GraceReign

Growing Up as a Writer

2012-01-04T14:37:00.000-07:00

Today I'm trying to grow up as a writer.

Some posts are written from exploration and determination, not successful execution of the topic at hand. This is one of those posts. I haven't arrived. I'm learning. Processing. Growing up.

Today I must write even though every emotion rejects the thought. I must meet my deadline and do my job. Yes, it's easier to be creative on a day with little stress, grief, or pain. The push of the outside world on the interior self must be overcome to write deep--and, yes, that is difficult on days like today. But if I'm to follow what I believe God's call on my life, I must do it. I must sit here and put my fingers to the keys and breathe.

I must produce.

So how to do it? The chocolate and coffee I've consumed haven't solved the problem. The morning's devotion which told me to say, "I trust you, Jesus" when adversity comes helped a little. It refocused the mind, even if it didn't stop up the tears. Then what? So far I've cried a little, prayed some, sought to fill my mind with God's promises and reminded myself of His love. I've emailed my friends who've done the same. I've put off creativity and entering into the deep places by doing a bunch of mindless stuff related to the business of the job.

But as I process I know what is next. I must dive into His heart, ask Him to show me what He has to say, and I must say it as well as I can, with all the creativity He promises me. (A bad day or good makes no difference to Him. He works in them all.)

And it doesn't hurt to tell the whole world--or at least those who read my blog--what I am doing. There's accountability in proclaiming publicly that you WILL be responsible, you WILL cling to Your Lord, you WILL believe HE gives you all you need for what you're doing.

And so I will, my friends. I will let God help me be a grown-up writer today. I will meet that deadline.

Prayers appreciated.

Pearl Girls Day 5

2011-12-25T07:00:00.007-07:00

Welcome to the 12 Pearls of Christmas!

Merry Christmas from all of us at Pearl Girls™! We hope you enjoyed these Christmas "Pearls of Wisdom" from the authors who were so kind to donate their time and talents! If you missed a few posts, I hope you'll be able go back through and read them on this blog over the next few days. If you'd like to keep up with Pearl Girls and our new book project, Mother of Pearl, coming this spring, just click this link and sign up for our newsletter (lower left sidebar).

Also, just a reminder that today is the last day for the pearl necklace and earrings giveaway! Enter now by filling out this {form}. The winner will on 1/1 at the Pearl Girls blog.

If you are unfamiliar with Pearl Girls™, please visit www.pearlgirls.info and see what we're all about. In short, we exist to support the work of charities that help women and children in the US and around the globe. Consider purchasing a copy of Pearl Girls: Encountering Grit, Experiencing Grace or one of the Pearl Girls products (all GREAT gifts!) to help support Pearl Girls.

***

Jesus -- The Reason For the Season

By: Rachel Hauck

Through the narrow scope of 2000 years, Mary, the mother of Jesus, appears to be one lucky woman. Chosen by God to give birth to His son, the Savior of the world? All right, Mary, way to go.

“Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you,” Gabriel said.

How many of us would like a declaration like that? Highly favored. The Lord is with you. But Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be.

The angel told her, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. Mary’s seems confident and resolved when she responds, “I am the Lord’s servant. May your word to me be fulfilled.”

She’d just been told the Holy Spirit will come upon her, that God’s power will overshadow her, that she’d become with child even though she wasn’t married, and she said, “I’m the Lord’s servant. Let your words be true.”

I find this amazing! A young woman. Ancient Bethlehem. Unwed mother. They stoned women for such things in her day. But Mary believed in God. And submitted to His will. He gave her the Holy Spirit – the same Holy Spirit given to us. If He gave her confidence, He will give us confidence. Even though, like Mary, our situation seems impossible.

Listen to Mary’s song later on in the first chapter of Luke.

“My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me Holy is his name…”

Conceiving a child out of wedlock, by Divine intervention. Not a girl’s every day existence. Yet she had a Yes in her heart to God. She rejoiced. She boldly said, “Generations will remember me!”

How we struggle to trust God with our children. Our finances. Our emotional well-being. We worry. We fret. And wonder why we have no peace.

Christmas is the season where words like joy, peace and love are bantered around like Christmas candy. Let’s not take them as just words, but as truth. Let’s be like Mary and embrace God’s favor on our lives. Boldly declare "He’s done great things for me!”

Out of the grit of our own souls, we can reach His heart, and feel Him reaching for ours. No matter the pain of our past, present or future, God is there for us. He is able. Best of all, He is willing. “My soul glorifies the Lord this Christmas!”

***

Rachel Hauck is an award winning, best selling author who believes God has done great things for her. She lives in Central Florida with her husband and ornery pets. Her next release is Love Lifted Me with multi-platinum country artist Sara Evans, January 2012. Then in April, look for The Wedding Dress. www.rachelhauck.com.

A Gift for You

2011-12-24T12:13:00.000-07:00

And here’s my gift to all – really HIS gift. The article runs today and tomorrow. I couldn't offer more of my heart than I do in these back-to-back posts today and tomorrow on the Word Serve Water Cooler: A Gift for the Holidays Part I and II.

Pearl Girls Day 4

2011-12-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the 12 Pearls of Christmas!

Enjoy these Christmas "Pearls of Wisdom" from some of today's most beloved writer's (Tricia Goyer, Suzanne Woods Fisher, Shellie Rushing Tomlinson, Sibella Giorello and more)! Please follow the series through Christmas day as each contributor shares heartfelt stories of how God has touched a life during this most wonderful time of the year.

AND just for fun ... there's also a giveaway! Fill out this simple {form} and enter for a chance to win a beautiful pearl necklace and earring set ($450 value). Contest runs 12/14 - 12/25 and the winner will on 1/1. Contest is only open to US and Canadian residents. You may enter once per day.

If you are unfamiliar with Pearl Girls™, please visit www.pearlgirls.info and see what we're all about. In short, we exist to support the work of charities that help women and children in the US and around the globe. Consider purchasing a copy of Pearl Girls: Encountering Grit, Experiencing Grace or one of the Pearl Girls products (all GREAT gifts!) to help support Pearl Girls.

***

Enjoy the Ride!

Susan May Warren

We sit poised on the top of a cliff, a near drop off before us, that falls to a rushing river. In the middle, a bridge of snow and ice hints at our destination. My husband guns the snowmobile engine. “Ready?”

Ready? For a face plant into a tree, maybe reconstructive surgery? To feel my stomach ripped from my body as we plummet down the mountain? Let’s do it!

We live on five acres of woods in northern Minnesota that butts up to a national forest. Hence, our backyard is about a hundred thousand acres. Aside from harboring deer, lynx, fox, cougar and bear, it also makes excellent snowmobile terrain. And not long ago, Mrs. Claus gave her Santa a snowmobile for two.

I love snowmobiling. Flying over the snow, catching air over drifts. I love to drive, to be at the helm of the beast as I weave around trees and over hill and dale, my husband sitting behind me. I also love riding behind my husband as he drives, feeling those powerful arms as he’s muscling the snowmobile into the wilds. We follow unknown trails, driven by a Magellan spirit, hoping that we have enough gas to get us back to civilization. I love hanging on, simply trusting him, knowing that wherever he’s taking me, he’s going first.

But there are times, when I see where he’s taking me, and I just have to bury my head in his back. Like straight down a cliff.

However, my heart cheers, despite the terror as we gun it down the hill, over the river, up the opposite side. And, if we hadn’t let ourselves go, we would have never discovered the beauty of a winter river, a hidden jewel buried deep in the forest. Nor the exhilaration of facing the challenge together.

Further on, we find an enchanted forest of towering white pine. Catch a view of Lake Superior, discover an old cabin in the woods.

It occurs to me that snowmobiling is much like my spiritual life. Occasionally, I drive, and it’s me setting our course, weaving through the trees, getting us hopelessly lost. But when God takes the “wheel” and I hang on, trusting Him for the speed and destination, I see the scenery. I trust him to keep me safe. I trust him to bring me home, where there is an eternal supply of hot chocolate.

As Christmas season becomes more hectic, what if I let God drive? Maybe everything doesn’t have to be perfect, and maybe I don’t have to control every tradition, every holiday nuance. What if I just held on for the ride?

I’ll bet I’ll still get there, and I might even enjoy the scenery along the way.

How have you let go, and “enjoyed” the scenery of this hectic, exhilarating Christmas season?

Merry Christmas!

***

Susan May Warren is the RITA award-winning author of thirty novels with Tyndale, Barbour, Steeple Hill and Summerside Press. A four-time Christy award finalist, a two-time RITA Finalist, she’s also a multi-winner of the Inspirational Readers Choice award, and the ACFW Carol Award. A seasoned women’s events speaker, she’s a popular writing teacher at conferences around the nation and the author of the beginning writer’s workbook: From the Inside-Out: discover, create and publish the novel in you!. She is also the founder of www.MyBookTherapy.com, a story-crafting service that helps authors discover their voice.

Pearl Girls Day 3

2011-12-23T08:00:00.005-07:00

Welcome to the 12 Pearls of Christmas!

If you are unfamiliar with Pearl Girls™, please visit www.pearlgirls.info and see what we're all about. In short, we exist to support the work of charities that help women and children in the US and around the globe. Consider purchasing a copy of Pearl Girls: Encountering Grit, Experiencing Grace or one of the Pearl Girls products (all GREAT gifts!) to help support Pearl Girls.

***

Let The Baby Grow Up This Christmas

By Shellie Tomlinson

When I was a little girl, Christmas seemed to take forever to make its way back to our little house on the end of a dirt road called Bull Run in northeast Louisiana. We kids started counting down the days before the leaves ever began turning. Sure, the adults said it came once a year but I wasn't so sure. Once Santa Claus left our humble abode it seemed like light years before he found his way back to the Delta.

That was a child's perspective. I imagine it hasn't changed all that much for today's kids. On the other hand, I'm operating under a completely different time frame these days. It seems like it was just yesterday when I pulled the boxes down from the attic and began pulling out the nativity scene, the miniature lights, and the keepsake ornaments. And now, just that fast-- Christmas Day is right around the corner. Soon the tree will be striped naked and the piled up presents will all be distributed. After a few more day it'll be hard to remember who got what from whom, and once again, I'll start packing all the decorations away for another year.

I was thinking about how bare and cold the house always looks after the holidays when I realized that, sadly, this scene would play itself out in many hearts as well. A lot of people will have had expectations that weren't filled and many of those same souls will be left with hurts that don't seem to heal. Unless this year is remarkably different from past seasons, my bet is, the New Year will bring magazines full of articles on combating depression and the talk shows will have experts on offering ways to fill the long days ahead and cure the winter blues.

I'm no expert, dear readers, but I'd like to offer you a suggestion that will go far beyond the creature comforts of a nice warm bath or a delicious bowl of hot soup. Your heart doesn't have to be bare and naked after the holidays. Do you want to know the real secret? It's simple, really. Don't pack up Christ with Christmas! As beautiful and special as the Christmas story is, it's only a part of heaven's miracle. The Christ child grew into a man and the man became a Savior.

This year, may we be determined to let the babe from Bethlehem live on in our hearts. If we'll allow Him to become the Messiah He was born to be, the joy of Christmas can be ours all year long.

***

Shellie Rushing Tomlinson is an author, speaker, and radio host from Louisiana. Her latest release Sue Ellen's Girl Ain't Fat, She Just Weighs Heavy was endorsed by Jeff Foxworthy as "laugh out loud funny!" You can find Shellie's weekly southern features, podcasts, video chats and more at http://www.allthingssouthern.com/ Make sure to get by the blog and read about the Super Christmas Giveaway Shellie is hosting for her readers and secure your chance to win a Mort Kunstler print valued between $700 and $1400. www.allthingssouthern.com

Pearl Girls Day 2

2011-12-22T08:00:00.004-07:00

Welcome to the 12 Pearls of Christmas!

If you are unfamiliar with Pearl Girls™, please visit www.pearlgirls.info and see what we're all about. In short, we exist to support the work of charities that help women and children in the US and around the globe. Consider purchasing a copy of Pearl Girls: Encountering Grit, Experiencing Grace or one of the Pearl Girls products (all GREAT gifts!) to help support Pearl Girls.

***

The Snowflake Party

By Deborah Raney

The first snow of winter hasn’t fallen yet, but in our kitchen tonight we’re doing a pretty good imitation. The whole family is circled around the huge old oak table. The snip, snip, snip of scissors is background music as tiny scraps of white paper float down, making our floor look like a giant brownie sprinkled with powdered sugar.

Tonight has turned out to be the night for our annual Snowflake Party, a tradition that began when our children were toddlers. There has never been a date blocked out in red on our calendar, but one day we wake up and the brisk autumn air has turned bitter cold. Naked tree branches trace their stark calligraphy on a dull grey sky and we need a taste of the joyful promises of Christmas and snow. It’s the perfect time for a party.

On such a day, one of the kids will fly in the back door, fresh home from school, and declare “Hey, Mom! Tonight would be a good night for the Snowflake Party!” First we round up every pair of scissors in the house. This is one time when sharing is not a virtue. While the kids search for scissors, I cut white paper into squares and fold them caddy-corner multiple times. The resulting triangles are artfully arranged in a basket, awaiting the beginning of the party.

Later, while the supper dishes dry on the counter, I recruit a volunteer to help me stir up a big pot of hot cocoa. For the next hour it will warm on the back burner, tantalizing us with its aroma.

Now the fun begins with careful cutting and snipping, shaping plain white paper into intricate works of art. Each snowflake we create seems as unique and spectacular as the genuine variety created by God himself. As each masterpiece is unfolded, collective oohs and aahs go up.

When the last dregs of our creative juices are drained, Dad oversees the vacuum patrol while I pour cocoa into generous mugs. We spread our handiwork on the floor around us and sit, quietly admiring our work while we dunk marshmallows and sip rich chocolate.

With empty mugs piled up in the sink, it’s time for the judging to begin. There will be awards for ‘prettiest’, ‘most unusual’, and as many other categories as we need for everyone to be a winner. Dad is the judge because he studied art in college. He also usually wins one of the top prizes––because he studied art in college.

Snowflakes deemed runners-up might be pasted in scrapbooks or hung on the refrigerator. A few even “melt” into the trash that very night. But the winners are taped proudly to the picture windows in the living room for passersby to enjoy while they long for the day when genuine snowflakes will color the world clean and white.

Our oldest daughter went away to college last September. She called just after Thanksgiving to tell me that her dorm window was covered with snowflakes. No, not the real thing, but the ones she remembers from her childhood––paper ones that she spent an entire evening cutting and snipping while sipping hot cocoa.

That’s the neat thing about traditions: They go with us no matter how far from home we travel.

***

DEBORAH RANEY's first novel, A Vow to Cherish, inspired the World Wide Pictures film of the same title. Her books have since won the RITA Award, ACFW Carol Award, HOLT Medallion, National Readers' Choice Award, Silver Angel, and have twice been Christy Award finalists. After All, third in her Hanover Falls Novels series will release next spring from Howard/Simon & Schuster. Deb and her husband, Ken Raney, enjoy small-town life in Kansas. Their four children are grown now and having snowflake parties with their own children––and they all live much too far away. Visit Deb on the web at www.deborahraney.com.

Pearl Girls Holiday Posts

2011-12-21T11:15:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the 12 Pearls of Christmas

Enjoy these Christmas "Pearls of Wisdom" from some of today's most beloved writer's (Tricia Goyer, Suzanne Woods Fisher, Shellie Rushing Tomlinson, Sibella Giorello and more)! Please follow the series through Christmas day as each contributor shares heartfelt stories of how God has touched a life during this most wonderful time of the year.

AND just for fun ... there's also a giveaway! Fill out this simple {form} and enter for a chance to win a beautiful pearl necklace and earring set ($450 value). Contest runs 12/14 - 12/25 and the winner will on 1/1. Contest is only open to US and Canadian residents. You may enter once per day.

If you are unfamiliar with Pearl Girls™, please visit www.pearlgirls.info and see what we're all about. In short, we exist to support the work of charities that help women and children in the US and around the globe. Consider purchasing a copy of Pearl Girls: Encountering Grit, Experiencing Grace or one of the Pearl Girls products (all GREAT gifts!) to help support Pearl Girls.

***

Why I Decorate for Christmas

By Elizabeth Goldsmith Musser

An old cassette tape of Christmas carols—received in a package twenty years ago when we had first arrived in France as missionaries—fills our den with delightful piano music as I place one more ornament on the already over-laden Christmas tree. This one is a little white wooden rabbit with pink ears that move back and forth. It actually doesn’t look much like a Christmas ornament, but I bought it for our baby Andrew when my husband Paul was in seminary, and I was working for less than minimum wage in the library. This ornament was literally all I could afford.

As I hang it on the tree today, I get goose bumps and then a rush of warmth. And that’s why I decorate for Christmas. Not to impress but to remember. I remember those lean, lean years, and God’s faithful provision for us.

There are the cross-stitched ornaments I made our first year in Montpellier—for the boys (for by now we had two sons) and Paul and me. How I ever had time to do that, I don’t know. I remember our puny little tree—the kind they sold in France back then—in a pot so that it could be replanted later. We perched that tiny tree on a small table out of baby Christopher’s reach. I guess I watered it too much, because about halfway through December, it started smelling and then stinking, and it rotted there on Christmas Day!

I smile with these memories.

I look at the other ornaments on the tree. Many were purchased—one for each boy—when we attended conferences around Europe, and that makes me smile too. Getting to travel on a missionary’s budget to exotic places! There are the waxed red bear and red baby carriage from Wales, the brightly painted clay sun and moon from Portugal, the blue and white porcelain windmill and wooden shoes from Holland, the hand-blown glass Snoopys sitting on gondolas from Venice, and the delicately decorated eggs from Prague.

Other ornaments include the little pinkish shiny ball ornament with Paul’s name written in glitter—I think he made it when he was about six , and the little red velvet bows, bought at Michael’s after Christmas one year for a dollar. They bring a unifying theme to the tree. I say this, smiling, because our tree is, and has always been throughout the years, a hodge-podge of our life. And I like it that way. I don’t think I could ever have a ‘theme’ tree. Mine is a ‘memory’ tree.

The music plays softly in the background and I smile through tears, remembering God’s incredible faithfulness to call and keep us here in France for so many years. Heart-breakingly hard years, overwhelmingly joyful years—the same years, the same amazing God, our keeper.

Before we left for the mission field, I memorized Psalm 121 in English and in French, and over the years I have held on tight to those last beautiful words of the psalm: The Lord will guard your going out and your coming in from this time forth and forever. (NASB)

Of course He will. He is God with us.

We decorate to remember Christmases past, our lives, our legacy, and mostly, for those of us who have embraced Christ, we decorate to honor and praise Him for coming to us—Emmanuel! We make our homes ready to receive the Christ Child, with soft music and candles burning and the sweet flickering of angel wings on an over-laden evergreen.

***

ELIZABETH GOLDSMITH MUSSER, an Atlanta native and the bestselling author of The Swan House, is a novelist who writes what she calls ‘entertainment with a soul.’ For over twenty years, Elizabeth and her husband, Paul, have been involved in missions work with International Teams. They presently live near Lyon, France. The Mussers have two sons and a daughter-in-law. The Sweetest Thing (Bethany House, 2011) is Elizabeth’s eighth novel. To learn more about Elizabeth and her books, and to find discussion questions as well as photos of sites mentioned in the stories, please visit www.elizabethmusser.com and her Facebook Fan Page. www.elizabethmusser.com

To A Total Stranger

2011-12-18T13:59:00.000-07:00

Once in a while I have to rant. Even at a place called GraceReign I need a voice.

So here it goes:

An open letter to the "friend" who passed us on the road today.

How interesting that you found it appropriate to allow your children to make faces at us, put thumbs down, and generally "boo" us with smug little expressions. I wish you could have seen the glee they felt at being encouraged to let someone else know how much they disapproved of them.

I'm assuming you were Christians, maybe even from my church. I assume this because of the route and timing of your drive (mirroring my own), the scrubbed for church look, and the fact that you didn't flip us off or yell obscenities.

I'm glad you're training your children to recognize right from wrong. It was obvious you were giving them quite the object lesson by pointing out our "poor" behavior and making a huge issue of it.

