?”

“I suspect the antibiotics he was taking masked the symptoms. It’s a miracle it didn’t burst.”

I sat back down. A miracle . . .

“You’ll be able to see him in about a half hour. Someone will come get you.” The doctor strolled away.

A week. The antibiotics masked the symptoms. A miracle. Masked the symptoms . . . the words swirled through my mind. And finally I understood. Sometimes you don’t know you’re sick, either physically or spiritually. Sometimes the symptoms are masked. Just like the signs of appendicitis, my symptoms of spiritual sickness had been masked too, masked by my busyness.

So, during that half hour more of waiting, I prayed, thanking God for the miracle of an unburst appendix, and asking him to “Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” (Psalm 139:23-24).

In the weeks that followed, Bryan healed, and so did I. God helped me to find some quiet, reflective times to spend with Him. I began to get back to those deep places with God, places where I could rest in Him and know that He was healing the shallowness of my soul.

A Dad of His Own by Gail Gaymer Martin

2011-02-21T12:52:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new book I have to tell you about this week. It's A DAD OF HIS OWN by Gail Gaymer Martin. Here's a bit about it:

One Child's Wish
With his Dreams Come True foundation, Ethan Fox turns wishes into reality. Amazing trips. Meeting heroes. But Ethan has come to care deeply for a sick boy whose dream is. . .a dad. And not just any dad. Ethan. Though little Cooper has a great chance of getting well, widowed Ethan can't chance loving---and losing---again. Yet he's spending time with the sweet boy and his lovely, single mother, Lexie Carlson. Could a little boy's wish for a dad of his own come true after all?

In stores now where ever books are sold or order on line: Click to Order

Bio:
Multi-award-winning novelist, Gail Gaymer Martin writes Christian fiction for Love Inspired and Barbour Publishing, where she was honored by Heartsong readers as their Favorite Author of 2008. Gail has forty-eight contracted novels with over three million books in print. She is the author of Writers Digest’s Writing the Christian Romance. Gail is a co-founder of American Christian Fiction Writers, a keynote speaker at churches, libraries and civic organizations and presents workshops at conference across the US. She has a Masters degree from Wayne State University in Detroit, Michigan and was a licensed counselor for many years. She lives with her husband in a northwest Detroit suburb.

Gail's Video Interview about A DAD OF HIS OWN and a little about her career can be view on her blog at: http://www.gailmartin.blogspot.com/

Visit Gail's Website at http://www.gailmartin.com/
Gail on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/profile.php?id=1429640580

Tips for Focusing on Jesus

2011-02-18T16:53:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Well, we had our pictures taken at church yesterday for the new directory, and oh, what an adventure with the 8 of us. You should have seen the poor photographer trying to get everyone to look at the camera at the same time and smile. Quite a task! But, as he was there making funny noises with a stuffed frog on his head (yes, really), I got some insight about Hebrews 12:2, where we're encouraged to "fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith."

I discovered that the only way to get a good picture was by all looking forward at the camera and smiling (like Joelle and Jordyn in the picture above), by "fixing our eyes" on the guy with the frog. When one of us stopped looking at the frog-headed man, and instead gazed off in our own direction, the picture wasn't a good one and was rejected by the photographer. But what was worse, was when the kids started looking at each other and telling each other to "look at the camera, smile, don't close your eyes." Bria would squint up her eyes (like she's doing in the picture below - alas!), then Joelle would look at her and say, "Bria, stop closing your eyes." Then, two people weren't doing the right thing. Next, Jayden would look at the baby, and Bethany would look at him to correct him, then Jayna would tell Bethany to look up, and now there were three who were not fixing their eyes on the photographer. Ack! We couldn't get a decent picture that way. It was only when each person decided to fix his/her own eyes ahead and be happy about it (smile!), and let the photographer correct the others, that we got a good picture at last.

Life in Christ is like that too, I think. The only way to get a good shot is if I fix my eyes on Jesus rather than looking around to see if everyone else is doing it right. It's God's job to correct others, to help them look forward and smile ... it's not mine to play God for them. When I fix my eyes on Jesus, he will perfect my faith. When I fix my eyes on how others are falling short, my faith only falters.

So today, I'm focusing on looking only to Jesus and letting him be the photographer in my life and in the lives of those around me.

May we fix our eyes on Jesus and be filled with joy!

Letting Go of Expectations for Valentine's Day

2011-02-09T11:26:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends!

First, a bit of news, then some thoughts on Expectations and Valentine's day.