I hope you are also being careful to train them to be thinking children who know why they make the decisions they do. I hope you're teaching them not to jump to conclusions without knowing the whole story and to take time to understand the other person's perspectives. I hope you are also not giving them "good morals" while allowing them to grow in "pride" and arrogance with a total "disdain for the feelings of others." (to quote good ole Jane Austen).

I felt very misunderstood by you today, and frankly if your children had cursed and flipped me off at least I could blow off their behavior a little easier--I mean maybe they just had no one at home teaching them right from wrong.

Since we will probably never meet face-to-face, I would like to explain myself.

I grew up a country girl. I was taught that biodegradable things like banana peels and apple cores were good for the environment, made the soil richer, and provided healthy snacks for God's creatures.

I also now live in the city. I would never throw a banana peel on the sidewalk or your front yard. In these situations the organic, healthy properties of these biodegradable products became trash because of the manicured and cultured care of your lawn. I would, however, enjoy placing such items in your garden or your compost pile where they could be of use.

You caught us in the act of serving our environment. We were driving past an undeveloped field. I taught my children, as I was taught and still believe, that in these settings things like banana peels and apples are good, not bad, for the soil. My teenagers were acting in a thoughtful choice, not being irresponsible, not littering the environment. If they had thrown out paper or true trash, I would have been all over it. But they wouldn't do that because they, like me, care about the beautiful world God created and want to take care of it.

I know it is hard for you to see this while moving at 45 mph. You assumed we were littering and took it upon yourself to show us your great disapproval of our behavior.

From my perspective we weren't littering. Not that you cared about my perspective.

But what if we were carelessly hurting our environment? Do you think your behavior would have changed us for the better, made any difference? And do you think having such an attitude toward perfect strangers is teaching your children how to relate to people different than you in a Christ-like manner?

If you and I met in a different circumstance we'd probably like each other--at least at first. You are obviously an engaged, caring mom, something I respect greatly.

But I would appreciate it if you would slow down, think through the big picture, and consider how your actions affected perfect strangers and, more importantly, the hearts of your children.

Help My Friend and Win a Nook or Kindle!

2011-12-12T12:12:00.000-07:00

There's one last push in the raffle to raise money to help my friend, Sandi Rog, writer and mother of four, pay for cancer treatments.

Below is the information sent by the lovely Alison Strobel Morrow, who's heading up the event:

Hey everyone! Thank you all SO MUCH for all the donating and spreading of the word that you did back in November for the fundraiser. We've raised over $7000 so far, which is just amazing!! The fundraiser closes on Christmas Eve, so we're doing one last push to try to reach our goal and help Sandi pursue her new treatment completely debt-free.

This time we're raffling off gift cards and the winner's choice of either a Kindle Fire or a Nook Color! Everyone is starting from zero in terms of tickets, so if you donated before you'll need to donate again to be entered into these raffles--BUT tickets are only $2! Check out thispost on the fundraiser blog for all the details.

In order to reach our goal, we're going to have to reach people who haven't heard about the fundraiser yet. Would you be willing to send an email out to friends and family? Post it in your blog or on your Facebook or Twitter? As before, if you want to host a contest for your blog readers, just let your readers know to note the contest in the note section on their donation, and then let me know when your deadline is up and I'll report back to you who donated. Also, we really need more gift cards to donate; so far we only have two. :( If you work for, or have a connection of some kind to, a national store/restaurant that would be willing to donate a gift card of $50-$100, please let me know ASAP so I can contact them. (Or, contact them yourself and feel free to either cc me in on the email or to introduce the idea to them and have me follow up. Whatever works for you!)

Thanks in advance to all of you for rallying around our sister and her family as she fights for her life!

-Alison

Beautiful Music in the Storm

2011-12-08T10:41:00.000-07:00

This post has a dual purpose, so keep reading for a cool story, free music downloads, and a chance to win great prizes.

If you're a long term GraceReign reader you know that our family faced a lot of stuff beginning in 2008--including the near death of my dear husband, followed by all kinds of crazy stuff including multiple surgeries, kids who broke bones, almost losing our home, and intense academic therapy for all four children. You watched me struggle. But what you might not know is over a year before all this started happening the Lord had shown me a storm was coming. He even asked permission to send a bitter north wind to shape the character of the family. He told me during one prayer time to "circle the wagons" that the battle (storm) would hit all of us.

Now you may wonder what this has to do with free music and gifts. Hang on.

Before we entered this intense season and as I walked the early stages of it, I had a clear picture of the storm in my mind. I knew the LORD was sending it and that we would weather it, but I feared it. I even blogged about surrendering to Him no matter what, knowing in my heart about a year before it happened that my husband would face heart issues, feeling the LORD promised He wouldn't die, but knowing nothing else.

Suddenly I started hearing this song everywhere I went. It was "In My Arms" by Plumb.

It became God's promise to me in this season--that clouds may rage over us and storms may race in, but we would be safe in Father's arms. Eventually, I went to the store and paid full price for the CD. (You have to understand I rarely pay full price for anything, much less a non-essential. But this CD became almost an essential in my life.)

Another time one of my children had been through a incredibly difficult time with academic therapy and all kinds of stuff. He was sobbing in my arm while this CD was playing in the background. At just the perfect moment the song, "God Will Take of You" came on the CD player. I sang it to my child along with Plumb, God's promise He was right there. I didn't tell that story here, but I did talk about the song and embed it in this post.

Today I heard Plumb is offering a giveaway--free downloads of Christmas music for "liking" the Plumb fan page on facebook, and a chance to win a Kindle Fire, IPod Shuffle, and all kinds of other prizes. For details, check it out here. I thought it was time to share this story about how much the music of Plumb has healed and soothed my heart.

So check out all the freebies, then rest awhile--safe in your Father's arms. He will take care of you just as He cared for my family during the bitter north wind of winter from 2008 to 2011. And you, too, will someday begin to catch a whiff of the sweet gentle breeze of spring, of rebirth, like we are now.

Processing

2011-11-28T15:08:00.001-07:00

There are deep places I don't know how to process my way out of. Or if I even should.

Longing. Uncovering. Unveiling. Questioning.

The seemingly unrelated intertwine, vines growing in and out of each other, connected inside of me in some kind of whimsical garden where fruit trees grow over tomato plants and pumpkin vines wrap themselves around rose bushes and potatoes sprout underneath the daisies. Everything blooms and produces at once, whether in season or out.

Longing - for much. To create. To embrace. To enter.

Beauty, writing, twinkle lights, family, weighty words, advent flame, laughter, celebration, magical and spiritual, a slow dance and a jig.

Joy.

How can depth come from jigging or jigging from plumbing the depths? And how do the seasonal rhythms I crave relate to thanksgiving, creating, relationship . . . God?

What are words--their place within me and without? And how is joy cotton candy and meat and potatoes. Short magical romance and long soul-digging?

Being seventeen in a snap of the fingers, embracing pumpkin pie aroma when life grows hard, seeing the good where others criticize. Rose colored glasses? Impossible? Judged. And yet desiring more, not less.

Entering into the moment. Creating the moment. Embracing the moment. Believing in the moment.

Vulnerable and child-like. Rolling eyes ridiculed. Lauded and applauded. Strength in soft flannel baby blanket.

Not Pollyanna, but not beyond liking her.

Miracle on 32nd Street silly.

Departures deep.

Both. Not either/or.

Stretching means embracing what others judge fluffy meaningless. And yet stretching also encompasses the deep places other dare not tread. and stretching means believing where others can't.

And in all things, where are the words? Do I trust them to germinate, to take root, to grow into an oak even as they pop up in crazy Dandelion yellow, determined little things, white daisies and bluets and Virginia Spring Beauties? Both platypus and regal lioness, tiny fish-tank turtle and mighty grey elephant? Dancing kitten and elegant giraffe?

Faith. All this joy-seeking, word-growing, rhythm-searching returns there.

Of course.

Letting go of confusion, ego, questions. Holding longing loosely, lifting to Hands wiser than my own, while allowing the tears to beg for their place, for understanding and release, for fulfillment. And yet knowing some ache is only treated in glory. Letting it stand. Without giving up.

Trust.

Raffle for Sandi Rog

2011-11-23T09:07:00.000-07:00

I have a beautiful friend named Sandi Rog.

She is a gifted writer, has four amazing children, and is a loving and dedicated mom. The same day her first book, The Master's Wall, released, she was diagnosed with cancer. Sandi has shown great courage and faith in her battle against stage 4 cancer. Some of her friends have pulled together to offer an on-line raffle to raise money for medical expenses.

Each raffle ticket is only $5 and all the money goes to the Rog family. The raffle begins on November 25th, but you can donate right now.

There are many great packages to bid on: books, writing and editing support, jewelry, hand-made crafts--the list goes on and on.

Click here for more details about Sandi's Story and how the raffle works.

A Lasting Impression by Tamera Alexander

2011-11-18T09:14:00.001-07:00

Once in a while a story comes along that is not only beautiful and engaging, but tailor-made for my heart. A Lasting Impression by Tamera Alexander is one of those special books, hand-picked by the One who understands me best to help me over a speed bump of life. I'll share a little more about that later, but first let me tell you about the book and author.

A Lasting Impression captured my attention from page one, drawing me into the story line and giving me immediate sympathy for Claire, the heroine. Claire is a talented painter, but instead of being encouraged to paint out of her gift, she's trapped in a life she detests, forced by her father to work as a copyist--a forger. When she's forced to flee her home, the kindness of Sutton Monroe, an up and coming attorney, puts her on a new path. She's hurt, however, when Sutton later doesn't come to her aid.

As the story progresses my love for Claire grew as I watched her expand her wings, overcome obstacles, and grow into her true self. I also cheered on her relationship with Sutton, finding him to be a kind and principled man, who plays an important role in calling forth Claire into the gifts she learns to embrace and the life she is meant to live.

The pages turned quickly as I also connected to Sutton, cheering him on in his own journey, but realizing that Sutton's chance to establish himself in his career means moving forward in a case that will eventually collide with Claire and her past.

A Lasting Impression is a page-turner which sacrifices nothing in the attempt to keep the reader engaged. Well-written, the story is entertaining, beautiful, and spiritually sensitive, leaving the reader feeling as though she has touched God's heart. The word crafting itself is lovely and the word pictures create--well, a lasting impression.

I also enjoyed the historical setting, Nashville's Belmont Mansion, a stunning antebellum manor built by Adelicia Acklen. Tamera's research made the story come alive with authenticity. I delighted in getting to know Adelicia, a historical woman of courage and character and in better understanding the struggles of a culture recreating itself after the Civil War. After you finish the novel, take time to read "Dear Reader" placed at the back of the book. I think you'll discover, as I did, that the rich historic details she includes there brings new life and depth to an already powerful tale.

I first heart about the author, Tamera Alexander, from a friend who heard her speak at a conference. Tammy's devotional talk made such an impression that my friend came home telling the story, about how Tamera in "her sweet little voice" talked about the willingness to write for God, even if He were her only audience.

Tammy lived in Colorado for a while and eventually our writing lives intersected. Remembering my friend's accolades for Tamera's character, I watched her, visited with her, and came to see a woman worthy of the respect she'd been given. Her genuine heart shines from her honest eyes and watching her learn the craft and develop her talent into a skill that blesses an increasingly large audience of loyal readers has been a true blessing.

Tammy's devotional, given at a conference I didn't attend almost ten years ago, walked with me on my writing journey even though I didn't hear her speak. It had that much impact. Reading A Lasting Impression after I got my first book contract brought the story full circle. It arrived in my mailbox during a time I fought to overcome a myriad of emotions around that first contract.

My writing has long been surrendered to Him. My journey to publication has been long and nothing like I thought it would be. Over the years I learned to be at peace with His timing, plans, and unexpected paths. But faced with the new challenge of writing a book I knew would be published did something to my emotions that surprised me, and for a few weeks I was unable to start the story.

Then I received Tammy's book to review. Using it as yet another excuse to delay the work before me, I curled up and disappeared into a different time and place--far from the pressures I felt. How my Lord must have chuckled at my efforts to avoid the work He'd given me. He knew the very escape I sought would bring the courage I needed to obey.

A Lasting Impression helped me to remember once again who my True Audience is. He wouldn't give me a contract for a book He didn't want to read. If I write to bring Him joy and to seek and share His heart, it is a work of beauty. I can't be paralyzed by what others will think of my first foray into the world of traditional book publication. What matters is that I surrender my book to Him and pour myself out for the little story I create--writing for my Lord as an offering of love.

Thank you, Tamera Alexander, for doing the same in all of your stories. They lead us, your readers, closer to the heart of our God.

So Stinkin' Happy

2011-11-04T13:03:00.000-06:00

Seriously. It's like I'm a little kid again.

I finished the rough draft of my first contracted novel just after midnight. This morning I awoke giddy. My husband heard me stir and came into the bedroom and opened his arms to me. "You did it!" He said.

I'm ecstatic, and it isn't just the euphoria of completion.

It's because Rick and Edie (my hero and heroine) are so cute and so happy and because everything is finally right in their world. (It took me half a day last week to dig in to write the bleakest moment 'cause I knew it would break their hearts, but hallelujah, after last night all that is forgotten.)

A few minutes ago I stood in the kitchen telling hubby about the beautiful experiences of my storybook friends and burst into tears of joy.

My son came in, "Mom. You can't do this. You created those people. They are not real. YOU made up their lives."

But I can do that. I'm a writer. And even if I designed those sweet, happy scenes, I delight in my created's joy.

Hmm . . . wonder if God ever feels that way.

The Quirky Little Chuckles at My House

2011-10-26T11:09:00.000-06:00

This morning everything is making me chuckle. I’m reveling in the delight of homeschooling on a beautiful, snowy day . . . Sharing a couple of vignettes. Hope they bring a smile to your lips, too.

He's much bigger than this now, but
I'm glad the boyish wonder is still there.

My youngest begged me to have devotions outside. I stood firm on my “no” even after he promised to cover the snowy ground with a tarp, then cover us up in blankets so we’d stay warm. I almost relented when he suggested we at least sit in the shed with the doors open so we could watch the snow fall even if we weren’t in it. I’m still thinking about giving in. I mean homeschoolers can do stuff like that, right? And shouldn't we embrace the moment?

~~~

An argument that made me out right laugh went like this:

Sam: Spanish is so hard today.

Stephen: Not as hard as writing a poem in the style of Shakespeare!

Sam: At least that’s in English.

Stephen: Shakespeare is NOT English!

Within five minutes the twenty-year-old poetry loving daughter dropped her hair styling wand and delayed her rush to work to drag her brother into her room and begin reading Shakespeare poetry to him, in her sweet, passioned voice that reminded me of Mary Ann in Sense and Sensibility.

Stephen, however, remained unconvinced.

~~~

Of course at 13 and 15 they look
nothing like this today.

After days of hearing Stephen (hooked on all things old-fashioned, country, folksy, wild west or historical) singing a folk song and listening to Sam (hooked on all thing not old-fashioned, country, folksy, wild west or historical) complain about the song, I overheard them burst out singing together:

Running Bear, love Little White Dove

With a love as big as the sky

Running Bear, love Little White Dove

With love a love that couldn’t die!