The News:

Bethany broke her wrist yesterday. And she doesn't even have an exciting story to show for it. She just slipped on some wet grass at school and fell on the concrete. Her teacher called me, so I went and picked up Bethany from school, took her in to Urgent Care, and sure enough, she has a "buckle fracture" in her left wrist. The doc put on a temporary fiberglass cast, and we'll be seeing the bone specialist at some point for a regular cast. Doc said it was a pretty simple fracture and should heal up just fine in 4-6 weeks. Meanwhile, though, they'll be no horseback riding for Bethany (she'll miss the February show - bummer!), or flute lessons, or piano lessons. I tease her that now she'll only be able to do her homework and clean toilets. Ha! ;-)

Next . . . a story about Expectations and Valentine's Day:

"Happy Valentine's Day, Honey," my husband murmured, then scooted out the door with his usual quick kiss and bear hug. "See ya later." Bryan winked and was gone.

That’s it? I thought. No candy, no flowers, no delicate chocolates in the traditional bright red heart-shaped box! Just a hug, kiss, and out the door? This was supposed to be a day of passion, of romance, of chocolates! A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth and deepened into ugly grooves.

Bryan never was much of a romantic anyway, I complained. He just doesn't understand women. Days like today are supposed to be special.

I sighed and drew my brows together in a deeper scowl as I proceeded to review again all the faults I imagined in my poor, unwary spouse. By the time I was finished, I was thoroughly dissatisfied. Valentine's Day was ruined. And it was all his fault!

I threw my body crosswise on the couch and swung my legs across the cushions. Reluctantly, I picked up the Bible for my daily devotion. I wasn't in the mood. My eyes fell on the day's scripture, "Serve one another in love" (Galatians 5:13). Love. There was that word. Today was supposed to be the day of love. I wasn't feeling much love at all. And it was all Bryan's fault! ... Or was it? The scripture didn't say to expect to be loved. It especially didn't say to expect chocolates just because it was Valentine's Day.

Slowly, my temper quelled and I began to examine my reactions. Bryan had done no more or less than any other day. He had given me the hug and kiss that I usually counted as a treasure. So why the difference this morning? Was it because today I had expected more? Had I succumbed to the dreaded "E" word - Expectation?

I began to realize that the problem with my expectations is that I can never win with them. As soon as I expected Bryan to act a certain way, I set myself up for disappointment. When he didn't meet my expectations, I was upset. If he had acted as I expected, then I would have been satisfied. But how could I have been pleasantly surprised and appreciate his kindness if I had been expecting it all along?

February, they say, is a month for love. And Jesus showed us what real love is all about -- Not candies, nor flowers, nor sweet chocolates wrapped in a fancy box. No, love is about laying down our lives for one another, about serving one another in love.

So, this year for Valentine's Day, I'm not going to worry about gifts of tantalizing chocolates. I'm not going to cling to expectations of what my husband is supposed to do for me. Rather, I plan to give my husband one of the greatest gifts of all in a marriage -- I'm going to exchange my expectations for joy and thanksgiving. This year, I'm making Expectation a dirty word!

Lessons Learned from Baby's First Bath

2011-02-03T20:01:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Well, baby Jordyn is 2 1/2 weeks old now and has had her first bath. Here are some things I learned from her at bathtime:

1) Sometimes we make a mess of ourselves.

2) We can't clean ourselves. We need Someone who loves us to do it for us.

3) Getting clean can be a little scary, but there's no use crying about it.

4) If you want to be clean, you have to trust the One doing the cleaning. Rest in His hands, even when the waters splash around you.

5) To really be clean, God has to wash the nooks and crannies -- those places we may not see.

6) You don't come out of a bath looking perfect - your hair may stick up and your skin may be a little wrinkled. Don't worry about appearances - it's getting clean that counts.

7) You're going to make a mess of yourself again, so trust God to know when another bath is needed.

8) God loves you. Let Him do what's needed to make you clean.

New Baby is Here - Yay!

2011-01-26T09:27:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Well, in case you haven't heard, baby Jordyn made her arrival on Saturday, January 15th at 4:08pm ... only 45 minutes after we arrived at the hospital (yes, that was cutting it close!). Natural delivery with no complications. She weighed 8 lbs 7 oz and was 20 inches long.

Here I am "before," all pregnant and big-bellied. :-)

And here's a picture of Jordyn Mikaela shortly after birth. Her sisters and brother (and Grandma & Grandpa) were able to come after the birth and watch her get her very first bath. Whenever they'd talk, she'd turn her head trying to find them. It was amazing how she recognized their voices.