I guess if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em.

~~~

Guess it’s time to quit chuckling and re-engage with the boys. I’ve got devotions in the snow waiting!

Check It Out

2011-10-26T10:24:00.000-06:00

Check out my post today on the WordServe Water Cooler.

And for the record I did push through those First Contract Jitters. I set a word count and am ahead by a week! Now I have the opposite problem. Instead of procrastination I just want to cash out of real life and stay in my story world. *sigh* Hubby has long told me, "Life isn't all or nothing, Sweetheart."

Am I Allowed a Rant?

2011-10-21T21:08:00.000-06:00

I'm not sure if a place called GraceReign should rant.

But I can't help it. I keep getting the same button pushed.

It happened again tonight on facebook. A big sign on my homepage, posted by a friend, read, "You're as Close to God as You Want to Be."

Last week it was a similar sentiment, "If you aren't close to God, who moved?"

Really, people?

Think about this. How do such things help anyone draw closer to God? There are several things that inhibit a loving, free-flowing relationship with our LORD. One really high on the list is guilt--never feeling good enough to be close to God. Another one is pride--thinking we can EARN His favor.

Both of those fb posts seem (to me) to be saying, "Get your act together! Work harder at being a Christian. Then you can feel Him."

Here's what I say. We have a God who promises to NEVER leave or forsake us. Scripture says He dwells within us. That He goes before us, comes behind us, and surrounds us on every side. He says He will BE WITH us unto the end of the world.

Does that sound like a God you can walk away from?

To pound on sayings like the two above is to pour on the guilt to well-meaning Christians--and to fed the arrogance of our pride. To make this beautiful relationship with our Savior about how hard we work at it.

God never said, "I'm close as long as you do your daily devotions, never get distracted, turn from sin, and eat your wheaties."

Instead He says things like, I AM HERE. Always.

EVERY good gift comes from the Father. HE did the work of reconciliation, drawing us to Himself by the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus. Whether He "feels" close or far away, He is always close to the believer.

Frankly, we're not big enough to move away from God.

We can forget He's there. We can ignore His presence. But we can never move away from Him. He has us in the palm of HIS hand.

Yes, I recommend calling out to Jesus and asking Him to reveal Himself more intimately to you every day. But do it from a treasured, safe place of knowing He is right there with you every moment. Do it with joy, embracing the reality of His surrounding Presence and never-ending attention. Let the reality of a God who lovingly indwells you you sink deeper into your heart. Remember that He walks with you every step of the way. Come to Him understanding that He's already come to you.

He's never gone away and He never will.

Not Double, Bazillionduple

2011-10-01T00:02:00.000-06:00

Kathy Kovach and I right after I received my contract letter

We writers get to make up words, right?

Remember the old saying that a friend divides your sorrow and doubles your joy? I say they bazillionduple it.

I oughta know.

On Thursday, September 23rd, Becky Germany, Editor at Barbour Publishing presented my first book contract in front of roughly 600 people at the American Christian Fiction Writer's Conference. That alone is enough to make a gal burst out of her skin in joy, but added to the mix the well-wishes of friends and family?

My joy bazilliondupled.

It wasn't only the genuine applause of the audience or the Colorado friends who yelled "We love you, Paula!" It wasn't just the 130 "likes" and 83 comments on my Facebook status or the multitude of hugs from friends--old and new--every day following at conference.

It wasn't even the way Becky and the authors at B arbour Publishing welcomed me right in

Barbour Editor Rebecca Germany and I on the Mark Twain

to the family at the author dinner on the riverboat. It was all that, but it was also how so many of those people had been by my side for years, through good times and bad, and how their celebration with me had this vibrant, genuine depth to it.

My journey to novel publication began about ten years ago. Often interrupted by the needs of four children, I kept plugging along. I began writing devotionals, articles, and blogs. Readers and fellow bloggers encouraged me. In 2004 I joined an on-line prayer team. I came under attack, and the prayer warriors there held me together with prayers and emails. A few years later a small group of writers in my area began meeting regularly to pray, and they became my mainstay. I kept writing and had roughly 300 publication credits to my name, but still no book with a Paula Moldenhauer by line.

Still the community cheered me on. I had several ACFW conferences gifted to me, and Marlene Bagnull of the Colorado Christian Writer's Conference took me under her wing, encouraging me and seeing that I made it to CCWC. Friends and family in other walks of life also watched my journey and urged me forward. My husband never faltered in his belief in me and my writing. When times got tough he never asked me to stop and get a "real" job. He kept believing in me and mopped me off the floor when the rejection letters came.

Then my little prayer group in Denver started praying with me about a "coming storm." In 2007 Author Brandilyn Collins prayed for me at an ACFW conference and told me I would need to learn to live in the Strong Tower. I had already sensed my husband would go through difficulties in this predicted storm, but Brandilyn believed my children were also going to face struggles. She committed to praying for my kids daily--and prayed for our family for several years. In my personal prayer time the LORD told me to "circle the wagons" as a family in preparation for what was coming.

Then, wonder of wonders, I got an agent! The talented Rachelle Gardner believed in me, and we prepared to pitch one of my non-fiction books.

Right after this exciting experience, about three years ago, the LORD asked me to lay aside my pursuit of book publication. I let Rachelle know I couldn't submit. You probably know the story from here. First all four of my children entered Anna's House for special treatment for visual processing issues as well as other struggles that held them back. It was a very demanding time and I spent many extra hours doing exercises with them, adding tutoring to our already busy homeschool schedule, and driving them to appointments. Then my precious husband almost died of a serious heart issue. A couple of weeks later Stephen broke an arm, then Sam broke his collar bone. After that my oldest son, Seth, had two major hip surgeries and spent 10 months in rehab, losing the opportunity to play competitive hockey his senior year. Sarah spent a year curled in a ball in pain until we fianlly discovered treatment for undiagnosed food allergies. Hubby had to have knee surgery. Two children graduated with all of those joys and demands of helping them step into their next stage of life. Finances crumbled and we almost lost our home. And . . . I could add to this list, but I'll stop there.

Through all of this, my friends stood by me. They prayed for my family and me. They walked next to me. My Denver prayer team never seemed to tire of my need for them, and the on-line prayer partners God sent my way remained committed and steady.

Then, the storm gradually began to clear. I asked the LORD if I could join some friends in writing a proposal for a couple of novella projects. He gave me permission and I tentatively stretched fingers to the keyboard and learned to play with story again. Life continued to find a more stable place. This September I told my husband I felt we'd stepped into a new season.

Then I went to the ACFW Conference.

It was Thursday afternoon, the opening ceremony, and the MC, Brandilyn Collins, said Barbour Publishing was going to offer a brand new author a first time contract. Rebecca Germany walked to the stage and explained that the contract had been kept a careful secret. She then said the contract was for a novella for a Christmas collection. She didn't announce the author or the name of the novella, but my heart pounded in my ears. I knew I had two proposals in for a Christmas novella, and that neither had yet received a rejection letter. Then Becky began to name off the other authors in the collection: Darlene Franklin . . . Paige Winship Dooly . . . at that point I looked to my best buddy, Kathy, who was seated next to me. She looked at me. The third name was Kathleen E. Kovach. She grabbed me and we were engulfed in this huge hug when Rebecca finally said, "The contract is for You're a Charmer, Mr. Grinch, by Paula Moldenhauer."

My face burned hot, the red flooding it comprised of joy, excitement, and a flush of embarrassment

with Rachelle Gardner, agent extraordinaire

as 600 people stared at me, clapping, as I made my way to the stage. My hug to Becky was accompanied by breathless exclamation of wonder. Trembling I returned to my seat, clutching the letter that promised a book contract. In the back corner a group of ACFW Colorado friends yelled, "We love you, Paula!" I further embarrassed myself by bursting out in front of the whole world, "I love you, too!" as I waved to them.

Editors and writers hugged me as I made my way through the room. As I reached my seat, my agent rushed to me with her congratulations. She'd kept the pending contract a secret for three months so I could have this moment. I texted my family and prayer warriors at home with the news and posted a fb status from my phone,
then tried (somewhat unsuccessfully) to concentrate on the rest of the ceremonies.

Jan Warren and I at the banquet

My face stayed red for at least an hour.

It was glorious.

But it only got better because of all those who shared my joy. It's no coincidence that one of my longest time prayer warrior's, Jan Warren, whose insight had broken strongholds and whose unending support of my family often held me together, "happened" to be seated at my table. It's no coincidence that Rose McCauley, another long-time friend and prayer warrior who had won the same contract the year before, had

prayed (along with Connie Stevens)

Rose McCauley, Me, Connie Stevens

for a year for "whoever" got the next contract at the ACFW Conference. It's no coincidence that throughout the weekend friends from the prayer loop stopped to hug me, ask about the family, and genuinely celebrate. They'd prayed me into that moment.

This triumph doesn't belong only to me. It's not simply MY first book contract. It is a step forward brought about by the triumph of others and their prayers. It is their victory.

And in sharing the victory my joy has bazilliondupled.

Soul Scents Question

2011-09-08T14:39:00.003-06:00

As many of you know, I wrote Soul Scents devotionals each week for about four years. They were sent, free, to the in-boxes of subscribers. Then the LORD asked me to take a break and focus on my family. Three very intense years followed here at the Moldenhauer's house. Today I'm thankful to report that my husband's health has returned, my kids are thriving, and no one has had surgery since last January. While away from Soul Scents the LORD provided some good free-lance writing opportunities which keep me writing through the trials and helped finance some of the extra expenses those struggles brought. Recently I've had several articles published.

As I'm feeling new sunshine on my face I've prayed about returning to writing Soul Scents. I don't feel the LORD has given me the green light yet, but as I'm processing I wonder about the need of the readers. I checked my website today, and the Soul Scents subscriber list has continued to grow even though I haven't written the devotionals for three years. That encouraged me, but also made me question further my next course of action.

I'd love to have response to any or all of the following questions. You can comment here or email me privately:

Was Soul Scents timely for a season, or is there still a need/place for it today?
Was the weekly format part of what helped Soul Scents strike a chord with readers and therefore a necessity for my returning, or would once a month still meet a need if I am unable to keep up with the weekly schedule?
How would you feel if I invited guest authors in from time-to-time instead of being the sole author?
Soul Scents has always centered on relationship with God--our longing to know Him and the ways He reaches to us. Is there a particular topic/need/issue that fits within that general parameter that you wish someone would address?
With the advent of e-books, there has also been some discussion of my formatting an e-devotional that could be placed on kindle/phones, etc. using specific devotional series from the past that seemed to especially strike a chord with readers. Would something like that meet a need?

I look forward to hearing from you--and would you please join with me in prayer about whether or not the LORD would have me return to Soul Scents devotional?

A Chair Is Missing

2011-08-23T18:32:00.002-06:00

This morning I joined a club I've heard about but didn't truly understand. I stood in the driveway with my hubby and three of our four children waving at the handsome young man in the little red car that disappeared all too quickly.

Now I stand shoulder to shoulder with all you moms and dads out there who know the joy and pain of this club. The pride in knowing your child is no longer a child--and the pain in knowing your child is no longer a child. He's ready. You're excited for his future. But life will never again be quite the same. He's climbing new mountains, seeing new vistas. His fit person is ready for the challenge! (Neat how I connected this idea to one of my favorite pictures taken this week when Seth and a friend climbed a fourteener, huh?)

But life will never again be quite the same.

It's a good thing. Really. I tell myself this often. The decision for my son to pursue his hockey dreams out of state has been bathed in prayer. Financial obstacles fell into place even after we thought it wasn't going to happen. It's miraculous to think this time last year he was in the middle of ten months of rehab after back-to-back hip surgeries, and now he's playing high level competitive hockey. Get the party hats! Blow up the balloons! Time to celebrate.

And I'm happy for him. Really. Only I have, of course, had several moments when I needed to sneak away for a bit of a cry. And, periodically I find various household members doing the same. Sarah and I started our teary process early, before Seth even left. The guys had their moment after he drove away. And I know these moments will keep coming.

I actually held it together pretty well today. Then it was time for the evening meal. One of the kitchen chairs was in a different room. As I set the table I realized we didn't need that chair. And I burst into tears. Again.

My friends tell me it will happen often for the next few weeks. One friend told me she cried for three months straight when her son left for college. I'm hoping my grieving period will be a little less intense, but we'll see.

But God is careful to care for my heart. After Seth drove away this morning, I picked up my trusty little devotion book, Jesus Calling, opened to August 23rd, and read, "Entrust your loved ones to Me; release them into my protective care."

After I read this first line I called my hubby and the younger boys into the room. "You gotta hear this," I said. We gathered around and read through the devotion together. After admonition about letting go so both parent and child could be free and instruction to avoid making idols of our children, it ended with, "As you entrust others into My care, I am free to shower blessings on them. My presence will go with them wherever they go . . . .Watch to see what I will do."

I've been reading this little book for months. This is the only time I remember anything relating to parenting or children! And it came TODAY.

WOW! Thank you, Father!

So, to all you dear ones who've texted or facebooked or emailed to ask how I am . . . I'm fine. Really.

Just leave all the chairs where they belong, will you?

(PS Read a great post about what NOT to say to new members of the "Parents of a First Child to Leave Home" club: check it out here.)

Real Man or Peter Pan

2011-08-03T16:19:00.004-06:00

I recently read a book with a lot of wisdom, called 5 Conversations you must have with your son. My boys and I ended up in several conversations based on the information in the book. Below is an excerpt from one of the conversations, which has to do with helping your son enter the adult world. With three teenage boys I thought it was important for me to think about!

Enjoy!

Failure to Launch: Real Man or Peter Pan?

Preparing Your Son to Become the Grown-Up God Wants Him to Be

Adapted from

5 Conversations You Must Have With Your Son

(B&H Publishing)

By Vicki Courtney

In 2006, Paramount Pictures released the movie Failure to Launch starring Matthew McConaughey. McConaughey played the part of a winsome, good-looking thirty-five-year-old bachelor who lived at home with his parents and was in no hurry to check out of Hotel Mama’s Boy. Any why would he? His mother cooked his meals, cleaned his room and did his laundry – a sweet deal for any thirty-five-year-old who wasn’t quite ready to be a grown up in the big, scary world. The movie was the number one movie in the U.S. for the first three weeks after its release, grossing more than ninety million dollars. Though the movie was intended as a comedy, it seemed to touch a raw nerve among many viewers and call attention to the very real problem of a failure to launch among young men in our culture today.

Now, opinions vary on when a boy should become a man, but one thing is for certain: Preparing them to launch is a process that begins much earlier than age eighteen. Here are the three stages of a successful launch.

Prelaunch: The stage of a boy’s life from age two to fourteen should be viewed as the prelaunch phase. During this stage critical life skills should be introduced, as well as the training required over the years to help your son master life skills. Skills such as personal responsibility for belongings, money management, goal setting, time management, and a strong work ethic can be introduced at a young age and cultivated over the years.

Test Launch: The stage of a boy’s life from age fourteen to eighteen should be viewed as the test launch phase. During the test launch stage, your son should be becoming more independent as he exercises the key life skills. During this stage he will have to learn some painful lessons as you begin to wean him from dependence on you and give him ownership and responsibility. Also during this time, most moms have a tendency to come to the rescue of their sons and bail them out of consequences from their sons’ sinful or poor decisions. But n the real world, no one will rescue them from consequences that come as a result of laziness and irresponsibility. It’s much less painful for them to learn the lesson while under your roof than years later, when their actions can affect their entire family.

Final Launch: The stage of a boy’s life from age eighteen to twenty-two should be viewed as the final launch phase. At some point during this stage a boy should become independent of his parents and become a responsible member of society. While some parents may hold the view that age eighteen signals true adulthood, others may feel it is a bit older, especially if college is a part of the plan. Regardless of whether you aim for eighteen or twenty-two, anything much older than twenty-two will increase the chances of a failure to launch.

As mothers, our hearts are wired to nurture and care for our sons. When they are young and utterly dependent on us to have their need meet, we feel a sense of value and worth. It feels good to be needed. We must remember that our divine call as mothers is to raise up godly seed for the next generation. And part of “raising ‘em up” is to “move ‘em out.”

Vicki Courtney is the author of several best-selling books, including 5 Conversations You Must Have With Your Daughter. This selection comes from its 2011 follow-up, 5 Conversations You Must Have With Your Son. To learn more, visit www.vickicourtney.com.

Educational Remediation, An Interview at TOS

2011-08-01T16:00:00.001-06:00

Take a look at the brand new Summer digital edition of The Old Schoolhouse^®Magazine. I have an article in this issue on page 96. TOS is offering this digital issue of the magazine totally free with no strings attached. Enjoy reading my article and the rest of the magazine—no registration or email address required! Take a peek here. If you wish, you may also share this issue of TOS with your friends by clicking on the share button at the top of the magazine pages.

More than a Mustache

2011-06-12T19:30:00.007-06:00

My husband has grown the cutest mustache and beard. I'm not sure how much he's enjoying it, but I think it looks really good on him. He keeps it to please me. He does a lot of sweet stuff just because he loves me.

He's a good guy.

I'm glad because this weekend we celebrated 22 years of marriage. I know I'm blessed to be the wife of a man who is faithful and true. I can't begin to count the times I've lain in bed listening to his deep, sleep breaths and wondered why I was given the gift of the love of a good man when so many women I know have instead suffered at the hands of the ones who were supposed to love them best.

Over the years my husband has given himself to caring for me and the kids. When we were first married I was so awed by his sacrificial, unselfish love that I began to pray the Lord would cleanse me of my selfishness. Four children followed quickly after that prayer in rapid succession. Nothing like having four children under six to teach selflessness . . . It was a dangerous prayer to pray. I also prayed almost every day for the first many years, "Lord, let me bring him good and not evil all the days of his life." I knew a good thing when I saw it, and I wanted desperately to be a good thing back to him.

I'm not going to argue with you women out there who disagree with what I'm about to say, I'm just going to state it as a fact: My man is one of the best in the world. (Your good man can be, too.)

That doesn't mean he's perfect. In fact sometimes
I totally disagree with him. There are times he frustrates me and times we struggle. And just when I want to be good and mad, he makes me laugh. This gift for diffusing my anger is one I don't understand. What's really frustrating is that my oldest male child has also perfected this art, much to the chagrin of his siblings and me. I don't know how I can be so mad and so charmed at the same time.

Men!

I spent a lot time looking for an anniversary card the other day. I finally gave up, bought a present, and left the store. Several cards said part of what I wanted to say, but none of them captured my heart. Since then bits and pieces of the words I want to give him have floated by my consciousness, but I've not been able to collect and organize them. They all seem not enough or superficial. Or . . . just not right.

How do you say thank you to the man who has stood by you for twenty-two years, wiped your tears, made you laugh, fathered your children, bought you flowers, washed dishes, prayed you through, and sat next to you for countless gymnastics meets, hockey games, school plays, and baseball tournaments?

How do you encapsulate the years of struggle--the ways you've grieved his pain, feared for his health, prayed for his heart and spirit, fought for and with with him? How do you honor his tenacity, sacrifice, determination, and faith through the hard times? The way he keeps serving and loving when life sends rotten deals?

How do you celebrate the achievements--the victories you've shared in parenting, loving, working, and serving--letting him know that the deep pride in his eyes means the world to you and the kids? That his honest encouragement has charted your course and buoyed you up and given the children both a foundation and wings?

And what about all those tiny little things that make life better--like a kiss on the back of the neck while I wash dishes, flirting that makes the kids roll their eyes and tell us to "get a room," or the way he holds my hand as he drives? Or those special moments like when he kissed those ugly stretch marks after the babies came and called them my badges of honor, or the way he grasped my hand saying, "Your hand used to be so soft, but now it is the hard-working hand of a wife and mother, the hand of one who loves and serves." Or the way he spoons up against me at night, holding me safe so I can fall asleep.

Maybe the best part of the last 22 years is simply being loved for who I am, faults and gifts together. I never felt put on a pedestal or walked upon. Instead I've been given validation. He not only encouraged me to follow my dreams, but also helped me keep my feet on solid ground, helping me to put first things first so in my eagerness to succeed I didn't forget the most important things.

My Jerry doesn't care that I cry at commercials, he thinks I'm a gourmet when I just cook down home food, and to hear him tell it you'd think I am incredibly gifted writer. He tells me he has never once doubted I'll sell my books. For some reason he thinks I have something to offer the world, and he releases me to spend hours writing, networking with writers, and leading my writing group--even when it brings in little income and takes time from him.

My man validates my motherhood and the hours I put into homeschooling and points out the ways our kids are moving forward and finding their way. When money gets tight he tells me it's okay. Instead of pushing me to get a job he reminds me of those I already have and even though sometimes life gets really hard he encourages me to keep living my dream. I always wanted to be a mom and a writer. And because of his belief in those callings, that is what I am.

I longed to write him a beautiful love poem for our anniversary. I wanted to tell him how dear and precious he is to me. I wanted it to be filled with graceful words.

But I can't find the cadence or put my heart into those perfect phrases. this time what I want to say is so far beyond my ability to shape it. So instead I simply say, "thank you, Honey." For all you do for me--from keeping the mustache to keeping my heart.

I love you.

Happy anniversary.

Check It Out!

2011-06-01T17:03:00.002-06:00

Visit the Inkwell, ACFW Colorado's blog, for my post today about one of the authors I most admire!

Do you know who she is?

Crazy Mommy Love

2011-05-10T20:59:00.002-06:00

Put this picture in your head. But don't keep it there, because this is NOT how I want to be remembered.

A little silver Cobalt zips through traffic, careening around cars, weaving from lane to lane. Two teenage boys are crammed into the back seat, between big black bags filled with baseball and umpire3 gear. One of the young men wears an umpire uniform and a pensive face.

You glance to the front where you see a woman's lips moving incessantly. If you could hear her, the words coming forth would be. "Let there be all green light. All green lights, Lord. I know you're not a Santa in the sky. But this is beyond my control. Only you can save it."

You look a little closer. The crazy driver woman has about half of her hair in foils.

My friends, it all started like a normal night. Hubby needed to work and took the family car. Dear daughter loaned her oldest brother her car because she wouldn't be needing it. She'd promised to make her mother beautiful before the writer's conference. The date had been carefully protected weeks in advance.

In the kitchen mother and daughter gabbed effortlessly as color and BLEACH went into mom's hair: low light, highlight, low light highlight.

Then came the dooming phone call. Son #2 had misread the calendar and was late to umpire his second game with his new job. Mother glanced wide-eyed at daughter. Daughter swallowed hard. Their gazes went first to the bleach bottle, then back to mom's hair. Terror struck. Bleach left in too long means the hair breaks off. Often at the scalp. Mother and daughter glance toward the fifteen-year-old. It's the second time at his dream job, and he's been working hard to impress the new boss. He's even talked about umpiring as a career. The panic in his eyes gives a thousands pleas for rescue.

Daughter looks at mother. "Take off the cape and drive fast."

Mom runs, foils bouncing, to the neighbor, who laughs at her as she hands her the car keys.

And now we're back to where the story began. Mom drops off harried son who is only 12 minutes late for the game and rushes back home. On the way she calls friend Kim who laughs and prays for slow hair developer.

Mom gets home. Daughter works furiously to finish: low, high, low, high, then begins plopping in the all over color, hands moving like lightening. Mom asks a question and is told questioning is not allowed. Daughter can't answer questions and rescue hair simultaneously. In desperation daughter finally cranks up music thinking she can work faster to a beat.

Now what?

The bleach needed to come out a long time ago, but the rest of the hair is only recently covered in color. Daughter grabs a spray bottle of water and begins unwrapping only the highlights, spraying them down with water, wiping each individual strand off with a pink, fluffy towel, then refoils each clean strand. She watches the clock a few minutes then says, "just go get a shower now."

"Are you worried," Mom asks.

Daughter hands her the latest and greatest just-off-the-shelf protein repair product and a tube of intensive condition. "Just go. Rinse twice. Shampoo. Then use these."

Mom showers. She avoids the mirror. Hair in towel she returns to the kitchen. "I thought we'd share the unveiling moment."

Daughter gives solemn nod.

Towel comes off.

Mom has raised a genius. She's always known, but the perfectly colored hair still attached at the scalp proves it.

Sacred Moments

2011-05-09T14:36:00.002-06:00

For Mother's Day we visited a new church. My daughter is old enough that she has her own church now, so it was just my 4 men and me. I have to admit I felt proud sitting there between all those wide shoulders.

The sermon was good, and all the moms got a flowers, which is always a nice touch. The whole service was, as all of life is, sacred and God-breathed, and I was glad to be there.

But one moment will live with me all all the others fade. It felt deeply holy, and beautiful, and rich. The pastor asked the people standing next to a mom to put a hand on her shoulder and pray for her while he prayed from up front.

I was smack dab in the middle of my men, two on each side. My hubby put his arm around me, and my "baby," seated to my right did the same. The pastor started praying. As he spoke I longed for the touch of my other sons, but it was awkward as we were in a straight row and they were just out of reach.

Then I felt my oldest reach over and place his and on my left shoulder. I grabbed for his hand. It was long after that the touch of my middle son came from the right. The tears flowed freely then. The pastor prayed Scripture for all the moms, and I stood there feeling engulfed in the love and prayers of my guys.

Some experiences are so profound you don't know how to tell the story. This is one of those. I can't explain to you how I felt or why, I only know it was one of the most sacred, treasured moments of my life.

Freedom

2011-05-04T17:04:00.003-06:00

It was only a four minute drive to pick up my son, but the glory of it reverberated within. I'd borrowed my daughter's zippy little silver car. When I started the engine, good country music blared from her radio. Oh the glory of it! For four, whole minutes I was alone and free. The song even reminded me of a favorite Alabama tune from my teenage years. Not that I adored most country back then, this love of crooning country ballads is a new fascination for me. I pulled out of our neighborhood, sang at the top of my lungs, and reveled in the blue sky.

I'm not sure why this moment was so important to me. I just felt carefree and autonomous and loved the feel of that little car slipping over the roads. I wondered if my daughter felt that when she drove her car. Did she taste the joy of making her own schedule, driving her own car, and playing her own music? Does she understand the treasure it is--being an adult, making your own decisions, but not responsible for the multitude of decisions and schedules of the entire family? I hope she enjoys this season. She's working full-time and gracious enough to share her car with the family, so she's not completely foot-loose and fancy free, but she is probably the most autonomous she'll ever be, unless she moves out and lives on her own a while before matrimony or serious relationships require a chunk of her space.

Maybe those four minutes in her little car felt like freedom because I tasted a tiny piece of her world.

Or maybe I was just sick of the mini-van.

Rest

2011-03-07T09:57:00.002-07:00

It's one of those mornings that looks like 6 a.m. when it is 10. The clouds hang low, clinging to the top branches of the tallest trees and completely blanketing the mountains. Not the typical cobalt blue sky of a Colorado morning, but just perfect for today.

I padded out of bed, turned pleading eyes to my fourteen-year-old, Stephen, who was in my chair, and, thanks to his sweet spirit, was soon in that old blue recliner, curled underneath my favorite fleece blanket, with my devotional, Jesus Calling, in my lap. My son kindly moved his blanket and school book to a different chair, and it wasn't long before his younger brother, Sam, wrapped in a blanket, settled onto the floor with a Bible, then onto the couch with his science book.

It's one of those times I love homeschooling. We were all quiet, each in our own worlds, but together. I felt the pull to the kitchen to make breakfast, but needed more silence, more being still with God, so I was relieved when Stephen made himself some cinnamon toast, and Sam turned on the tea kettle. It wouldn't be enough to fill the cavernous hulls and hollow legs of my burgeoning men, but it would buy me some more quiet.

Sam brought me tea and my own plate of cinnamon toast, and we stayed in our individual realities, content to share them by space. My solitude was interrupted only by the occasional comments from my youngest, "Weird, mom! I'm eating toast and reading about the digestive process while I'm doing it!"

Journaling, praying, reading, I let God's Spirit tap on my heart, seeking to truly embrace the truths I need to face the challenges of our life right now. Toward the end of my quiet, I felt the Lord tell me just to rest--to snuggle under that blanket, lean my head back in the recliner, and believe I was in His Presence, in His arms. Safe and cared for. As I did a song from Blink descended upon my thoughts. "God will take care of you . . . "

Soon my husband returned from his early morning appointment, my older son came up the stairs, hungry and talkative. The phone began it's ringing . . . and now the boys are enjoying, as the hobbits would say, a "second breakfast." Even as I enter into the bustle of that, I'm strengthened by the peace of the moment, by the quiet togetherness the boys and I shared this morning in the Presence of our God.

New Beginnings

2011-03-02T19:30:00.001-07:00

Check out my post today on the Inkwell.

Ordinary, Unexpected Days

2011-01-13T15:10:00.002-07:00

I told the Lord this morning that my life seemed fairly predictable, not the adventure of following Him that so many write about. Most days I'm here, in this same little house, wondering how our family of six can need so many towels washed, why I can't seem to find the perfect schedule for whose turn it is to do the dishes, and what to make for dinner. My days include reading and praying, some time writing, and time in real life--just talking with my husband or the kids.

It's a sweet life, and I wouldn't trade it. My biggest passion has always been to give to my children my love of God, and I still believe (after almost twenty years being home and trying to live that way) that real faith is found in the daily sharing and living we do together. I've given so many years to homeschooling for this reason--and because I love being with my sweet family.

You know, I love new experiences and people and places, but I don't need high adventure to feel alive. Still, day after day in the same house with the same people can feel somewhat stagnant.

The Lord reminded me that the foundations being laid in my home and children--and self--are slowly birthed. They don't happen overnight and are not easily measured, but they are real. And they are worth putting up with a little chaotic boredom. (Boredom not birthed out of nothing to do, but out of doing the same things over and over.)

The devotional that started all this introspection encouraged me to approach each day open to His plan for it instead of hanging onto my own, to follow Him and expect surprises. At first I didn't relate to the devotional--combing the last week of my life for something unpredictable. But then I began to chronicle how much unexpected He brought into my ordinary days--things like interrupted agendas where plans were put aside for people, where unexpected conversations grew from His direction.

Today is one of those ordinary unexpected days. Kingdom work done in unexpected places with unexpected people, and kingdom work done in expected, predictable places with expected people. It's included unexpected prayer and tears, as well as expected instruction on science study guides. And I've embraced unexpected beauty in unexpected places--like a grown-up daughter who invites me just to hang out in her room on her day off. (Okay, so she set me up a bit with the whole relational hook, then handed me clothes to hang as she cleaned her room and we talked.) But it was beautiful. And when her brother walked in, saw her hammering a nail into the wall with a high heeled dress shoe and took it away from her to do it right, I enjoyed the muscles of her "little" brother doing manly, helpful hammering. I stored away in my heart the way they both enjoyed the role reversal of little brother taking care of big sister.

A little later I walked in on son #2 doing his math with son #3 asking for help on his math. I slipped away, not wanting to interject my presence. As I left I heard son #2 say, "Okay, so you need to know how to work a problem where 1/2=1/3 + x. Bring your paper and I'll show you." Son #3 rushed off to get his notebook, totally confident his big brother would help him figure it out. I was struck by the respect and kindness they showed each other in this household that is so full of male testosterone and competition. This ordinary, unexpected moment also snuggled into my heart, a droplet of joy.

I'm not out climbing the mountains of South America or feeding the beautiful, dark-eyed hungry daughters of India. In many ways my life is so ordinary, so predictable, so within four walls of a home that I love but that sometimes leaves me feeling squeezed in and a little bored. But my life is full of God-moments in my ordinary, unexpected days.

A Journey of Profound Reliance

2011-01-05T17:03:00.001-07:00

"True dependence is not simply asking Me to bless what you have decided to do. it is coming to Me with an open mind and heart, inviting Me to plant My desires within you. I may infuse infuse within you a dream that seems far beyond your reach . . . thus begins your journey of profound reliance on Me. It is a faithwalk, taken one step at a time, leaning on Me as much as you need. This is not a path of continual success but of multiple failures. However, each failure is followed by a growth spurt, nourished by increased reliance on Me. Enjoy the blessing of a victorious life, through deepening your dependence on Me." (Jesus Calling, pg. 6, by Sarah Young)

I sat in the above thoughts for a while this morning, sensing deep joy as I did. When I attended my first writing conference (many years past!) I survived by posting Bible verses and encouraging quotes all over the walls. Stepping out in my writing seemed such a monumental task. I feared failure and success equally as I began a journey that was so far beyond me.

Here I sit nineish years after that first conference. Nothing looks as I expected. I've written novels that have never been published, but I've published works I never intended to write. I chuckle to think that I've spent the last two years taking free-lance work as a curriculum writer. Certainly it was not path I planned to take, but the Lord knew it would be a fit. I wanted to write novels, not develop an Internet ministry. And once that ministry developed I never expected God to then tell me to lay it down. I was determined to write meaty women's fiction. My latest fiction project have been light romance and oh so fun . . . but not exactly weighty. My journey isn't what I thought it would be, but it is oh so much more.

The biggest surprises are not surprises at all. I am more me. The Lord has taken me through more failures that I can count, and guess what? They didn't ruin me. I didn't fall apart or throw in the towel. I just cried a bit, threw a few fits before my Lord, and discovered that those disappointment don't define me. They affect my mood for a short while, and then they just disappear as I keep being me. Recently, after several months of hoping and waiting on word on a submitted novella project I found out the editor had never received it, and it had missed the deadline to even be considered for that particular round. My response? "God is Sovereign." And I really meant it. Didn't even need to whine or question. Just re-submitted for the following season, and truly, deeply believed that God was in lost manuscripts as well as published ones.

The me that slowly emerges is a me more peaceful and steady than I thought possible. Of course I still have "those" days, but in general there is a deepened ability to rest in Him and to trust His ways. I prayed a lot for joy several years ago. At first I felt a little miffed about His response. I asked for joy and received a lot of disappointments and struggle. And yet now I think how important it was to happen just that way. I'm beginning to sense joy being sown into my life on the soil of peace and dependence on my Lord. If the joy had been dropped in my lap--given like happiness--I think it would have been fleeting. I may have thanked the Lord for His blessings, but then looked to those blessings instead of to Him for continued joy. I trust the work He is doing inside of me will bear lasting, continual fruit of joy--not manufactured joy, not joy I choose as I gut it out, but a natural well inside of me that draws from the sweet waters of God.

Today I'm celebrating many years of victorious living--the kind that is not measured by continual success, but by the failures and disappointments that caused inner growth as I walk a journey of profound reliance.

Holiday Reading

2010-12-12T15:36:00.004-07:00

Looking for a lovely read as a holiday treat for yourself or someone you care for? I recently read The Snowflake by Jamie Carie. Beautifully packaged, this little novella is the perfect length and tone to help you slow down and embrace the season without requiring too much reading time. Published by B&H fiction, The Snowflake offers an inspirational story with just the right amount of hope, romance, and depth. Relz Reviews said, "Jamie Carie's characterization is brilliant . . . a depth and authenticity rarely seen in romance novels."

FaithfulReader.com said Carie "weaves a beautiful tapestry of historical fact, passion and multi-faceted characters into an engaging plot."

I concur. I was pleasantly surprised by the layers and depth found in such a short word count. Crafted with engaging and beautiful writing, the story is unafraid to grow in unexpected places. The historical setting (Alaskan Gold rush, Christmas 1897) allowed the author to press into unique issues of grace in a non-threatening way. The ending was nothing short of poetic. It stirred the places within me that long for beauty, those which long for romance, those that long for Jesus. Just what I would hope for in this season. I finished the story with a contented sigh and lingered a while in the Presence it embraced.

Thank you, Jamie Carie and B&H Fiction!

I also recently read The Feast of Saint Bertie by Kathleen Popa. This full-length novel has been on my shelf for awhile. Each time I passed the book it seemed to say, "not yet." Then, recently, it called out to me, "It's time." I'm so glad I listened. I believe over the years there are certain books the Lord hand-picks for me at particular seasons. This was one of those special reads for me. I actually copied several paragraphs by hand into my journal to treasure forever. As I read this story I tread upon holy ground. I don't know how to explain my interior journey except to say I was with the LORD. Or maybe that I KNEW I was with the LORD. Our Lord is One who never leaves or forsakes us. He is always with us. We never have to earn the right to be with Him. He simply is. However, I entered a new place with Him through this novel.

Kathleen put it this way in her comments at the end of the novel. "So much of how we live is about appearances," she said. "We aren't conscious of this, but our subconscious minds are a windstorm of anxieties . . . You can't pray that way. If you do, the person you send into the Holy of Holies will be an impostor who leaves you sitting outside, wondering what's going on inside. If you want to enter in yourself, you have to make sure it's the real you . . . It's hard to write well about prayer . . . So I get fanciful. Have I ever danced with Brother Lawrence or Julian of Norwich? I'd love that, but no. Still when I read their works, I recognize the God they loved so passionately as the same I spoke with this morning. How beautiful that is."

If you're looking for a story to linger in this holiday season, take a break from lighter fare and sit at the table of The Feast of Saint Bertie. You will come away knowing you've been fed.

Thank you David C Cook and Kathleen Popa. I was hungry and you fed me.

Nightingale by Susan May Warren

2010-11-27T19:13:00.004-07:00

Susan May Warren has done it again! Another page-turner full of heart. Nightingale may be my new favorite of Susie's many books. This one has the same signature page-turning action and intrigue, the same ability to touch the reader. But in my humble opinion there is something . . . well, more about this one. More beautiful passages, more heart, more of God's grace. As I read Nightingale, I had to periodically pause to savor breath-taking turns of phrase and ponder new depths of grace. The story-line had some surprising twists, and the characters were captivating.

Here's a thumbnail:

Esther Lange doesn’t love her fiancé—she’s trapped in an engagement after a mistaken night of passion.

Still, she grieves him when he’s lost in battle, the letters sent to her by the medic at his side giving her a strange comfort, so much that she strikes up a correspondence with Peter Hess, an Iowa farmboy. Or is he? Peter Hess is not who he seems. Indeed, he’s hiding a secret, something that could cost them both their lives, especially when the past comes back to life. A bittersweet love song of the home front war between duty and the heart...a battle where only one will survive. Purchase a copy here.

Don't miss the Letters From Home Giveaway, details below:

Enter the Contest: Nightingale is about letters, the power of written correspondence to convey thoughts and emotions to those far away. And sometimes near. Letters are forever, they are something we savor and pull out to read again and again. They are often cherished and kept in a special place.

To celebrate the release of Nightingale, Susan would like you to write a letter. One grand prize winner will receive a Flip HD Camcorder. 5 runner's up winners will win a signed copy of Nightingale. There are two ways to enter the contest by writing letters.

1. Write a letter to a soldier. At the end of the contest we’ll print out and mail your letter for you.

2. Write a letter to a friend, loved one, family member, enemy. Tell them something you wished you’d told them before. Tell them you love them, or maybe how they touched your life. Perhaps an apology is in order or a thank you. Or perhaps you'd like to relate a funny tale or just share life. Whatever it is, submit it here along with your email address and we’ll send it for you.·

Enter here or at the SHARE page on the Brothers in Arms website. Or simply click on the button to the right.

About Susan: Susan May Warren is an award-winning, best-selling author of over twenty-five novels, many of which have won the Inspirational Readers Choice Award, the ACFW Book of the Year award, the Rita Award, and have been Christy finalists. After serving as a missionary for eight years in Russia, Susan returned home to a small town on Minnesota’s beautiful Lake Superior shore where she, her four children, and her husband are active in their local church.

Susan's larger than life characters and layered plots have won her acclaim with readers and reviewers alike. A seasoned women’s events and retreats speaker, she’s a popular writing teacher at conferences around the nation and the author of the beginning writer’s workbook: From the Inside-Out: discover, create and publish the novel in you!. She is also the founder of www.MyBookTherapy.com, a story-crafting service that helps authors discover their voice.

Susan makes her home in northern Minnesota, where she is busy cheering on her two sons in football, and her daughter in local theater productions (and desperately missing her college-age son!) A full listing of her titles, reviews and awards can be found at: www.susanmaywarren.com.

Thankful

2010-11-22T08:45:00.002-07:00

Little boy hair sticking every which way
Curled under a blankie
Propped on a pillow
On the kitchen floor
Just to be close to the turkey roaster
To hear the pop and sizzle
And savor the aroma

Thankful for memories of Thanksgiving past

Hubby dedicated and faithful
Flirting with me in the kitchen
Spooning with me at night
Doing all he knows
To release me into all I am to become
Long walks, fresh air, rambling conversations
His arms around me

Thankful for my man and marriage

Girl talk, chick flicks, crazy colors
Vibrant daughter of my heart
Wrestling, football in the cul-de-sac
Mountains of disappearing food
Tender words offered in man voices
Boys becoming men
Fill my days with joy and heart with love

Thankful for my children

Faithful friends
Digging deep into the wells of God
Storming heavens gates on my behalf
Holding me together with their prayers
Pushing me forward with their faith
In what God is doing in me

Thankful for loyal friends who walk with me

Words that penetrate
My heart, mind, soul, and spirit
Novels that draw me in
And lead me closer to Him
Scripture that leaps off the page
Non-fiction that rocks my world

Thankful for Words that disciple me