We came home from the hospital after less than 24 hours, and all Jordyn's siblings got to hold her. Jayden was just entranced. :-) And of course all her sisters can't get enough of holding her.

Anyway, we've gotten through the first week, and she's going great. I'm tired but functioning, and things are slowly moving back toward normal-ish.

So, meanwhile, here are three things I've learned from Jordyn:

1) If you want God's voice to be familiar, you have to listen for it everyday, even when it seems muffled by all the ins and outs of growing in everyday life. Listening when His voice is muffled will help you to recognize him when you're thrust out in the real world. (John 10:27)

2) Be prepared because you really don't know how much time you have. (1 Peter 3:15)

3) True rest comes only when we know we are held safe in the arms of God. (Psalm 46:10)

Having Eyes that SEE!

2011-01-12T09:42:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

As I was thinking about preparing my mind and heart for 2011, and for the upcoming birth of baby Jordyn, this verse came to mind: "If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light..." (Matthew 6:22)

I was reminded of an experience I had a few years ago. Once upon a time, I couldn’t tell a tree from a telephone pole, or a friend from a foe, or a clean room from a dirty one – at least not without my glasses. But some years ago I had laser eye surgery, and suddenly everything was clear. I could see the intricate beauty of pictures on the wall. I could also see cobwebs gathering in the corner, and the dirt smudges near the light switch.

And I've come to think that the changes God works in me are much like eye surgery. When I’m focused on Him, my vision becomes clear. I can see the intricate details of God’s work in my life and in the world around me. Things I didn’t understand become clear, and I find God is good and loving, even when things don't go as I hoped or planned. But I also see the places in my life that need cleaning, places I may have thought were just fine before.

Good eyes, seeing eyes, allow me to view myself and my world as they really are, the good and the bad. But most importantly, good eyes keep me from being deceived by fear, panic, weariness, wishes, or even the nightly news. With truly seeing eyes, I can tell a friend from a foe, truth from lies, reality from the distractions that spring into my mind. And that’s why I pray that God will keep my eyes on Him and my vision clear. Because true sight isn't about physical vision, it's about discerning what's real. And the only way I can do that is to keep my focus on the author of truth, the only One who sees everything perfectly clearly, from beginning to end, the author of life itself. The clearer I see Him, the clearer I see everything else as well.

God, give us all eyes to see what we need to see ... clearly and truly!

Don't Get Choked! Living Beyond Worry . . .

2011-01-05T11:40:00.001-08:00

Hi Friends,

With the new year here, and new baby due in just over a week (as of yesterday, she was head-down again ... here's praying she stays that way!), I've been thinking about how I want this year to be characterized by joy instead of worry, by captivation-with-Christ rather than captivation-by-all-those-things-on-my-to-do-list. As I've been thinking and praying about growing strong with God, this story came to mind:

It was tall. It was green. It was bushy. But something wasn’t right.

I crossed my arms and looked up at the fat, green oak tree. Beside me, my husband sighed. I shook my head. “I don’t want to do it. Do you want to do it?”

“I don’t want to do it.”

I stepped back. “Someone’s got to do it.”

“It’s an ugly job.”

“That thing will be right outside the window once we build the cabin. We can’t have it looking like that.”

“I know. But still . . . ” Bryan crossed his arms over his chest.

I put my hand on my hips.

For a moment, we both stared at the oak and didn’t say a word. Shiny green and red leaves poked from all parts of the tree. But they weren’t oak leaves. Thick vines twisted around the trunk and branches. Those didn’t belong to the oak either.

I shivered.

The green wasn’t the green of a healthy oak. Instead it was a sign of poison. A huge batch of poison oak had grown up into the tree and twined around every branch. The tree was thick with it. Lush and green, but with nasty poison.

Bryan tugged on his sleeves. “Okay, I’ll do it then. But get the bleach ready for the laundry.”

Four hours later, the laundry was in, Bryan was taking a cool shower, and the tree was clear. I tromped up the hill and looked at it. It wasn’t lush anymore. And it wasn’t green. Scraggly branches with a few sad leaves spread from the trunk and reached toward the sky.

“Ugh, it looks awful,” I murmured.

As I looked at the now-bare soil beneath it, I noticed there were no acorns scattered on the ground, and no little baby oaks growing around it.

Then it struck me. That big, strong oak was stifled by that little vine. The oak was bigger, taller, thicker, and more established. And yet, that small, thin, poisonous weed had nearly choked the life from it.