A song in the night
A surprise in the day
Dreams, journal talk, epiphanies
Creation glorious He shares
Faithful, trustworthy, leading
Sovereign God
Lover of my soul
Insightful Teacher

Thankful for Father, Son, and Holy Spirit

The Master's Wall

2010-11-18T09:40:00.004-07:00

When Sandi Rog offered a chance for me to receive an arc (Advanced Reader Copy) of her book, The Master's Wall, I jumped at the chance to read and review it. I've known Sandi for several years, admired her faith and perseverance as she raises four children and writes while battling MS, and enjoyed her friendship. I've also appreciated her generous heart (and benefited from it). So initially I just wanted to support her, to be a tiny part of the realization of her dreams. The publication of a first book is such an exciting time.

Then I read the Master' Wall. The first chapter was heart-wrenching, but I pushed through it. Soon I was immersed in a saga of the lives of David, a young boy dragged from his Christian parents and forced into slavery in first century Rome, and Alethea, the spoiled, but mistreated granddaughter of David's new master.

Sandi wrote a page-turner when she crafted The Master's Wall. I couldn't put the book down. the story was captivating, the characters were real, drawing you into their heart and emotions, and the setting fascinating. Underneath a riveting tale were several thought-provoking questions about faith, challenges to those places within me that have never been tested as David and Alethea were. There was also a wonderful romance thread with plenty of tension and heart. David is every woman's hero--that wonderful mixture of strength and compassion, courage and tenderness, and Self-assurance and self-sacrifice.

When I finished The Master's Wall, I spent a few minutes lingering over it, re-reading my favorite parts, and digesting its wonderful story. Even though I had read into the night, I wasn't ready to let the story world go, and I took my time easing back into the 21st Century.

Fast forward a few weeks. Sandi eagerly awaited the official release of her first book, and all the launch activities like book signings and blog tours. But things didn't go as she hoped. On the same day her book released, Sandi was admitted to the hospital. The diagnosis? Stage 4 Cancer with T-cell Lymphoma.

And so this post talking about the Master's Wall is ending a little differently than I'd planned when I first agreed to promote it. First and foremost, I ask you to pray for Sandi and her sweet family. She and her husband have four children, ages 3 - 17. Sandi will undergo chemotherapy and hospitalization for much of the next four and a half months, followed by a bone marrow transplant. They have a long road ahead of them, but Sandi also received some encouragement. The treatment for this cancer has also been known to put MS into remission! We're praying for strength for her in this journey, and for a long and healthy life afterward so she can mother her precious children and keep writing!

I'd also encourage you to go to Amazon and order Sandi's book. Daniel DeGarmo with DeWard Publishing Company are donating $1 per book (beyond Sandi's royalties and her agent's royalties, etc.) to the Rog family to help with expenses. You'll love the book, AND be a privileged part of the effort to support the Rog's in this difficult time.

We're praying for you, Sandi--and eagerly anticipating the sequel to The Master's Wall!

Wispy Words

2010-10-17T20:23:00.003-06:00

Wispy
A stirring
A wish
A hope

It slipped over me today
Long forgotten
Breathless beauty
Love unconditional

Quivering insides
Want to believe
The words could flow
If I tried to write them

Lacey
Featherlight
Perfumed
Almost tangible

Then real-life interrupts
And the fluttering wings
Slow
Almost silenced

But not quite.

Happy

2010-10-02T16:46:00.002-06:00

Happy.

It feels so good to be plain ole happy. Heart light. Smile quick. Productive.

Nothing big has happened--unless you consider that my three teenage boys cleaned the house today with barely a complaint. I suppose that alone is huge.

My laundry is almost done, that new washing machine such a chugging, happy addition to our home.

I love feeling productive. In the last couple of weeks I've turned in two big projects with my free-lance job. That last one was so fun. It was on worship; and oh how I love to worship and think about worship and talk about worship. In fact I'm speaking on it next week. (God really did lead you, Jan, didn't He when He had you speak to your writer's group on worship? It's become my very favorite presentation.)

I love it that my hubby and I went out on a real date last night and ate steak and ice cream. I had raspberry chocolate melt (just sharing in case you're curious). I love it that I have two checks for writing coming soon in the mail. I love it that I have another more contract work waiting to be finished. I love it that I can get paid for work I do right here while listening to the boys wrestle in the living room.

I love it that I work with amazing people in my free-lance jobs. I love it that my writer's group is growing and beautiful and sweet and full of lovely writers. I love it that I have friends who pray with me. I went out with an old friend this week. I love it that she didn't just disappear even though our lives have gone different directions. Lots of transitions the last few years. Some of them were awful. But my heart is full of beautiful friends today and I'm so very grateful.

I'm happy with my kids. Not always the case with four teenagers, lol, but so true tonight. I like who they are and who they are becoming. I love it that they still love me. I adore them. And in this ooshy gooshy mood I'm in, I'm even looking forward to folding their T-shirts when the dryer finishes. Weird. That's totally weird.

Seems like I share the melancholy days enough on this blog. This certainly isn't a well-crafted post or especially insight. I'm just happy and wanted to say so. I want to tell the whole world that my LORD is good and faithful on the sad days and on the happy ones, but that I'm really grateful for this one.

I'm happy.

Inspirational Romance for the Jane Austen Soul

2010-09-24T18:15:00.006-06:00

"Experience a romantic age where timeless lessons apply to
modern life and happy endings are possible for everyone."

Visit Linore Rose Burkard's site and you're greeted with the above happy sentiment and the sense that you've traveled back in time to a place where life is more gentle, men more chivalrous, and women more virtuous--at least the heroes and heroines.

Linore writes in a true Regency style with turn of phrase, viewpoint, and vocabulary crafted seamlessly to transport her readers to another era. Her stories are highly romantic and sweet, designed to meet the hunger many of us have for a true regency romance in the vein of the timeless stories by Jane Austen.

Linore says she began writing when she couldn't find a Regency romance with an inspirational twist. "There were Christian books that approached the genre," she says, "But, they fell short of being a genuine Regency. I knew that many women like me want stories that are historically authentic and offer glimpses of God's involvement in our lives. So, I finally gave up looking and decided to write one myself."

Her regency series begins with the delightful story of Miss Ariana Forsythe who falls in love with Mr. Phillip Mornay, England's current darling rogue in the novel, Before the Season Ends. But will the high society life Ariana is thrust into change her sweet, dedicated disposition, or will others find the God she loves? I thoroughly enjoyed this sweet romance and the sense of being whisked into a society and time where life is more beautiful, manners paramount, and morality applauded. The love story captured my attention and drew me right in!

The second book in the series continues with Ariana and Phillip's story in The House on Grosvenor Square, which is full of danger and intrigue. Will Phillip see Linore's heart despite the accusations aimed at her? And most of all, can he keep her safe when someone is clearly out to harm her?I haven't yet purchased The Country House Courtship, the third book in the series, which tells about Ariana's sister, Beatrice but I look forward to journeying back in time with Linore and her delightful cast of characters. If you're longing for a break from modern reading and want something fresh and engaging, give Linore's regency romance a try. A dedicated mom and Christian, Linore has created a world full of hope and promise.

About One of My Heroes

2010-09-16T10:51:00.002-06:00

Check out my article published today by Crosswalk.com. It's about one of my heroes, Anna Buck, whose determination to help her own child thrive has come full circle to bless many, many children. I'm so honored to share her story with a larger audience!

Amazing Post on Grief

2010-09-12T20:54:00.003-06:00

I just read an amazing post on how to respond to a friend's grief on Single Homeschooling Momma.
Ten years ago she lost her daughter to an unexplained heart virus. She shares a bit of her journey as well as wisdom on how to relate to someone who is grieving. Everyone should read this post.

Ode to the Washing Machine

2010-09-10T15:12:00.002-06:00

You sit there
All pristine white
Large capacity
Heavy duty
God's smile upon me

Today I put
One big blanket
And two small ones
Inside your cavernous hull
And you chugged
As though I asked nothing of you

Some may think its silly
(My oldest son included)
That I burst into sobs
When you came
To live at our house
In your new, strong, clean splendor.

But the Good Lord knew
Romance isn't always flowers
When Your bride
Has three rough and tumble boys
And a high-fashioned girl
To keep clean

So here's to the new
Washing machine
And a huge thank you
To my God
And I'll sit
Happily typing along
While the laundry piles
Disappear

So I think my last post was a bit whiny . . . but the good LORD is bringing joy into the chaos of our very normal home. The books have found a shelf, the homeschooling record-keepers organized for another year, the curricula questions that haunted me solved, and almost all of those blankets filthy from camping have made a trip through my new washing machine. I have a writing contract and productive work to do on it that I will actually get paid for.

Life is good.

14 years Homeschooling

2010-09-08T17:52:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I started my fourteenth year of homeschooling. I'd like to tell you that everything slipped smoothly into place, and we're all happily on the road again.

Truth is even after fourteen years of doing this I can be overwhelmed by all the decisions. Does the curriculum I used with the older two fit the next kids in line? Can I justify spending money on new stuff? Will this curriculum challenge enough--is that one too much?

My upstairs living room is cluttered with books I haven't yet organized and put away. That should have been done a week ago. Downstairs living room has little piles of laundry everywhere. Some folded, some not. Throw in the fact that the washing machine quit yesterday (before finishing the mounds of sandy, dirty blankets from our Labor Day camping trip), and well--you've got a huge mess. And me? I'm just staring at it all.

Stirrings

2010-08-19T13:18:00.003-06:00

Stirring becomes rustling
Longing grows to craving
A haunting place inside me remembers
And longs to return
And grow from there.

Years I prayed for beauty
Especially in my words
And for awhile
I touched the tip of the iceberg
Seeing Him, His beauty
Everywhere

Beauty and Joy
Asked for more often
Than anything else

I expected good
He brought me deep
I expected laughter
He offered tears

I wanted to twirl
He held me tight
So I could keep dancing
Following the slow steps
Even when the twirl
Disappeared.

I sought to be faithful
He said that I was
Even when I didn't feel so

I sought to praise
Keys pressed upon piano
Playing when I couldn't sing
Feet pounding board
Dancing when I had no voice.
It haltingly poured forth
In spurts and sputters
But other times my praise
Was just in hanging on
In fixing my eyes
On Him
While Mouth and fingers
lie silent

Today I glimpsed beauty
And remembered how I once
Breathed it in
And created it

Slipping to the backyard
I determined to stare
At Petunias
To feel
Grass underneath my feet
To believe
In beauty

Immediately drops fell
Splashing upon the picnic table
Disturbing my solitude
Watering my coffee

Perhaps I should have
Danced in the rain
Instead I let it
Drive me indoors

But the stirring has happened
Longing has become ache

He will once again
Water my heart's garden
Let His beauty pour in
And through me

Maybe even soon

(Inspired by Chapter four of Sally Clarkson's book, Dancing with My Father.)

Check It Out!

2010-08-05T12:45:00.002-06:00

I'm the guest blogger today on The Inkwell. Check out my post on humor!

Letters to Juliet

2010-07-28T17:40:00.001-06:00

Ranting here. I saw Letters to Juliet this summer. I almost never go to the movie, and when I do it is usually at a discount theater. I had a coupon for this one, but still saw it at the "good" theater. Twice. Because I chose to.

I LIKED it. Really and truly thought it was one of the better romances of recent cinema history. It was sweet and mostly innocent for modern film and had some lovely moments between the heroine and the hero's grandmother. (It did start out with the heroine living with her finance, not something I like but unless I decide to completely boycott chick-flicks I don't think I'll get around it. I'm not saying it's a chick-flick to watch with you ten-year-old daughter.) The hero was logical, tongue-tied, and protective. I liked him. Believed a guy like him could actually exist. I plan to buy this movie when it comes out on DVD, something else I rarely spent money on.

So today I looked up reviews for Letter to Juliet and with the exception of one review, they were mostly negative.

Again I stand outside of the mainstream opinions.

So I'm curious. Am I alone out there? Did you like Letters to Juliet? Why or why not?

Time Has Its Own Mind

2010-07-08T09:24:00.003-06:00

You might enjoy my tongue-in-cheek post today on the Inkwell. It's called "Time Has It's Own Mind."

It's 9:27 and while I want to be curled in my recliner with a cup of tea doing my latest book study, I'm sitting at the computer in my jammies finishing up my post.

Jerry just got back from driving Sarah to school and I told him, "I was supposed to write on time-management yesterday, but I forgot." After he finished rolling on the floor guffawing, he said, "Why in the world would they ask YOU to write about time management?"

I think I'm offended.

Princess Olivia

2010-07-01T20:31:00.003-06:00

Once there was a tender young maiden who lived in a little village in the forest. She had long, thick brown hair, which she brushed until it shined. The villagers often commented on how beautiful the young woman was and, eager to earn their favor, the girl paid careful attention to her toiletries and dressed in ways that were pleasing.

But more important than the villagers’ compliments were the words her mother had spoken to her as a child. “Olivia,” her mother had admonished. “Pretty is as pretty does.”

Olivia knew the words to be true and because she longed to be good and perfect on the inside, she set about doing good deeds.

Olivia often scrubbed the floors of her parents’ home until they sparkled with her reflection. When a strong wind blew through the forest, knocking dry dead leaves to the ground, she worked all night and all day to gather them into a big, ugly pile. Exhausted, she set fire to the leaves and stood guard until the last ember died away. Daily, Olivia tended the village children, washing their dirty faces, telling them stories, and baking them treats.

But no matter how hard she worked, Olivia she fell into bed each night, weary and unfulfilled. She often whispered to the darkness, “when will it be enough? When will I be good on the inside?”

One night, when she was especially tired from managing the village fair, her body ached too much to slumber. She sat down next to her open window and wished for a cool breeze to ease her troubled spirits. Raising a fatigued hand to her temple she rubbed her head, startled by how the calluses on her fingers felt rough against the tender skin. Her cheeks became damp with unbidden tears.

Olivia placed her pounding head upon folded arms and willed the night wind to settle her. She strained to hear the gentle rustling of the leaves as they danced on the long wooden limbs that stretched near her room. She willed herself to focus on the night sounds, trying to push away the inner voice that repeated, “not good enough, not good enough.”

A single sob erupted from deep within and she cried out, “It’s no use! It will never be enough!”

In that moment she smelled the sweetest aroma she’d ever breathed. It seemed to flow through her open window and blow across the hair that cascaded across her arms and down her back. It rode a soft night breeze that refreshed her. Entranced, she lifted her tear-stained face and, to her surprise, gazed into the eyes a young man. He looked very much like the picture she’d seen of the Village Keeper’s Son.

“I was hoping you’d figure that out,” he said in a voice so sweet and kind that Olivia’s heart felt like morning mush.

“Figure what out, Sir?” she asked.

He sat on a tree stump just beneath her window so that she could only see his head. “That it’s no use. You can never do enough to be perfect.”

Olivia would have been angered at His words, except for the gentleness that warmed each one.

“Would you take a walk with me?” he asked. He stood and offered his hand. Olivia leaned forward and, using the Man’s hand to steady herself, she climbed out the window.

The two of them walked in a peaceful silence until they came to the edge of the woods. “I want to show you something, Olivia.” The Son of the Village Keeper spread a thick quilt upon the ground and indicated that Olivia should sit upon it. She sat down and wrapped the quilt around her, a protection from the cooling night air.

The Son placed another quilt on the ground, sat next to her, and offered her what looked like a scrapbook. “I don’t think you’ve understood my story before. I thought you might see it’s significance if I shared the actual photographs with you.”

She frowned a bit and opened the book. The first few pictures, as she expected, captured moments of childhood. In one, He lay in a wooden crib with fancy men standing around him. In another, He stood in a workshop with a saw in His hand. The next pictures showed him as a young man, surrounded by crowds of people who seemed to stare at Him as He spoke.

The next series of pictures made her cry: The Son walking between two rough looking guards; The Son being beaten; And finally the Son lying dead upon the ground.

Olivia looked toward Him, feeling the sting of her swollen eyes. “I don’t understand, Sir.”

“I know.” He brushed her face with a gentle finger as He spoke. “Long before you were born, My father built this village. He fashioned the forest He placed it in, each building, and even the first people who lived within it. He gave them His love and told them how to live to please Him, the Master Builder. He told them His ways would help them to be happy.

“But the villagers couldn’t do what my Father asked. Some didn’t want to. They thought their ways would bring them happiness and that my Father’s ways were only silly rules. Some, like you, wanted to do right. They tried very hard to do all my Father told them, but eventually they would fail. To their credit, they tried again, but they didn’t last long before they stumbled.

With all that failure they quit hanging out with my Father and Me. And We both felt very lonely. Worst than all of that, the original contract with the village stated that death would come to those who didn’t live as they should.

“One day my Father and I talked. ‘They can’t do it,’ He said to me.

“ ‘I know.’ I replied. We looked at each other long and hard, each knowing there was but one answer. Finally, I told my Father I would do it for them. Tears glistened in His eyes as He embraced me. ‘It will hurt Us,’ he said, but it will bring them back to Me.

“The pictures before you tell the story, Olivia. See, I am bone of my Father’s bone and flesh of His flesh. I was with Him in the beginning when together we created the village. I understand His every desire, and being of His same design, can live a perfect life, unscathed by the struggles of people.

The Son looked into the distance and spoke softly. “I came to show the villagers the way. Most of them had so long ignored My Father that they didn’t recognize me. My perfection made them angry and they killed me.

Olivia placed a trembling hand over her mouth as a gasp escaped. Tears flowed in rivulets down her cheeks. The Son covered her hand with His own. “Don’t grieve my dear,” He whispered. “I knew it would happen. I gave myself to the village for that purpose. In my death I paid the penalty for their faults. Actually, my death was good news. It meant all who believed I was the Village Keepers Son and accepted my payment for their wrongdoings could come freely to My Father’s house and We could live among them.

“Then You are a ghost,” the maiden said.

The Son smiled. “Turn the page, Olivia.”

Olivia sniffed and flipped the page. “Oh!” she gasped. Before her was a picture of the Son, standing firm and tall, with his arms around people who looked like those from her village.

“My Father has the power to overcome death.” He grinned at her and took her hands. “I let them kill me so people like you could be good on the inside. All your hard work won’t make you perfect. But My Father and I offer you complete forgiveness for every mistake you’ve made. And, if you’ll just spend time with us we’ll help you know what things My Father has prepared for you to do. He never meant for you to do everything, you know. He has a specific purpose for each villager. If you get to know Us, My Father will show you that purpose, as you are ready to receive it. Some days He might ask you to bake for the children, or manage the bazaar, but He’ll give you the strength for each task. Being with Us will refresh you and give Your heart the peace it craves.”

The Son stood took the scrapbook and the gathered the quilts. Olivia stood quiet before Him.

“Do you believe My story?”

Olivia nodded her head, unable to speak. “Do you want to accept the gift of my death, experience forgiveness, and become a part of My family?”

Olivia smiled back shyly. “Please Sir, if I may.”

The Son threw His head back and a great, joyful laugh burst from His throat. “Then come with Me, sweet princess. We will go to the Father. And He will hold you in His arms and talk with you for hours. We’ll play in the brook that runs through the village and pick enormous bouquets of daisies.”

Olivia looked toward him in surprise. He chuckled and winked, “They are your favorite flower, are they not? You’ll find that My Father and I know you well, my sweet girl. And now you shall know us also.”

Olivia linked her arm through the Son’s muscled one, and they walked through the forest as the morning sun decorated the sky, peeking through the leaves with bursts of violet, and pink and finally orange. The sweet scent that had flowed into Olivia’s window perfumed the air around them, and Olivia couldn’t help skipping through the woods, pausing here and there gather wildflowers. The birds chorused a symphony of beautiful song and for the first time Olivia felt free to enjoy everything around her. In her heart she knew she was accepted—even loved—by the Village Keeper and His Son.

And it made all the difference.

“God loves you dearly and has called you to be His very own people.”

Romans 1:7b NLT

“This Good News tells us how God makes us right in His sight. This is accomplished from start to finish by faith. As the Scriptures say, “It is through faith that a righteous person has life.”

Romans 1:17

“Marvelous grace of our loving Lord, Grace that exceeds our sin and our guilt! Yonder on Calvary’s mount outpoured—There where the blood of the Lamb was spilt.”

Grace Greater Than Our Sin

Text by Julia H. Johnston

God Alone is Enough

2010-06-24T08:11:00.006-06:00

I believe this, really I do. God Alone is Enough. And yet it is hard to live as if I believe. I cling to my stuff. I cling to my people. I cling to my dreams.

He is teaching me to cling to Him. He is teaching me that He is enough.

When I heard that my friend, Claudia Mair, was writing a book on St. Teresa of Avila I couldn't wait to read it. When I realized the title, I was even more drawn to story.

St. Teresa was a contemporary of St John of the Cross. The two of them sought the presence of God in ways few do. St. Teresa endured cynicism and persecution as she wrote about her journey. Many thought her experiences with God unbelievable. Yet she persevered, longing to share her pilgrimage in hopes to draw others into intimacy with Christ, her objective to glorify the One she loved. Abandoning herself to Jesus, she spent her life in pursuit of Jesus--learning to pray and learning to rest in His presence.

I'm writing this review as a part of a blog tour, and I was assigned the last chapter of this book called The "Mysteries of the Bridal Chamber." I entered this chapter with eagerness. If you've followed my blog for a while, you know that I've spent several years in my own pilgrimage through the Song of Solomon, that Christ has been revealing Himself to me as my Bridegroom. (You can check out my journey by clicking on the sidebar.)

This analogy is found many places in Scripture. Paul puts it plainly in Ephesians 5:29-32. "For no man hates his own flesh, but nourishes it, and cherishes it, as Christ does the church, because we are members of His body. For this reason, a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. This mystery is a profound one, and I'm saying it refers to Christ and the church" (RSV).

I think many people think of this Scripture in a distant sort of "the church--millions of Christ-followers" way. But you and I are the church. That makes me the bride of Jesus, or as the Song of Songs would say, "I am my Beloveds, and He is mine."

St Teresa, Claudia Mair, and I have come to some similar conclusions. There is a sweet place with Jesus, a bridal chamber if you may, where intimacy with Him leaves the world's allurements looking pale, and where we begin to long simply for our Savior.

I, for one, can't seem to stay in that place for long. The outside world crashes in on me. I'm distracted by my needs, my wants, my work. And yet He calls to me, wooing me to come away with Him.

Some of this I like. I like the romancing--when He gives me songs in the night, Scripture in the day, a breath-taking sunset, or the scent of a rose.

But sometimes His wooing feels like stripping. The things I thought I wanted, the things I pursue, are taken from me. Dreams are left unfulfilled until I don't need them to be fulfilled. The hard stuff of life demands my action and focus, and then one day I awaken and realize that I am more peaceful. Less driven.

More surrendered.

And beginning to understand that God alone is enough.

St. Teresa writes of incredible, beautiful experiences in the presence of Jesus. But she also talks of the journey, of the combination of joy and suffering, arid longing, and waterfall fulfillment.

I don't pretend to have grasped the kind of intimacy St. Teresa wrote of back in the 1500s, but I long for it. I've tasted tiny sips of His wonder enough to believe He gives to us the gift of Himself. As I walk with Him I'm comforted by the truth that He is with me always, when I feel Him and when I don't. When I am quiet and when I serve. He shares in my work, my pleasures, my pain.

I am comforted by St. Teresa's words, and find they are true (even if I can't always live as if they are):

Let nothing upset you,
let nothing startle you.
All things pass;
God does not change.
Patience wins
all it seeks.
Whoever has God
lacks nothing;
God alone is enough.

Reading Claudia Mair's book on St Teresa has given me a longing for more of Christ, more peace about my small sufferings, and a hunger for prayer.

I'm grateful to have been lead on this journey by my friend, Mair. A ragamuffin diva, a follower of Christ, a loyal friend whose own journey with the Beloved makes me hunger for more of Him. (The picture shows me with precious women of God, the beautiful, precious, and deep Ragamuffin Diva herself, and the dear, treasured Trusting Nomad.)

If you've been around the world of Christian bloggers, I'm sure you're not a stranger to our precious Ragamuffin Diva. Blogger Claudia Mair Burney is also the author of seven novels, including the Amanda Bell Brown mysteries, and Zora and Nicky, a Christy Award finalist in 2009. I also loved her book, Wounded: A Love Story.

Scars and Stilettos:The Transformation of an Exotic Dancer.

2010-06-19T11:34:00.003-06:00

Some books are meant to be read, passed to friends, and prayed over. Scars and Stilettos is one of those books.

I'm blessed to be on multiple lists as a possible blogger for newly released books. Life has pressed upon me the last few years, and I haven't accepted many of these opportunities, but this one grabbed my heart and wouldn't let go. I knew I not only needed to know Harmony's story, I needed to offer it to others. So I requested the book and signed up for a blogging date.

In the book the author, Harmony Dust, tells her heart-wrenching, yet redemptive story of her journey into and out of the sex trade, how God showed her His love, and led her to to reach out to women like herself who'd been caught in the clutches of the industry and needed to know their value. Harmony eventually founded a non-profit called Treasures to pass on the hope and value she received when a friend she met in a ballet class accepted her, loved her, and showed her Jesus.

When I read books like these, I have to read them in a big gulp. Maybe it's my way of running, or maybe I have to push past the pain to find God's answer before I can put the book down. But gulping down a story like this doesn't make it disappear; the story sticks with me, reminding me of the power of God's love and the pain of the world who desperately needs it. I'll spend a life-time digesting this book.

Harmony's story is riveting. I felt angry at the many people who mistreated her, at a system who took advantage of her needs. But I also saw her heart, her longing to love and be loved, and how beautifully the LORD our God offered His grace and called her out of pain. And as I saw her heart, I believe she showed me the hearts of many who, like her, long to be free.

One of my favorite things about this book is how the church Harmony attended at the invitation of her friend served as the arms of Christ, loving and welcoming her. She couldn't get enough of the worship of Jesus or the love of a church family. She eventually asked for Wednesday nights off from her job as an exotic dancer so she could attend church without having to sell her body afterwards.

The church is often accused of being judgmental or irrelevant, but this was not Harmony's experience. The love and grace of God's people drew her into God's arms, and as He revealed Himself to her over time, she found the courage, to move, step by step, away from a lifestyle that was destroying her. What an inspiring picture of who we as God's people should be today!

Scars and Stilettos is engaging, honest, and eye-opening. After I finished it I spent extended time following internet trails, watching videos about the Treasures ministry on U-Tube, processing Harmony's story, and praying for those involved in the Treasures ministry.

I encourage you to pick up a copy of Scars and Stilettos, and to pray for the beautiful women caught in a web of survival in the sex industry.

For years I've been in the habit of praying when I pass a topless bar or something along those lines. I pray for the power of the enemy to be broken, and for the women who work there to find the love of Christ. Won't you join me in this habit?

One of the stories I loved on U-Tube is how God sent prayer warriors into Las Vegas ahead of a Treasure's outreach. Those in the Treasures ministry found lots of open doors when they began to share God's love with those in the sex industry in Las Vegas, and later discovered another ministry had gone before them praying for the women they were about to minister to. We underestimate the power of prayer.

About the author of Scars and Stilettos:
Harmony Dust is founder of Treasures, a nonprofit organization based in Los Angeles that reaches out to women in the sex industry to show them they are loved, valued, and purposed. Find out more about Treasures, Harmony, and her book at www.IAmATreasure.com or http://www.ScarsandStilettos.com. Check out Harmony's Press Page for magazine articles and videos about her work with women in the sex-trade industry.

An Anniversary Gift for Jerry

2010-06-11T08:51:00.010-06:00

"Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See!
The winter is past; the rains are over and gone." (SOS 2:10-11)

Tipping my head to the sky, I chuckle a bemused little giggle as a tiny droplets of rain brush my eyelashes, my chin, my lace clad shoulders.

You wait for me at the end of the sidewalk, in your tux and ascot. How did it feel to see your bride? Did worry of the rain ruin the moment every bride dreams of, when her groom sees her dressed for him in white?

We climbed the steps to the antebellum porch and the preacher begins. So does the storm. An old-fashioned Oklahoma gully washer as my brother called it. But the storm had begun before our wedding day--hardship and hurts throughout our whole engagement. Divorce, death, relational upheaval.

Still my heart was at peace. Rain or no rain. Crashing thunder, pounding water or not. I was exactly where I knew God placed me. Safe with you. Dry despite the rain sheeting from the sky. Dry under the protection of the old porch ceiling. Dry under the protection of your heart and His.

We pushed into the historic home and climbed the curling staircase followed by our attendants as the guests who hadn't been driven off by the rain crowded into the foyer. And the service continued. I looked down on family and friends, drenched and dripping. Music was sung without accompaniment.

And then it happened. A shaft of sunlight burst through the clouds and shined right upon us, bathing us in golden, joyful, dancing light. We felt the quiet after the storm as it moved on and sunshine won the battle, streaming from a high window above us.

You took the pastor's Bible and read to me, ""Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me. See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone."

And we entered a new life as one. The next morning we walked hand and hand down an airport terminal, ready to play, to explore, to celebrate. And in my heart the peace that had seen me through the engagement expanded and filled my whole being. I knew I'd made the right choice. He had led me to you and given me the courage to choose you. And beside choosing Him, choosing you was the best decision I'd ever made.

Years of being your wife validates the choice of our special day twenty-one years ago. Treasured memories swell. A tent by the ocean, grapes on the sand, wind blowing my hair on my first open sea ride. Praying for our first born, dedicating her to God before she's even conceived. Your expression as you hold her for the very first time, the way you looked at me. Three boys follow in quick succession. You always get the first laugh, though I sometimes got the first smile. You playful and growling, rough-housing on the floor, children giggling and shrieking.

Years of working and serving and growing. Baseball, gymnastics, basketball, hockey, skiing.
Violin, drama, and speech. Flying down the mountain on sleds, riding bikes through golden Aspen leaves. Hiking trails infused with fresh pine scent. Roasting marshmallows. Sand in every crack and crevice, hot dogs on sticks above the fire. Shoveling snow and tossing snowballs. School. First jobs. Graduation.

Rare nights away from the kids, stolen moments of two instead of six. Tents, hotel rooms, our own emptied home. Breakfasts and coupons and renting a movie and closing the door to the chaos of four children. Surprise bouquets. Computers fixed. A kiss in the kitchen on the back of my neck.

And the best part of each day--curling next to you at night, spooned together, your hand on my hip. Your prayers whispered over me, your devotion demonstrated daily. I am blessed with a husband who loves. The children have an involved father cheering them on. Sarah affirmed, called sweetheart, told she's a wonderful woman. The boys believed in, supported. You're there.

Lots of sunshine, lots of happy moments.

And also more rain.

Grief. Struggle. Fear. Broken bones, surgeries, sickness, therapies. Undiagnosed pain, extra struggle at work and school. Dreams that seem gone forever.

Almost losing you. Your true, loving heart shutting down.

Curling next to you in the hospital bed. Listening to the thump-thump of your heart and thinking I will never again take it for granted.

Fighting back to "normal."

Rebuilding body and home. Never giving up. Planting grace that grows!

And today flowers blossom. The birds awaken us with their singing. New green pushes through barren spots, a metaphor of a new season.

"My darling, I love you! Let's go away together. Winter is past, the rain has stopped; flowers cover the earth, it's time to sing!" (CEV)

Just for Fun

2010-06-07T16:27:00.002-06:00

So . . . I hardly ever buy books anymore. I get so many free 'cause of all the reviews I do, but somebody passed down a fun little read called Miss Match, by Erynn Mangum. It was one of those chuckle-all-the-way-through, light reads. To put it simply, the book is delightful!
So . . . I splurged on the next two in the series, Rematch and Match Point.
Obviously I totally enjoyed Erynn's humor and clever writing voice. She spins a good tale, and the story is wholesome and heart-warming. Though I love Miss Match, the series is actually designed for older teenagers/young adults. It's just the thing for single young women. I can't wait to share the stories with my nineteen year old!

Today I found Erynn's very cute bl og. Right now she's telling the story of her own personal romance, reminiscing before the birth of their child, due in just a few weeks. Very sweet, genuine, and refreshing.

And now I'm off to read that next book . . .

Thin Places by Mary DeMuth

2010-06-01T11:02:00.006-06:00

"Thin places are snatches of holy ground, tucked into the corners of our world, where we might just catch a glimpse of eternity. They are aha moments, the beautiful realizations"
~Mary DeMuth~

Though Mary and I live in different states and don't see each other often, God forged a friendship by binding our hearts together long ago when she was far away serving as a missionary in France, and I was living my own little life here in Colorado. We became friends through a prayer loop, joined forever by mutual offerings on each other's behalf. (The picture was taken when Mary flew in to sign one of her first books at ICRS here in Denver.)

Mary has, in many ways, been a celebration buddy. One spring we hiked a mountain trail in May, crashing through several feet of snow every five steps or so. We've giggled over fancy dresses for writing banquets, and showed off our high-heeled shoes. Mary loves to dance, to sing, to play.

Maybe her energy, passion, and joy are part of what makes her writing so evocative to me. I know the survivor Mary, the joyful Mary, the strong, smiling Mary. Yet Mary's books are as brutally honest as any I've read. She isn't afraid to talk about the dark places. Exploring the shadowy caves of life is simply what she does.

But I love that she doesn't do it to wallow. She does it because she longs to take your hand, walk with you into your own dark places, and help you find redemption as you face them. She's modeling what Jesus did for her when He beckoned her to face the past and find His grace. All of her books do this, and none offer this journey more freely than her memoir, Thin Places.

Two of my dearest friends read Thin Places before I did. Each of them are on their own redemptive journey. They were profoundly impacted by Mary's words. One of them told me, "I haven't been able to write about the abuse of my past, but reading Mary's book gave words to my pain. She was able to express what I've been unable to. Reading Thin Places not only validated my pain, it was part of the healing process." The other spoke nearly the same words. Reading Thin Places isn't an experience. It's a journey to validation and healing.

It took me a while to pick up Thin Places. I knew once I did I wouldn't be able to put it down. I also had to be ready for the journey. Sometimes I think my soul has a unique grieving make-up. The tears come quickly, and I know they express my Lord's heart. But sometimes I am not quite ready to enter His suffering. It's especially hard when the pain belongs to someone I love. But reading Thin Places was a journey of redemptive grace. It invited me further into a kinship with Jesus. And Mary taught me a little more about what it means to discover Him in every part of life.

In closing, here is part of a poem Mary included in her memoir:

I understand a mouse-sized bit
Your quiet sacrifice
As I wear the sin of another
Unwillingly
Like a scratchy coat
In summer's heat

All those words I've heard
About walking in Your footfalls
Are true
But it isn't easy
Wearing this coat for so long

Maybe we can be kin
In this mouse-muttering
Sacrifice
As the sweat beats down
On earthen brow
And sacred

And maybe through
The scratch of another's sin
I can finally understand
Your outrageous gift
And love You
All the more

In silence

And with this quote from Mark Buchanan, which Mary shares in her book:

Her past was a tragedy to lament, but her future was an epic to anticipate.

Mary's book is available through Amazon. Visit her website and blog.

Sowing Prayers

2010-05-24T21:05:00.003-06:00

Funny the things a person prays for. Last year a late freeze stole the bloom from the ornamental pear tree in my front year. I'm not sure I ever really got over the loss. Off and on all year I asked the LORD for blossoms this year. And the tree was glorious--swathed in fragrant white petals that turned an ordinary front yard into something rare and beautiful.

I've also been praying for grass. Even before my husband and son dug up half the yard and sowed grass seed. In fact, I see their efforts as an answer to the prayers I've breathed for green--healthy, verdant green.

And then there's my miniature rose bushes. Last year they looked unhealthy, so I cut them way back and started praying they'd make it. My boys bought me those rose bushes. That and their beauty make them dear to me. I long to see their tiny buds and have their color brighten my sidewalk.

I've sowed a lot of prayers over the last many years. Most of them had nothing to do with my yard. Along with those prayers I've sowed a lot of tears. The Lord reminded me that those who sow tears will reap joy. He also reminded me that He captures my tears in a bottle. He hears every prayer even when it's just a feeling inside and not completely formed. And the prayers of the righteous bring forth much fruit.

May the other prayers I've prayed receive as abundantly glorious an answer as He gave the prayer that my tree would bloom. May God's response be full and lush and fragrant--turning an ordinary woman and an ordinary family into something rare and beautiful.

The Inkwell

2010-04-30T13:01:00.001-06:00

I'm the guest blogger today on the Inkwell. Check out my post at: http://www.acfwcolorado.com/

Books and Stress

2010-04-13T17:26:00.000-06:00

I'm beginning to wonder if the number of novels I read is in direct proportion to the amount of stress in my life.

I think I've read 8 or so in the last couple of weeks since I found out my son needs surgery. I'm not sure where I'm getting the time. It's not like life has slowed down. But somehow I do it.

This weekend alone I read three novels. Granted I did some traveling and most of my reading happened as the miles flew by with nothing else to do--and I read very quickly. But three novels in a weekend? Really?

And there was no rhyme or reason to my choices. All very different stories. Evidently I like variety.

The first I read was a "true-life novel" by Jeannette Walls called Half Broke Horses. It is based on the stories her grandmother, Lily, told about her life beginning in a sod house in Texas and living through two world wars, the great depression, and the "modernization" of America. She was quite a woman--breaking horses as a girl, teaching in one-room school houses across the state of Arizona from the ages of 15 to 18, getting her college degree after she'd already become a mother, and eventually learning to fly an airplane. Gritty. Real Life. Tough. The author captured a strong character and voice with precision and believability, even while painting a character who was almost larger than life. Let me just say that compared to Lily, most of us are wimps! Well written and captivating, I read portions of it to my hubby, who loves history and "based on a true story" tales.

The next novel was a completely different style. I picked it up because I've wanted to read something by Tamela Hancock Murray, an author/agent who I've corresponded with and had the pleasure of meeting. Tamela's a sweetheart, a prayer warrior, and all around class act. The book I read by her this weekend was, Love Finds You in Maiden, North Carolina. Not exactly real life. Some real life issues hidden within the pages, but hey, it's an inspirational love story. You can count on all the right people finding each other and working through all their issues in time for everything to fall in place in their relationships with God and each other. There's some fun stuff about the church girls making the transition from their long hair and dresses to the bobs and straight dresses of the 20s. In its own sweet way it deals with navigating a culture changing from Victorian values to those of the roaring twenties. It's a sweet read. Sometimes we just need something where everything works out in the end. I'm grateful to Tamela for providing a story where faith and grace wins.

The Spir it of Sweetgrass, by Nicole Seitz, my third novel of the weekend, was again a departure from the others. It has a literary feel, a cadence all its own, and transports the reader into the Gullah culture and the world of the sweetgrass basket weavers in the lowcountry of the south. Last summer I traveled to Charleston and was fascinated with these beautiful baskets and the women who make them, so reading this book with its vivid descriptions brought back a lot of memories. It also dealt with mortality, the complexity of relationships, and ideas of the afterlife. Well written and moving this one elicited some emotional response. Its story was somewhat unexpected, and drew me in slowly until I was completely immersed in it. Just because I read it in an afternoon doesn't mean it is a quick read. It's the kind of book you need to enter, not just devour.

The Nice Policemen

2010-04-07T20:57:00.004-06:00

Nice Policemen. I met three of them today for three different reasons in three different cars.

(I've actually been in five different cars today, three of which didn't even belong to my family. I think this is a little weird, but that has nothing to do with the story you are about to read.)

The first policeman I met was taking good care of my eighteen-year-old daughter. A man in a big pickup pulling a long trailer decided to run a red light and smash into my baby's little Subaru. I suppose I said that poorly. He surely didn't mean to run the red light or to total my daughter's car. But these things happen. Sarah had dropped me off to work on a writing project with some fellow writers. I wasn't there five minutes before the funky ring on my cell phone alerted me to my daughter's need. I borrowed a car, flew the few blocks to my baby, and found her calmly dealing with the situation with the help of a very nice, young policeman. I swallowed the lump in my throat, thanked the Lord that she swerved hard and the pick-up truck got the back side of the car instead of hitting her right in the driver's side door. My baby (who is really all grown up, I know) is just fine.

I met the second policeman after dropping my husband off at the garage where our other vehicle was being repaired. We'd borrowed a car to get there. On the way back the borrowed car quit working in the middle of the road. I stood there directing traffic around my stalled car until nice policeman number two pulled in behind me, told me to put the car in neutral, and pushed me safely into a parking lot. Good deed finished, he went on his way to take care of problems bigger than me.

At this point I was feeling a little off kilter. One car in the shop, one car banged up sitting useless in the driveway, and one car (that didn't even belong to me) stalled in a parking lot. Hubby got the van out of the shop and came to rescue me. I fell into his arms then abandoned him to the fate of the marooned car and jumped in the van. I rushed home, grabbed the boys and spent the next 45 minutes driving around trying to find a baseball practice that had been canceled.

Now I'm in a really great mood. Forget cooking supper. I went through a drive through and got burgers and drove home in a bit of a daze. This is when I met nice policeman number 3. When I saw his flashing red lights in my rear view mirror I truly had no idea why he was there. He came to my window and asked me how I was doing.

"I'm not sure. How am I doing?" I asked.

"You'd be better, I'm sure, if your passenger had buckled his seat belt before I saw him instead of after I pulled you over."

At this point my thirteen-year-old goes pale. I apologize and the policeman says the young man in the seat next to me is old enough to remember to buckle his own belt. (I'm still not quite sure why I got the ticket since he all but told me it wasn't my fault my teenager wasn't buckled, but that's for another story.)

At this point I'm trying not to fall apart. I start blabbing the sob story of my day and how I was in such a daze that I didn't even notice my son wasn't buckled. He nods and disappears with my registration, insurance, and license.

When he comes back I feel all stupid and say, "I know you hear lots of excuses, but all that stuff really did happen to me."

I think I see genuine compassion in his eyes as he explains the court summons he's handing me and apologizes for making my day even worse.

Suddenly I feel very sorry for the policeman. I mean it's not his fault we broke the law and didn't buckle up. It's not his fault pick-up dude ran a red light. It's not his fault that the car broke down in the middle of the street. And yet here I was whining to him and he's apologizing for his part in my bad day.

So I tell him it's not his fault as compassion for him and his job of having to deliver so much bad news wells up in me. And my mouth engages before I even think about my next words. Words I suddenly meant from the bottom of my heart. For reals.

"God bless you."

He gave me a very strange look as he walked back to the patrol car.