As I stood and gazed at the tree, I was reminded of Jesus’ parable from Matthew 13, Mark 4, and Luke 8. In that story, seed fell on four different types of soil. In the third, the seed sprouted among thorns and the life was choked out the plants, just as the poison oak had choked the oak tree. Jesus likened the thorns to the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth, and desires for other things.

If something as small as poison oak could choke the life from a big, strong oak, how much more vulnerable was I to worry and wrong desires? After all, there are so many things in life to worry about – finances, schooling, job concerns, health, family crises. It’s easy to allow those to twine around my mind and shove poisonous leaves through my branches until there are acorns of God’s word dropping into my daily life. No little oaks springing up around me. I had to ask if I was I producing any kind of crop in God’s Kingdom. Was it growing stronger through me, or was I just barely getting by?

As I asked those questions, I realized that I had some poison oak in my life – worries that kept me from focusing on God, goals I was pursuing that were good but weren’t God’s plan, things that were distracting me from fully living the life God had for me. And just like we did for the oak tree, I had to cut off the poison oak at its base and peel away all the vines from the branches of my life.

Over the past few years, we’ve kept the poison oak away from that oak tree, and now the tree is full, healthy, and green with leaves all its own. In time, it recovered from the stranglehold of the poison oak. It became the beautiful tree God meant it to be.

And I know that if I, too, keep the thorns away, I can be full of the greenness of true life. I can be all God intends me to be. I can be a tall, strong oak in the Kingdom of God.

Happy New Year to You!

2010-12-31T12:28:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Just wanted to wish you a VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR!

May this year be one in which you:

--discover something new and breathtaking about God.

--finally overcome that annoying trait that's been holding you back.

--find a new friend.

--share the wonder of Jesus with someone.

--mend a relationship.

--discover something new that brings you joy.

--trust God in that area that makes you most afraid.

--laugh more.

--worry less.

--and love Jesus more than you ever have before.

(P.S. Stay tuned for baby news -- Jordyn is due in just 2 weeks!)

Feeling Left Out at Christmas ... Hope for You!

2010-12-23T08:51:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Merry Christmas! I wanted to share a story from when I was in deep in our infertility journey, and what I learned about feeling like a "have-not" at Christmas. I hope you're encouraged by this story, no matter where you are in your journey through life's ups and downs:

“O come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,” sang the children’s choir from the front of the church. But, I felt anything but joyful, or triumphant. Despite the Christmas lights glittering from the sanctuary’s ceiling, despite the candles that flickered and glowed from behind the pulpit, darkness hung over me like a heavy cloak. Everything around me seemed so perfect – parents snapping pictures from the pews, Pastor Joe grinning from his chair at the side of the platform, little Mary Lou shyly stepping forward to read Isaiah 9. But, of all the little girls pulling restlessly at prim velvet dresses, of all the little boys standing tall and proud behind starched shirts and clip-on ties, none were mine. No little eyes searched the crowd looking for me, no little fingers wiggled a wave in my direction, no little voices called me “Mommy.”

Barren, the Bible named me, a cold, empty word. I hated it, not so much because it described the condition of my womb, but because it revealed the feelings of my heart - especially at Christmas time, when families gathered, mothers baked sugar cookies, and children counted the days until they would sit beneath laden Christmas trees and tear open gifts from Mom and Dad. Barren, the word haunted me now as I sat in the back pew and wished for the hundredth time that Christmas didn’t hurt so much. But it did. Christmas, it seemed, was for the “have’s” – those who have families, have children. And I was a “have-not.” What hope did Christmas hold for people like me?

In a moment, clapping broke out over the sanctuary as the kids’ choir finished their final song. With sweeping bows and stifled giggles, the children scampered to a wide box in front of the pulpit and pulled from it sprigs of mistletoe tied with bright red ribbons. My throat closed as each child trotted toward the pews and presented their parents with the mistletoe. I dropped my gaze. I should have never come tonight, I told myself again. But my husband needed to run the sound system for the performance, and no one would have understood if he had come alone. So, here I sat, uncomfortable and hurting while the laughter of happy families swirled around me.

“M-Mrs. Schalesky?” a timid voice sounded from beside my elbow.

I looked up to see 8-year-old Caroline holding her piece of mistletoe toward me. I quickly glanced around and noticed that Caroline’s parents hadn’t come tonight. In fact, they rarely came. My eyes met hers, and she smiled down at me.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Schalesky,” she whispered, then leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I hope Jesus brings you lots of gifts this year.” With that, she turned and hurried toward the back door.

Warmth flooded me. “Thank you,” I choked, too quiet for her to hear me as she slipped out of sight.

There, in my lap, lay the small piece of mistletoe, its red ribbon winking at me with the reflection of the Christmas lights overhead. It was such a small gift, so simple, so plain. As simple, perhaps, as a baby wrapped in rags, lying in a feeding trough. As plain as the Son of God, born not before family and friends, but before a stable full of animals - a gift announced not to the movers and shakers of Bethlehem, but to a few Gentiles in the east, and to a bunch of sheep-herders working the night shift.

I picked up my gift of mistletoe and held it close to my heart. If animals, shepherds, and even foreign kings were remembered in the first Christmas, maybe the childless, the outcast, and the hurting were remembered this Christmas too. Maybe I was remembered.

In this small bit of mistletoe, God was telling me that I’d been right – Christmas was for the “have’s.” For in Jesus there are no “have-not’s.” Christ was born for people like me, for “have-not’s” who, through the simple gift of Christ, are welcomed into the family of God.

Lessons from a Christmas Bulb

2010-12-15T10:06:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Here's a fun Christmas story that happened a few years ago. I'm thinking about it again as we decorate our tree and have a new "little one" reaching for the bulbs (which, by the way, my hubby insisted that we throw out this year!). Anyway, here's what I learned from a Christmas bulb:

My one-year-old daughter stood on her tiptoes and reached for a glass bulb halfway up the Christmas tree. Her fingers wiggled as she struggled to grab the bright red orb.

I leaned back on the couch and shook my head. The tree looked silly this year, with the lights and bulbs reaching only partially down the branches. Everything glass I had carefully hung out of the reach of tiny hands. Other decorations were placed differently this year as well. The ceramic old-fashioned Santa was now on top of the bookcase. The green candles sat high on a shelf. And the coffee table, usually decorated with my Precious Moments nativity, was completely bare. Instead the Joseph, Mary, Baby Jesus, and the wise men crowded on top of the television on some cotton “snow.”

But none of those things interested Bria now. All that mattered was to get her hands on that beautiful, shiny ball that hung just beyond her fingertips. With a grunt she reached higher, then toppled backward.

“Waaaaa!” came her frustrated cry. She pointed to the bulb, looked at me, then let out another indignant shriek.
“No, Bria, you can’t have that.”

Her lower lip trembled. Great tears welled in her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks. She pointed at the bulb again. “Ma-ma-ma-ma-maaaa…”

“No,” I repeated. “It’s not for you.”

She pushed herself to a standing position, stomped her feet, and cried all the louder.

I handed her a stuffed reindeer.

She promptly threw it on the floor.

I sighed, picked her up, and took her to her crib. A few minutes there and she’d remember how to be a good girl and take “no” for an answer.

I returned to the family room and glanced at the offending bulb. It really was beautiful, with swirls of deep red and a two silver stripes made of glitter. I removed it from the branch and held it in my hand. In a few years, Bria would not only be able to touch this bulb, but she’d probably be helping me to place it on the tree. But for now she wasn’t ready. I’d heard stories of babies breaking ornaments and putting the shards in their mouths. Just the thought made me shiver. Bria, however, didn’t understand that she wasn’t old enough to be trusted with a glass bulb. To her, it was something good, something desirable. So, why would I not allow her to have it?

I turned the bulb over and place it on the back of the tree, even further out of Bria’s reach. Then, I went to get her from her crib. As I did, I realized my daughter’s actions weren’t so different from my own. I, too, stomped my feet and cried when God didn’t give me the good things that I wanted. I thought about the new book contract I was praying for, my hopes for new members for our church, the horse we’d seen but weren’t able to buy. Good things, all of them, as good as a shiny red Christmas bulb. But for me too, these bulbs were just out of reach.

As I put Bria on the floor to play with the stuffed reindeer, I wondered if God was also saying to me, “You’re not ready yet. Wait.” What if He was simply letting me “grow up” a bit before he gave me the good things that I wanted? If so, I needed to focus on growing in him, and trusting him to know what’s best for me in this particular place in my life.

For me, like Bria, that’s been a difficult thing to do. It’s hard to trust. But God says to me, “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.’” (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV) And so, when those good things I want are just out of reach, I have to remind myself, sometimes it’s right to wait. Sometimes, I may just need to grow up.