As I write now I'm still not thrilled about the ticket or my really hard day, but I am very thankful for all three nice policemen who did their job today and served me and my loved ones today.

(And even though this isn't part of the main story, I think I'll just add that when I had to borrow car #5 tonight, my generous neighbor cracked several jokes about how her car had better come home in one piece and top running condition. So I prayed and prayed as I drove in her spiffy little new car begging God to keep it and me safe. And He did. So I'm really thankful that nothing happened to my neighbor's good car as I drove it tonight after this horrible, no good, really bad car day.)

Refuge

2010-03-25T22:11:00.002-06:00

"Intercession appears to you as the only thing in which your love can take refuge." Andrew Murray

Been thinking on this quote a lot since I read it in The Best of Andrew Murray on Prayer, a compilation published by Barbour Publishing.

Murray writes that a sense of inadequacy is what sends us "begging" and gives strength to intercession. He says, "As we are aware of our inadequacies, intercession becomes the only hope and refuge."

When we recognize the limitations of our love and our utter inability to do what really matters for someone else, we pray. And the pain of our inadequacy finds peace as we bring our loved ones to Jesus.

Last week my oldest son, Seth, found out that he has severe hip issues that will require 2 surgeries, weeks on crutches, and months of rehab. It means giving up hockey for his senior year and a slow and painful 10 month recovery period. His disappointment is deep. Hockey is his passion. When he was little he told me that when he played hockey he felt the closest to God.

Seth's dad and I shed our private tears as we watch our son. He alternately grieves and then resolves to face this obstacle to his dreams with courage. In our humanity hubby and I are completely inadequate to fix this situation. We cannot take away our son's pain.

But we can pray. And in prayer our love finds refuge.

In intercession I sense the whisper of Seth's Maker as He promises to care for our boy. I remember that my God has a hope and a future for all of us, and that He works all things for our good, to shape us into the likeness of His son. In intercession my feeble attempts at fixing things give way to my King's higher purposes. And the ache of my inadequate love finds a safe place where my intense loving doesn't hurt quite as much.

Seems like intercession is an increasing place of refuge for my weary love. With four teenagers you can bet my knees are more worn. And last year when Jerry walked the long road back to normalcy after his heart almost quit beating, it was in intercession I found hope. Those quiet moments of surrendering my inability to make him better to the One who heals hearts gave my love peace. I couldn't love Jerry back to health, but I could kneel before the King's right to lead our life, and trust that He would bring good out of we walk through.

It's easy to blog about physical struggles, but we all have those deep places we don't post for the travelers of the Internet to see. Intercession brings even more comfort for those aching wells that make me feel the most inadequate, where love is sometimes shredded despite its determination to prevail. When love tries, gives, hopes, and believes but is still left raw from its own insufficiently, intercession is a indeed a place of refuge.

Sometimes those passionate, grieving, fearful prayers are moaning and long--a heart crying for days. Other times they are whispers of surrender, quiet determination to give the ache of love to the One who knows what to do with it.

But always intercession is a refuge.

Sometimes it is all my love can give, and always it is the best I have to offer.

I hold no unfounded pride that thinks I can do anything worthwhile of my own efforts. Anything of eternal significance comes from the One who holds eternity in His hands. I have nothing to offer that can fix things. But I can rest in the One who does.

I can pray.

Celtic Treasure for Saint Paddy's Day

2010-03-17T09:56:00.009-06:00

In honor of Saint Patrick's Day, I just had to tell you about a beautiful little book by Liz Babbs. It's called Celtic Treasure, and that's just what it is--a treasure of thought, beauty, worship, and history.

Celtic Treasure helps readers discover the riches of Celtic spirituality. It's author, Liz, traveled throughout Ireland seeking to connect with its rich spiritual history and its Creator. The book is filled with beautiful photography, prayers of Irish Saints, rich history, and Liz's own spiritual response to her immersion into the world of Celtic spirituality. I love how Liz weaves Scripture and her own poetry into a deep and beautiful telling of the life and place of the Irish Saints.

Reading this book was a worship experience. I shared parts of it with my husband one morning before we were out of bed. We were captured by the depth and beauty of what I read until I happened to glanced at the clock, "Oh, no! We'd better get ready for church!"

His response? "I thought we were having church."

We did actually drive to our home church that morning, only a few minutes late, but he was right. It felt like we'd been having church (good, beautiful, meaningful church) as we lay in bed discussing this book.

If you don't know the story of Saint Patrick I'd encourage you to research it a little (you can read it in Liz's book) to bring even deeper meaning to the following, a St. Paddy's Day gift to you from Celtic Treasure:

St Patrick's Breastplate

I gird myself today with the might of heaven:
The rays of the sun,
The beams of the moon,
The glory of fire,
The speed of wind,
The depth of the sea,
The stability of earth,
The hardness of rock.

I gird myself today with the power of God:
God's strength to comfort me,
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look after me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to lead me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's angels to save me.

From the snares of the Devil,
From temptations to sin,
From all who wish me ill,
Both far and near,
Alone and with others.

May Christ guard me today
From poison and fire,
From drowning and wounding,
So my mission may bear
Fruit in abundance.
Christ before and behind me,
Christ beneath and above me,
Christ with me and in me,
Christ around and about me,
Christ on my left and my right,
Christ when I rise in the morning,
Christ when I lie down at night,
Christ in each heart that thinks of me,
Christ in each eye that sees me,
Christ in each ear that hears me.

And from Liz' own heart:

Standing
alone on the beach
I am stirred
by the breath
of an infinite God
whose eyes
look into
the depths of my soul.
And I am
strangely at peace.

You can order this book at Amazon, or find it through your local bookstore. You may also enjoying surfing the web for some of Liz's worship readings. There are several out there and I know they will bless you. I had the gift of sitting underneath Liz's teaching a couple of times at the Colorado Christian Writer's Conference, and it was such a blessing. She's teaching again this year, leading a clinic called The Joy of Unblocked Creativity.

Last year the Lord used this class as a time of renewal for me. Those of you who have followed me for a while know that the last few years were demanding as I dealt with several issues, including almost losing my husband to heart blockage. God miraculously provided for me to attend CCWC and Liz's class this year. The director of the conference posted my response to this class on her website:

I came to the 2009 CCWC emptied of creativity
and heavy with the burdens of the past year.
The Lord sent me to the Unblocked Creativity Clinic.
There He asked me to play, to process, and to praise.
Back in my room I wrote fiction for the first time in over a year.
The words started coming again, more beautiful than before.
I left the conference with renewed hope and energy.

If you are a writer, consider attending CCWC this year to glean from the wonderful people who come to encourage you on your journey--and if you're worn, try Liz Babb's class, co-taught with Sue Cameron.

Boys

2010-03-04T11:39:00.002-07:00

When my three boys were little I looked forward to them being friends and doing stuff together as guys. You know what I mean. Hanging out together. No girls. Having an adventure.

We may just have entered that stage. They all took off today in a friend's truck for a day of skiing/snowboarding. My three sons and a friend. Just guys. Having an adventure.

It makes my heart happy.

But there's a little pang, too.

They're really growing up.

Collision Course

2010-02-01T12:08:00.003-07:00

Sometimes I wish I could spend all my time sitting around reading about God's love, thinking about God's love, writing about God's love, and talking about God's love. Life would be pretty nice.

But where the rubber meets the road is when God's love and real life collide. When I actually have to believe in God's love when I blow it and extend God's love when someone else does, now that's a lot harder.

One of my sons and I just had a love fest--lots of hugs and tearful "I'm sorry" and "I love yous" going around. We hugged really hard, probably because we'd both just hurt really hard.

And pain is a weird thing. When someone hurts you, it . . . well, hurts. But when you hurt someone you love, you hurt twice, 'cause you have to deal with the pain you see on his face, too. In the end I think both of us hurt more over how we'd hurt the other one than how they'd hurt us. Too bad we didn't think of that when we got hurt and responded out of hurt and caused more hurt.

Good thing God's love is always on a collision course with real life. And good thing I do spend some time reading, thinking, writing, and talking about it. Keeping His love foremost in my thoughts helps me forgive others and myself. It helps me write my son a note admitting my faults. It helps me hug him really hard when we both say sorry.

I'm hoping one day I'll grow up enough, be saturated in God's love enough, that love will speak when my flesh wants to retaliate like it did today. I know I'm better at that than I used to be, but I'd like to . . . well, be perfect in it.

I guess this is just another day that shows how much I need Jesus.

Meanderings of Grace

2010-01-17T16:10:00.003-07:00

It's easy, I suppose, to believe in grace when He surrounds me with a tangible sense of His presence. When He whispers love and insight into my heart. When he showers me with the kind of grace I can feel.

It's easy, I suppose, to believe in grace when He gives me gifts. When He surprises me with flowers, jewelry, rainbows, and romantic get-a-ways. When He awakens me with love songs. It's easy to embrace Him as Lover of my heart when He is lavish with the kind of grace I see, touch, feel, and delight in.

It's easy, I suppose, to believe in grace when my daily experiences extol it. When I hear it in the prayers of those who love me. When mountains are shattered and victory comes. When grace is so easily grasped that words spill from my mouth, my pen, my keyboard. When grace has been so tangible it is a part of waking and sleeping dreams. When he gives me the kind of grace that makes me sing and laugh and dance and create.

Yesterday, though, I told some friends that I feel like a dry crust with nothing to offer. They, being good friends, reacted to that of course--reassuring me that such feelings just aren't true. One whispered that volcanoes erupt out of the crust, and Old Faithful shoots into the sky, breaking forth from the crust. When she said that a tiny flicker of hope burned and made me think maybe someday I'll erupt again in passion.

But on that day I was not a faithful spray of water or a volcanic eruption. I was dormant. I was not producing. I was a dry crust of stale bread. I was the cracked and parched ground.

It is easy, I suppose, to believe in grace when I am the geyser or the volcano. When the faith, joy, and passion of my relationship with Grace Giver bursts forth, unable to be contained, too full to hide under the dry places of my soul.

But where is grace when I don't feel His presence, hear His whispered sweet somethings, and sing with Him in the night? When is grace when the gifts I can touch seem few and far between? Where is grace with the mountain looms instead of shattering, and I am left waiting and waiting and waiting?

Sometimes, in these times, I question grace. I flirt with legalism. I am tempted to buy into the line of thinking that puts me at the center of the problem. Have I offended my Lover? Not tried hard enough to please Him? Not given Him enough attention?

But today, in that dry crust time, His words erupt: "How did your new life begin? Was it by working your head off to please Me? Or was it by responding to Father's message to you? . . . only crazy people would think they could complete in their own efforts what was begun by God." (Gal 3, The Message slightly paraphrased by me)

The cracked earth of me drinks a little of this water. It is impossible for me to carry out a perfect life of being good enough to earn my Lover's attention, beautiful enough to keep His eye upon me. I can't, by any effort of my own, sustain a right relationship with God. "The person who lives in right relationship with God does it by embracing what God arranges for Him." (Gal 3 The Message)

Grace remains. I embrace Him when He arranges private meetings with me. When He whispers His loves and brings His gifts.

I embrace Him when He arranges dry crust experiences.

Grace leads me to erupt in joyous water dance, and graces holds me when I lie barren and cracked, a crusty piece of earth.

It isn't as easy, I know, to embrace grace when there is disappointment and suffering. When His romance of my soul seems a distant memory.

But perhaps it's even more important to cling to His grace-filled cross in those crusty times. To believe that I am showered with His love, cleansed by His blood, and forever welcomed into His arms whether I come dancing or parched and crawling.

Grace means I am never rejected by my Heavenly Lover. It means He never leaves or forsakes me, never forgets me, never requires my performance to earn His attention. The cross answers my every question, my every heart cry.

It is easy, I suppose, to believe in grace when I remember the cross and embrace my Lover there.

Perspective

2009-12-27T15:37:00.004-07:00

Funny how an hour with a wise woman can just make your heart happy. Perspective broadens and awakens when wisdom, humor, and experience sit at your kitchen table.

Sunday afternoons stretch long for me now that my daughter has a life outside of our home. The boys think Sunday afternoon is synonymous with football, which doesn't excite me at all. So I picked up the phone and invited a friend for a cup of tea. Being with her is just what the Doctor ordered.

We talked about all the stuff homeschooling moms have to process--what do you do when you feel less than successful? How do you measure progress? Is it academic or character building? What do you do with young adult males who need to finish their English assignments--what is it like to enforce homeschooling with someone taller than you are, to get the task done while still respecting their burgeoning manhood? How do set your adult children free to make their own choices and choose their own paths? How do you process the culture of the world, the culture of the homeschool community, the culture of church? How does that affect the kids? YOU?

I think that whole internal processing about the homeschooling life often hits me toward the end of our winter break. Between you and me I'm not yet ready to jump back into a homeschool schedule. This morning I suggested private school to my husband, but I don't think he took me seriously. I wasn't actually kidding.

But as my friend and I chatted and laughed and validated each other, one clear truth rose to the surface. All those year ago, God directed me to homeschool. Until He moves me a different direction it really doesn't do me any good to be so introspective, measuring my success or failure as a homeschool mom based on some arbitrary scale, or worse yet, other people's pressure. The truth is, all I can really do is sit in obedience and trust God with the results. He's the only One who knows why this is the path He chose for my children--and for me.

So I'll ask if it's time for a change, but unless He says yes I guess I'll be pulling out the school books in a few days.

Reading Lately?

2009-12-18T14:12:00.002-07:00

Unless you love thrillers and mysteries, you're sure to find something to match your taste in my latest reading meandering. Looking back I'm actually pleased with the variety of books I've devoured in the last few months, and happy to recommend them to you. I've made up some silly themes to organize my reading around. Check it out!

Because I Thought I Should:

Gilead: A Novel by Marilynne Robinson - Winner of the Pulitzer Prize, Gilead is one of those thinking books. I chewed on this novel for a few months. The premise behind it: An elderly clergyman writes letters to his young son, pouring out wisdom, family history, and all the things he would want his son to know, but fears he won't live to share. The book has deep insights and much beauty. It's not candy. It's the kind of book you chew on for awhile and feel you'll never glean all it offers. There's just too much.

Peace Like a River by Leif Enger - This book captured my brother's imagination when it first came out and I've been meaning to read it for years. It's a national bestseller for good reason. Well-written and moving, the book draws the reader into the life of an eleven-year-old boy whose family goes through tragedy. The book is full of miracles--both the unexplainable miraculous and miracles of the heart. Enger is a powerful novelist.

All Things Jane Austen

A Walk with Jane Austen: A Journey into Adventure, Love & Faith by Lori Smith - How could I resist the memoirs of a Jane Austen lover that starts with this: "I've always loved Jane Austen. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say that I, like so many women, think Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy is the ideal man." The book chronicles the real life adventure of a thirty-something single woman who journeys through England following the life of beloved writer, and first chick-flick author, Jane Austen. Non-fiction, it is an intimate and engaging journey of life. Recommended! My next goal along these lines is to read the series put out by Harvest House a few years ago that placed all of Jane Austen's novels in a modern setting. The goal? Nothing literary or snobby. It just sounds FUN--and I got them for pennies at the Used Book Sale I blogged about!

Challenging My Journey

Evidence Not Seen: A Woman's Miraculous Faith in the Jungles of World War II, an autobiography by Darlene Deibler Rose - Given to me by my friend Juliet, this book was one of the more impacting books I've read. It's hard to process how a young woman could go through such suffering and yet bring Christ to all who suffered with her. A moving and convicting true story. An Aside: My kids and I have been memorizing Psalm 91. One morning I read from this book before starting school with the kids. In the book Darlene is in a trench waiting for the bombers to pass, watching the bombs fall, when the Lord whispers "They will not come nigh thee." After the aircraft has moved on she returns to her bed and eagerly looks up Psalm 91 to see what the rest of the verse says since she only remembered the phrase the Lord gave her. She is deeply comforted. I put down my book and started school with the boys. We just "happened" to be memorizing that very verse that day. I read them the passage from Darlene's story and the verse took on deeper meaning for all of us. I love how the Holy Spirit homeschools alongside of me, connecting the dots for my kids and making what we learn more impactful.

Eric Liddell: Something Greater Than Gold by Janet and Geoff Benge - This book was actually assigned in our homeschool curriculum and I just finished reading it aloud to the boys this morning. What a story of integrity, sacrifice, and service. Whether winning an Olympic Gold or serving as a missionary China, Eric lived his love for God and people. Powerful life!

Doses of Grace

His Princess Bride: Love Letters from Your Prince by Sheri Rose Shepherd - Daily love letters from the King and penned prayerful responses based in Scripture. A beautiful, tender book that reminds me that my Groom's love for me is unconditional and bigger than I can fathom. Good for the soul, this book helped me refocus on Christ, my Bridegroom, kindling love in a dry season.

Breathing Grace: What You Need More than Your Next Breath by Harry Kraus - Insightful commentary on living connected to God's grace. Written by a surgeon, the book offers several poignant truths about the importance of God's grace and how we need it like our next breath.

Just for Fun

The Bride Wore Coveralls by Debra Ullrick - Total fun, read in a couple of hours, escape reality kind of love story. This is the first published book of my friend, Debra, whose smile lights every room. I curled up with it the night our Used Book Sale and Author Book Signing was finished. I was exhausted and in need of physical, mental and emotional rest. Debra's book was lighthearted, kept me turning the pages, and just what the doctor ordered. You'll love the clever ending.

Rose House by Tina Forkner - I loved this delightful love story set in the vineyards of California. It follows Ruby Among Us which you can read about in one of my GraceReign book reviews. Ruby Among Us was Tina's first published novel, and I enjoyed it so much I looked forward to reading Rose House. Tina has a poetic, fresh voice and writes with an unusual beauty. She wove an engaging, meaningful story in Rose House, and I was not disappointed. It moved more quickly than Ruby Among Us and brought back some of that book's favorite characters. Beautifully done and (IMHO) it is one of the better Christian fictions novels this year. But I again swim upstream. Ruby Among Us remains my favorite of the two books even though everyone I know says Rose House is better!

Ruby Slippers by Leanna Ellis - Delightful novel that hints of the characters and story line from the beloved classic The Wizard of Oz. This book was cleverly done and brought me more smiles and entertainment than anything I've read this fall. Just good, clean fun with a sweet romance, lots of chuckles, and encouragement of the Spirit. I loved this book. If you're looking to relax and enjoy a breezy read, you can't go wrong with this one. Leanna's next book, Blue Moon, was a fun read as well--but there was an extra sparkle in Ruby Slippers that makes it my favorite of the two and one of my favorite reads of the year. If you just want to have fun grab Ruby Slippers. You'll fall in love along with the heroine and discover as she does that home is where the heart is.

Because It Was All Over Facebook

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows - The best written book I've read in a very long time, I heard about this book from my friends on facebook. When one of my favorite authors, Lisa Tawn Bergren, posted about how wonderful it was, I knew I had to try it. I was put on a long wait list at the library, but it was worth it. In fact, it's one I'd like to own. At first I was disappointed to realize the entire book was told through letters, but the author's ability to bring each letter's author to life made it work. The character development is phenomenal. I quickly bought into the main character who is feisty and quick-witted and full of life and love. (Reminds me of a childhood friend of mine, but I digress.) The heroine is an author who begins corresponding with the people of a small island in the English Channel right after WW II. The people on this island had been occupied by the Germans and through their experience turned to reading. (How this happened is a fun story in itself.) There are poignant tales of the war, but you don't have time to wallow in them because the people of the island are so delightful and quirky that just as the tears well in your eyes one of them does something to make you laugh. The book is a masterful weaving of meaningful, thought-provoking story, characters you wish you lived next to, and quick wit--with a little romance thrown in. This is a must read. My favorite book in a very long time.

Coming Soon

What's next on my reading list? Right now I'm going to curl up with The Great Christmas Bowl by Susan May Warren. Reviewers have said that this story "evokes laughter and tears" and "sparkles more than Christmas Tree Lights." Romantic Times claims the book will "bring the Christmas Spirit to everyone." Sounds like a perfect read for winter vacation. Besides Susie told me herself that of all her books this was one of her favorites. Of course knowing her natural exuberance I suspect that simply means it's her favorite RIGHT NOW until her next creation releases. :O) Gotta love a gal with a smile as big as Texas, an accent that places her firmly up north, a heart that expands to include everyone, and a quick laugh that invites the world to pull up a chair.

That's all for now. Gotta get off the computer and grab Susie's book!

Snowflake Therapy

2009-12-10T23:56:00.003-07:00

Okay. So I'll admit it. I've been dealing with a major case of the scrooge. I haven't been able to shake him. He's been riding piggyback since the day after our Thanksgiving celebration. But I found a cure tonight. It's called snowflake therapy.