Her Healing Ways by Lyn Cote

2010-12-13T11:22:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Here's the new novel I have to tell you about this week. It's HER HEALING WAYS by LYN COTE.

Here's a bit about it:

Unconventional. Unafraid. Unwelcome. A female physician with an adopted black daughter? The townsfolk of Idaho Bend will never accept Dr. Mercy Gabriel—even when faced with a deadly cholera epidemic. But all Mercy needs is one man willing to listen…and to trust.

Four years of war command turned Lon Mackey into a footloose gambler who can't abide attachments. Yet he can't help getting riled by the threats Mercy keeps receiving. Her trailblazing courage could reignite his faith and humanity. And his loyalty could make her dream—for the first time—of a family of her own….

Find out more about Lyn and her books here: http://strongwomenbravestories.blogspot.com

Christmas Interview

2010-12-10T09:17:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

This week I thought it would be fun to share a bit of Q&A about my personal Christmas traditions ... getting in the mood for the season, ya know. So here ya go:

Q: Tell us about your first Christmas memory?

A: I must have been about four years old. I remember running into the family room and seeing the presents under the tree. Later I unwrapped one for me – a black stuffed poodle that actually barked. It was wonderful. I had never seen anything so magnificent in all my life. Of course, I don’t have that poodle anymore. I don’t even like poodles so much (being more of a boxer person ;-)), but I’ll never forget that little black dog that barked.

Q: Growing up, did your family have Christmas traditions? Tell us how you incorporated them into your family life. Or, how you created new ones.

A: My favorite Christmas memories (and tradition) from when I was a kid, is of getting up before dawn on Christmas morning, running to fireplace with my brother, getting all the stockings, and racing back to my parents’ bed. My mom was always awake and excited. My dad pretended to be sleepy and complained. Then, with lots of giggling and the thrill of anticipation, we’d pull out the gifts from our stockings one by one. They were simple things, boring really – M&M’s, a toothbrush, some silly plastic toy. Things that would be used up or forgotten in just a few short days. And yet, there was something special about being together, being happy, laughing, that makes those times such neat memories for me.

So, now of course, with kids of my own, stockings are a big deal. We open them first thing on Christmas morning, on our bed. And it’s still just as fun as it used to be, even though I’m all grown up!

Q: When do you put up your tree?

A: When I was growing up, a fun tradition was putting together the artificial tree together. But when I got married, my husband’s tradition was going out to cut down a fresh tree from a Christmas tree farm the day after Thanksgiving. So, for the first 19 years of our marriage, we cut down a tree after Thanksgiving, cleaned it, put it up, and spent the remaining weeks trying to keep it watered and cleaning up needles from the floor (oh, that was tons of fun when the twins were one and crawling around!)

But a couple years ago, something amazing happened. My hubby said on Thanksgiving day, “Maybe we should get a fake tree this year. They’ve got some really nice looking ones at Costco.” After picking my jaw up off the floor, I smiled and said, “Great idea. Maybe we should.” And we did - the 9 ft. one with matching garland for our log staircase and rails. No watering. No needles . . . I am a happy woman. And it looks fantastic. I also bought a pine-scented candle so the house smells like pine tree. The best of all worlds! This year, the tree's up, the lights are on ... and so far the ornaments are still in the box at the bottom of the tree. Alas!

Q: Describe the decorating at your house.

A: This is how it usually goes: “No, no! Put it ON the tree. ON the tree. That’s not for your mouth. Put it back. Don’t hit your sister over the head with that. Ahhhh! That one’s breakable. Give it to me. No, no, don’t throw it. That’s it. Here, this nice soft one is for you. No, not to eat … ON the tree.”

In other words, decorating pretty much consists of rescuing all breakable ornaments and putting them way up high on the tree, and redecorating the bottom third with the “safe” ornaments about every half hour, as they remove them and hide them in odd places.

As for other decorations – nativities, little trees, old fashioned santas – all breakable ones on the mantle or the high shelf in the kitchen. Stuffed snowmen, dogs, etc., down to play with. Also, a big hit is the Little People Nativity in a Christmas basket. Basket comes out every morning for play, back away every evening for a little bit of order for Mommy’s sanity.

Q: What is your favorite Christmas song or album?

A: I love “We Will Find Him” on Michael Card’s CD “The Promise: A Celebration of Christ’s Birth (1991)”. But then, I’m a big Michael Card fan in general. Other than that, I love to hear Nat King Cole sing the old favorites like O Come All Ye Faithful (my favorite Christmas hymn), O Little Town of Bethlehem, and O Holy Night.

Q: It’s Christmas Eve… anthing different this year?

A: My wonderful hubby, Bryan, is playing his trombone in both Christmas Eve services at our church. Should be fun. Can't wait!

Q: Confession time. Shop on line or at the mall?

A: Three words: Five. Little. Kids. So, as you can imagine, a trip to the mall spells n-i-g-h-t-m-a-r-e. I shop online as much as possible, or even better, have my hubby shop on line.

Q: Christmas grows more and more commercial every year. Setting the hustle and bustle aside, what does Christmas really mean to you?

A: Oh, I love Christmas! It’s the most wonderful birthday party of all! The birthday of God incarnate, when the infinite God of the universe was born as a tiny baby in a stable. Wow! So, I love Santa Claus, because at Jesus’ birthday we ought to have the best birthday clown ever. And who’s better than a jolly guy in a red suit? I love the decorations, because Jesus’ birthday party ought to have the most fantastic, sparkling, beautiful decorations of all. I love the gift-giving, because what better way to celebrate the greatest gift of all than to be generous with others? I love the warmth, the laughter, the way people are kinder to others, give more, and get together to enjoy the season. That’s just “right” for a celebration of Jesus. So, to me, Christmas means that God loves me, loves us all, enough to do the crazy-impossible . . . to become one of us, to be born a baby, and to someday die on a cross and raise from the dead – all so we can be with him, forever. So, that’s Christmas to me – a celebration of the incredible love of a wondrous, vivid, breath-taking God.

Merry Christmas!

Christmastime Thoughts (& Tidbits of News)

2010-12-02T09:17:00.001-08:00

Hi Friends,

Merry Christmas season! At the kick-off of the Christmas season for 2010, I thought it would be fun to share some thoughts about memory and Christmas. These are some things I thought about especially while writing Beyond the Night, since that book has a strong theme about the power of memory in our lives.

But first, some tidbits of news:

1) Jayden's turning two! He loves shapes, letters, numbers, and writing. He sits up with his twin sisters and wants to learn all the letters and what sounds they make. He also loves penguins (and names them all "Apple.")

2) New baby is looking good (we had an ultrasound yesterday). I'm at almost 34 weeks, so only 6-7 weeks to go (hopefully). We're thinking of naming her Jordyn.

3) If Tomorrow Never Comes (translated into Dutch) is one of the top 10 Christian fiction books in the Netherlands. (Fun!)

4) 5 more days to buy my books, or those from nearly 80 other Christian fiction authors, autographed at http://christianreviewofbooks.com/index.php?page=view/article/781/Marlo-Schalesky

And now, for some thoughts:
Memory has power. We hear a song from our high school days and we’re transported to sweaty school dances and blasting the radio in our first car. The smell of brownies baking takes us back to pigtails and ponies. We drive by the house we lived in as a kid and remember the swingset in the backyard and how that rotten kid from next door blew spitwads through the hole in the fence.

Ever gotten sick on a type of food? You’ll never want to have that again. And don’t even think about naming your child after that whiny little brat that sat behind you in the fourth grade, even if your spouse loves that name.

Memory. It’s why we treasure photos, display mementos, keep in touch with people from our past. It’s why God set up festivals for the ancient Israelites and told them to erect memorials at significant places in their history.

Memory. It’s why the sight of a stuffed stocking takes me back to those early mornings in my childhood when my brother and I would wake up before dawn, run to the fireplace, get our stockings, and race back to my parents’s bed. Mom was always ready. Dad pretended to complain. And together, with lots of giggling and the thrill of anticipation, we’d pull out the gifts from our stockings one by one. Simple things, boring really. Candy. A toothbrush. Some silly plastic toy. Things that would be used up or forgotten in just a few short weeks. And yet, opening stockings is my favorite Christmas memory from childhood.

Why? I think it’s because good memories are not necessarily made from the “big stuff.” Rather, they’re fashioned out of warmth and happiness and times together. They’re woven with laughter, colored with simple, plain joy. They come from times when you experience love.

So, this year, I’m thinking about the memories I’m making now, for my kids, and for myself. I don’t want those memories to be ones of a Mom who’s running around with too much to do and too little time to do it. I don’t want them to be of hustle, bustle, shopping, wrapping, cooking, cards, and gifts thrown under the tree. I don’t even want them to be of the cool stable-and-horse set that my girls will unwrap on Christmas morning. Or the cheap kid’s guitar for my oldest (age 7), or the new “ooo-ahh” (stuffed gorilla) for one of my 2-year-old twins.

Because the toys will break, get old, get lost, or they’ll outgrow them. But they won’t outgrow the happy memories of family times together. The memories of decorating Christmas cookies with laughter and joking – those won’t get old. The times we make a gingerbread house together, or sit down and watch the Grinch – those won’t break. The simple things make the best memories. Times when we’re together as a family, having fun, enjoying the traditions we’re building together.

So, that’s my goal this Christmas, to weave memories of peace, love, togetherness, because that’s the best gift I can think of to celebrate Jesus’ birth -- Memories that bring a smile to the face of children . . . and to the face of the King.

Get Signed Books for Christmas

2010-11-26T08:49:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Check out the big online booksigning bash at Christian Review of Books. There's nearly 80 Christian authors participating. Great time to get specially signed books for those on your Christmas list!

Check out my page at: http://christianreviewofbooks.com/index.php?page=view/article/781/Marlo-Schalesky

Happy Shopping!

Happy Thanksgiving!

2010-11-24T09:31:00.000-08:00

Hi Friends,

Just wanted to wish you a very HAPPY THANKSGIVING (for all you in the U.S.) this week. May you have a blessed day and week.

Some questions to ponder:

--What's the strangest thing you're thankful for? My 7-year-old says she thankful for stairs. What easily overlooked thing are you thankful for?

--What unexpected, neat little thing has God done for you this year that you're thankful for? What pops to mind?

--What easily overlooked attribute God are you thankful for this year?

--What unique opportunity has God brought you this year that you're thankful for?

And now, a fun Thanksgiving story that I like to share at this time of year:

"Yum!" It was Thanksgiving day and I was in the kitchen, sneaking bits of turkey while no one was looking. To my ten-year-old mind, nothing could compare to Mom’s perfectly cooked turkey. I stuck my fingers into the warm juice and pulled off another piece. "Ahhh," I sighed and smiled. It was delicious. I glanced around then snatched another bite.

This is my favorite part of Thanksgiving, I thought, licking my fingers as the turkey juices dripped down my hand. I loved to sample the little pieces of turkey that fell to the bottom of the pan during cooking. It was like a special, tasty prize that made my mouth water just to think about it. I jammed a fourth piece of turkey into my mouth and rubbed my belly, enjoying the dual pleasures of taste and smell.

At my Sunday School three days later, Pastor Ron visited our class. He sat down on the stool in front and straightened his collar. His eyes swept over the students. "Let me tell you a story," he began. "There was a man named Joe. Joe spent his life doing stuff that was very bad. He drank. He gambled. He lived a wild life. He swore all the time and never went to church. When he ran out of money, he robbed a store and then continued his bad living. On his death bed, Joe knew he was going to die, so he begged God for forgiveness and decided to trust in Jesus. That night, Joe died and went to Heaven, the same as if he had loved and served God all his life. What do you think of that?"

"Hey, that's not fair!," I burst forth. My cheeks grew red with annoyance.

"No, it's not fair," he agreed. "Not fair to Joe.”

“To Joe?” I questioned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it's not fair because Joe missed the greatest joys in life."

"But he was bad!” I exclaimed, sputtering in confusion. “If he could get into heaven, why should I bother to do what I’m told? I may as well go out and rob a store too!”

My Pastor smiled. “Do you really think so?”

I lowered my head and stared at my feet. Then, I shrugged my shoulders.

Pastor Ron cleared his throat.

I looked up at him again. His mouth was quirked in a strange half-grin.

"Tell me," he continued, "have you ever sneaked into the kitchen to taste a little bit of turkey before the Thanksgiving meal?"

I drew a quick breath and nodded my head. My eyes grew wide in shock. How had he known? I remembered back to my time in the kitchen just three days before. Yes, I knew very well what it was like to taste the turkey. It was great!

"Well," he said, glancing at the rest of the class, "that's just what it's like for you and me. All the time we spend serving God in this life is just like sneaking into the kitchen to taste the turkey. We get a little taste of heaven before the great banquet. Joe, on the other hand, doesn't get to taste the turkey in this life. He has to wait. Just think of all the fun he missed out on here in this life."

"Wow," I whispered, "I never thought of it like that.

Pastor Ron chuckled. "Now, every time you sneak a bit of turkey, you can think about the fact that every day you spend serving God is a little taste of heaven here on earth."

To this day, I still sneak my little bit of turkey before the Thanksgiving meal, and every time I thank God for another day spent in His love, tasting the turkey of Heaven.