When the kids were little I made a tradition of canceling our homeschool schedule the first snow after Thanksgiving. We went sledding, ate spaghetti, and most importantly . . . Drum roll here . . . Cut out lots and lots of snowflakes and decorated our windows.

Evidently we had popcorn and hot chocolate when we did this. I know because my daughter insisted on those two treats tonight as we crowded around the table, scissors in hand, clean white sheets of paper in front of us. She said it wasn't complete without the snacks.

This year the snowflakes didn't get made at the first snowfall. We just couldn't bring ourselves to make them without our Sarah--and Sarah has graduated and has her own world now. Her bed is about the only thing in the house that sees much of her. But snowflakes were just not snowflakes without Sarah, and she felt the same. We planned ahead for days and since she had a night off from work, we protected this date on the calendar, and tonight after supper, the snowflake making commenced.

We all participated, at least for a while. My oldest son, Seth, has basically outgrown this whole tradition, but agrees to join us at the table for about 15 minutes to make at least two snowflakes and scarf down food. That's our deal, and we're sticking to it. This year, for the first time, my hubby did the same and made exactly one snowflake, which was met with accolades and much cheering.

I LOVE making snowflakes. Maybe 'cause there are no hard and fast rules, no right or wrong way of doing it. Every snowflake is different no matter how many I make. Some have long elegant legs, others are rounded. One snowflake is geometric, with lots of diamonds and triangles, while the next is curvy and feminine. The only thing better than making snowflakes is making snowflakes with the family. Peppermint ice cream runs a close third, but I digress. Snowflakes set me free.

Another thing I love about making snowflakes is how each person's personality shows in their creations. While my snowflakes are the most intricate and decidedly creative, they also seem to be a little like coloring inside the lines, even when I try to shed parameters. But Sarah's are totally free. Lots of swirls with beauty that is decidedly outside the box. Seth's snowflakes always remind me of armor somehow--masculine, yet ornate. Stephen and Sam are still developing their own style, but I already see their personalities emerging in their white lines--Stephen more precise, a bit perfectionistic. Sam bouncing from one design to another, delighting in each different look.

As I head to bed tonight our window design is all finished except for a tiny spot in the upper right hand corner that we saved for Sarah's guy. We all determined that if he's going to keep hanging around he has to learn to make a snowflake. He couldn't be with us tonight, but that little spot is his. I'm sure his first snowflake will be a proper tribute to our display. Sarah and I are fighting about who gets to teach him this important skill. Somehow I feel it is my right to continue the tradition, but I can tell she chomping at the bit to usurp my position as chief snowflake instructor. Maybe I'll give in when the guy actually comes over. Truth is she's been teaching her brothers behind my back for years.

And so our snowflake saga ends. All that's left of this year's experience is the sweeping of a million tiny flicks of white paper, and the clearing of popcorn kernels.

Eventually the house quiets and everyone slips off to bed, but I stare at our snowflakes. The living room window is beautiful tonight--more beautiful than it's ever been, I'm sure. I gaze at it for a long time, embracing each of my sweet family in the patterns hanging there. My heart feels all filled up.

And that old scrooge is finally off my back.

Join us!

2009-12-04T06:00:00.001-07:00

Rushing around getting ready for HIS Writer's Author Book Signing and Used Book and Media Sale. We have 16 local authors signing books and TONS of used books and media. You can find out about our wonderful authors and the books they are signing by visiting the events page of the ACFW Colorado website. And our used books and media are offered at killer prices with the proceeds going to help aspiring writers! For example, you can pick up books, CDs and DVDs for $1, and children's books for only 25 cents! If you're in the Denver area we hope to see you there!

Daz Bog Coffee 1050 104th Avenue, Northglenn
9-3 Friday and Saturday! (December 4 & 5)

Bittersweet

2009-11-08T16:43:00.002-07:00

My baby,Sam, turns 12 this week. Yesterday I took him and some of his friends roller skating. They rushed onto the rink coordinated and at ease. They won cotton candy prizes for skating the fastest and being the best at Red Light, Green Light. At one point the seven of them were in the center of the rink, tossing glow sticks back and forth as they skated in the customary circles, the little lights streaking through the dimly lit room.

Surges of joy pushed smiles to my lips as I watched. They were a far cry from the boys I'd know for all these years, some of them since birth, others since they were preschoolers. They were so tall and confident--emerging men. And they were having such good, clean fun. A delight!

It was then I realized my cheeks were wet from the tears streaming down my face. Despite their young, cherub faces and youthful exuberance, there was no missing the changes. Sam's brother, Stephen, just a year and a half older, skated in his big brother's old skates, size 10. The boys' neighborhood friend, J.'s lanky form towered above the other children as they rolled around the rink, and when he called out to his friends it was in a lower octave that he used last year.

It was these things that made me cry as I watched them frolic, young bucks with a foot in childhood and a foot reaching toward manhood.

The experience was a salute to a disappearing era, and the boys waved a last hurrah my way as they grinned at me from the center of the floor.

My "baby" will make huge strides in the next couple of years. This "boy" who can now wear my shoes will soon be in his father's. His voice, too, will change and those shoulders will broaden, and the tender, boyish innocence in his eyes will mature into something deeper and stronger, and hopefully more wise.

After 16 years of a home filled with boy stuff, I now enter a season that includes a home full of emerging men. There are no more little boys at my house.

And while I wouldn't have it any other way, there's a pang inside when I realize that this is probably the last year a skating party is cool.

To the Clouds

2009-10-24T08:25:00.002-06:00

Do you ever feel like try as you might your faith is just a tiny seedling when you want it to be a sprawling oak tree? You want to stretch your solid branches to the sky in praise of your Creator, but instead you droop like a weeping willow, pulling the gaze of those who see you downward.

The last year or so I've longed to exalt the Lord, to give Him praise as He deserves and through my worship lift the eyes of others to my Savior. But on many days my journey has been survival. Instead of hymns of worship my life chants desperate longing, "Be merciful, Lord. Come to our rescue. Help me."

The Lord pulled me out of a dark place yesterday morning as you can read in the post below. And as the day progressed there was much beauty in it. I even got to go out to eat with my hubby and talk and laugh with him. It was sort-of a trick by my oldest son who acted as if he didn't want to participate in the activity we planned for him because he knew he was the only kid home and if he set us free we'd end up on a date. It was sweet how he orchestrated all that, and the twinkle in his eyes showed the joy of an unselfish gift.

But when I crawled under the covers exhausted from a very full day the heaviness descended again. The worries and hurts pressed upon me. I pushed them aside, did some reading and closed my eyes. As is my habit I began reciting Scripture, seeking the peace of sleep and the focus on God.

But in that somber mood, there was no praise in my humanity--just a crying out again of, "God help me! I don't want to give into the worry or the pain."

And this morning He did. I dreamed a song of praise over and over, my Spirit worshiping in a way I could not fabricate.

"I will give thanks to Thee
O Lord, among the people
I will sing praises to Thee among the nations
For Thy steadfast love is great
Is great to the heavens
And Thy faithfulness
Thy faithfulness to the clouds!

Be exalted, O God, above the heavens
Let Thy glory be over all the earth . . . "

The song rang in my sleep as I dreamed I sat on something like a chair lift and was whisked over glorious vistas, gazing down at fall foliage in full color, bluffs, ponds, children playing, animals enjoying their little piece of the world. Everything was bathed in that glorious golden color of fall, and I drank it in, hungry for all that beauty.

I had this impression as I sailed on my chair, looking out all the beauty of creation, that somewhere behind in the area where I started from something bad was happening, but that I wasn't to worry about all that. I also had no idea how I would get off this amazing ride and return home, but it didn't seem to matter. The point was to see the glory about me as the worship filled my being.

When I awoke I remembered one more thing--a whisper of an unspoken promise. Not words at all, more of a feeling--but how else can I explain it but put it into words. "My blessings will be so bright that you'll have to put on sunglasses to receive them."

It blows me away how God lifted my heart in worship, how He surrounded me in beauty in the midst of my dreams. How He gave me the gift of praise when I couldn't find it myself. He gave me the desire to worship, and when I couldn't do it on my own, He worshiped within me.

EVERY good gift--EVERY good thing we are or become--it is all of HIM. On our own we are the downcast weeping willow, but He makes our branches strong and enables us to praise.

Sunshine

2009-10-23T13:22:00.003-06:00

"Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy . . . . "

For today, at least, the old song rings true. I awoke a little weepy (as sometimes happens) and began the battle to overcome melancholy with prayer, Scripture and herb tea. A few tears later I emailed prayer buddies who have stood beside me all this very long year.

As it happened I had an appointment at noon and no wheels. Thankfully the meeting location was fairly close by, and I decided to walk. The five minute drive is at least twenty minutes when you're hoofing it, and so I had ample time to soak in the sunshine and the glory of one of those perfect Colorado fall days. (Which I might add have been few and far between recently due to an unusual stretch of cloudy, cold weather.)

Two of my sons decided to venture out with me, and I enjoyed their sweet companionship as we began the trek on the mostly up hill route. I soon shed my sweater in hopes I wouldn't smell like I'd been exerting myself upon arrival. The boys and I chatted about a lot of nothing while I puffed and huffed and tried not to show how out of shape I am.

That bright sunshiny sun kept sending its glorious warmth through the brilliant blue sky, permeating the crisp air, and bathing my shoulders. Life slipped into a more manageable package as I embraced the gift.

At My House

2009-10-09T12:47:00.002-06:00

Laughter rang around my kitchen table. I'd made one of my rare manly breakfasts--the kind the boys wish I did every day: hash browns, homemade biscuits, North Dakota sausage--the works. This kind of breakfast is in contrast to my normal bleary eyed response of "don't we have some cereal?"

Last week I was helping the guys cook pancakes. I burned mine. One of the boys said, "Dad, why haven't you taught mom to make pancakes?"

I'm not sure I appreciated the suppressed laugh or the humor that jumped into his eyes, but he was wise enough to reply only, "I guess I just skipped her and went on to Seth." (Notice the omission of our firstborn's name here. She, being female, is wise enough to still be in bed during pancake making lessons.)

Sure, I could get up and cook breakfast every day and train my daughter to do so as well, but I see my limited breakfast service as a great gift to the beautiful women my sons will someday marry. If they see most "real" breakfasts cooked by their father, and learn to cook them on their own, then someday the pressure will be less on the poor women who will have to keep up with their appetites every other meal of the week.

But back to last week. The biscuits steamed on the table, sending their delicious smell throughout the house. The hash browns were a golden hue, and I didn't even burn the sausage. Sarah was long gone to school and the guys and I surrounded our table.

The boys take up more space than they used to. I don't just mean physical space, though those broadening shoulders and extra inches do that as well. I mean space of personality, space of presence, a simple enlarging of manliness. And then there's the space of sound, deeper voices accompany deeper thoughts, and the laughter of boyish giggles is becoming the throaty guffaws of men.

Sometimes on mornings like these I just sit there, awed that I get to live in that moment with them. I watch their maturing interactions, the kindness of the first born to his younger siblings, a new wisdom and strength in him. The developing dreams and interests of all three, and a greater ability among them to celebrate the other's path instead of competing with it.

Last week's meal was especially dear because there was more kindness and laughter than we'd seen in a while. Their dad told some funny story and we all roared, letting the sweet sound burst out of us time and again. All of us. Together. Laughter rolling forth.

It was a sacred moment.

So good it makes me want to make breakfast again . . . . almost.

Dedicated to Ronnie and His Comrades in Iraq

2009-10-02T16:04:00.004-06:00

A friend of mine from high school has spent a lot of time in Iraq in recent years. This morning my youngest sons and I prayed for Ronnie and those serving us in Iraq. We've been using Psalm 91 in our Bible time for homeschool, and it seemed to lend itself to a prayer for these guys. Below is the Scripture, taken from the NLT, and a rough remembrance of what the guys and I prayed based upon the verses. By the time we finished, I was weeping. This passage of Scripture really comes alive in the context of what these guys are facing overseas--and to hear my innocent sons praying for them from the safety of our living room made it all the more impacting.

Maybe you have a friend overseas you'd like to pray this Scripture for as you read today.

Prayer from Psalm 91

¹ Those who live in the shelter of the Most High
will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

(me) Lord, I know that Ronnie lives in the shelter of the Most High because He believes in You. Please be with all those in Iraq who have faith in you, so that they will find shelter. Help those who don't know Who You are to find You so they can live in the shelter of the Most High as well. Give them rest in Your shadow, Almighty God.

² This I declare about the Lord:
He alone is my refuge, my place of safety;
he is my God, and I trust him.

(me) Please be the refuge and place of safety for Ronnie and his friends. Be their God and help them trust in You.

³ For he will rescue you from every trap
and protect you from deadly disease.

(Stephen) Lord, please rescue Ronnie and the other guys in Iraq from any trap the terrorists might set for them, like car bombs or other stuff. Protect them from any diseases.

⁴ He will cover you with his feathers.
He will shelter you with his wings.
His faithful promises are your armor and protection.

(Sam) Please cover the guys in Iraq with your feathers and shelter them with Your wings. Be their armor and protection.

⁵ Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night,
nor the arrow that flies in the day.

(me) Lord, please help Ronnie and his friends not to be afraid of the terrors of the night. Give them peace and sleep. Help them not to fear the arrow that flies in the day, and Lord, you know we don't fight with arrows these days, it's rockets and bombs. Help them not to be afraid of the rockets.

⁶ Do not dread the disease that stalks in darkness,
nor the disaster that strikes at midday.

(Stephen) Help them not to dread the disease in the darkness or the disaster that strikes at midday.

⁷ Though a thousand fall at your side,
though ten thousand are dying around you,
these evils will not touch you.

(Sam) Even if a thousand people fall around them or ten thousand people die, help the evils not to touch them. And if you decide to take some to be with You, help them to have peace and be safe with you.

⁸ Just open your eyes,
and see how the wicked are punished.

(Sam) Help the guys to just open their eyes and see how the wicked are punished.

⁹ If you make the Lord your refuge,
if you make the Most High your shelter,

(me) Lord, please help Ronnie and his friends to make You their refuge. Be their shelter, Lord Most High.

¹⁰ no evil will conquer you;
no plague will come near your home.

(Stephen) Please don't let any evil conquer them, or any bad stuff come near to where they live or where their families at home are.

¹¹ For he will order his angels
to protect you wherever you go.

(Sam) Thank You that you order Your angels to protect those guys wherever they go.

¹² They will hold you up with their hands
so you won’t even hurt your foot on a stone.

(me) Please have Your angels hold them with their hands so they won't even hurt their foot on a stone.

¹³ You will trample upon lions and cobras;
you will crush fierce lions and serpents under your feet!

(Stephen) Help them to trample lions and cobras and crush fierce lions and serpents under their feet.

¹⁴ The Lord says, “I will rescue those who love me.
I will protect those who trust in my name.

(Sam) Please rescue them and protect them, and help other people over there to trust in You, too. Help them, too.

¹⁵ When they call on me, I will answer;
I will be with them in trouble.
I will rescue and honor them.

(me) Thank you, Lord that you answer when they call upon you and that you are with them in trouble. Thank you that your rescue them and honor them.

¹⁶ I will reward them with a long life
and give them my salvation.”

(Stephen) Thank you that you reward those guys with a long life. Please give them a long life, at least long enough so they can go home and be with their families. Please give them Your salvation.

And the Winner Is . . .

2009-09-21T12:03:00.002-06:00

Kim Woodhouse's book, Woodhouse Family Welcome Home, goes to blogger Jammie J. Congratulations!

Last Chance to Win Kim's Book

2009-09-15T11:57:00.001-06:00

Just a quick reminder to leave a message on this post or the previous one if you want to win Kim Woodhouse's book, Woodhouse Family Welcome Home. The contest ends tonight at midnight!

Woodhouse Family Welcome Home!

2009-09-14T08:00:00.000-06:00

If you are reading this post you are one lucky reader. I have in my possession an extra copy of Woodhouse Family Welcome Home--the book by Kimberley Woodhouse that details her family's journey to extreme joy (and even includes some pictures of the home built for them by Extreme Makeover: Home Edition). I say you are lucky because if you leave a comment you just might be the winner of this book, which is already back ordered in many stores. But it's really more than that.

You're lucky, because reading this heartfelt saga by Kim Woodhouse will impact you. Kim's stories of joy and hardship, hope and survival, put life into perspective. I read it in one sitting--weeping often, sniffing repeatedly, and yet somehow praising God with Kim for His hand upon her life and the lives of their loved ones.

Faith is strengthened by journeying with the Woodhouse family, and Kim's honest writing invites you into her inner places of struggle and determination. While Kim admonishes readers to embrace the joy of the Lord in life's darkest places, she doesn't pull punches when describing the circumstances which sought to crush them or her own responses to a life that turned out much harder than she's signed up for. You'll laugh and cry at some of the outlandish predicaments the Woodhouses find themselves in--what would you do if it was 115 degrees outside, you knew your daughter could die if exposed to heat, and your house caught fire? Or how about moving children with extreme allergies into their new home only to discover the previous owner had over 50 cats? How do you have joy in that? For Kim, joy is a walk of faith.

While I believe anyone will benefit from reading this book, I had the added advantage of knowing the Woodhouse family before I read the book. One of my favorite memories of being in the Woodhouse home has little to do with the fabulous designs of the home make-over team, though seeing all that was a delightful novelty.

It was December, and Kim hosted a Christmas party for Colorado ACFW. She graciously met us at the door with fuzzy slippers (the Woodhouse home has to be kept at a low temperature year round since Kayla doesn't sweat and can't process heat), and welcomed us to a feast that must have taken her three days to prepare. Her energetic, cheerful spirit invited lots of laughter, and yes, we were required to do silly things like bowling backwards on the bowling alley Extreme Makeover installed in her basement. But the very best part of all for me was when Kim drew us all around the piano and began to play carol after carol. While Kim's joy is evident in fun, it is expressed most fully in worship. That hour of caroling is something I will treasure forever as we all praised our King together.

Kayla really is the sweet young woman you saw on TV, and Josh is not only a protective brother, but a survivor in his own right. I haven't spent much time with Jeremy, but the fruit of his home reveals the contents of his heart. When you read Welcome Home you get the real deal.

Embrace Kim's first published book, Welcome Home, and as you read let it seep down deep into the fertile soil of your own heart. It will plant seeds of hope, faith, righteousness, and joy.

Social Networks

2009-09-12T13:39:00.002-06:00

Anybody missing the good ole days when we spent our time reading each others deep, carefully crafted thoughts on their BLOGS? 'Course that was before social networks became all the rage. Now we can try our hand at being witty, entertaining, or at least informational in 30 words or less. A quick note on facebook or twitter often gets more immediate gratification that a well-thought blog post these days. Reader scan their facebook home, leave a quick response or click "like" and suddenly you, the writer of those 25 words, knows somebody noticed. Somebody cared what you had to say--or at least is trying to build their own audience through facebook by connecting with you.

Now, I'm not cutting down facebook. Just yesterday I had a great time finding out which Jane Austen hero I would have most likely wed through one of their bazillion quiz options (Mr. Darcy, btw) and a few weeks ago I found out that I'm most like the Disney princess Belle--loving everyone and books . . .

And when my son scored last night in his hockey game, and I posted about it, I quickly had a bunch of friends cheering with us right there in my comments section.

But I'm fighting hard to resist the facebook addiction that is so easy to succumb to. I had to disable the chat feature on my page because a quick 5 minute break from the real world could quickly turn into a 45 minute chat. And, really, as much as I love reading everyone's witty one-liners, learning what they are making for dinner, and when they are heading to bed, do I need to slip off to my computer several times a day to skim through these to find those perfect comments I really like--or even to find the posts of people I actually KNOW? LOL

Honestly, I don't want to give up goofing off on facebook. But I do want to control it. My crit group leader, author Kathy Kovach made a point to tell me over burgers yesterday that those writers she sees most often playing on facebook are often the same writers she knows are struggling with writing their latest book project. Do you think she was gently admonishing me?

So here's my plan:

I'm linking my blog to fb, so when I write some well-thought, deep post (I mean I do sometimes, right???) all my friends on fb will have a chance to see my blogging masterpiece.
I'm going to try to post real thoughts here more often.
I'm going to save my fb browsing for when I really need to play, or have the discipline to post quickly and GET OFF.

I will say this about fb. I joined last October because a friend of mine got all these wonderful people I love to invite me to join on my birthday. It was fabulous and affirming to be welcomed by so many of my favorite friends! And it came at just the right time. I was already struggling to write. I took a break from my responsibilities writing articles and devotionals, and put aside my novels. Life came at me fast and hard and I needed to break from so much output to survive all I walked through last year. Through all that my fb friends were there, giving me little encouragements, reminding me that they knew I still existed and that my existence made a difference to them.

Fb came at the perfect time and was a pure gift . . . but now I have a new novel brewing. I'm longing to start my devotional back up . . . I want to move forward out of this quiet place where I've been . . . and I think part of my step back to "real" writing is to break that facebook addiction!

Sometimes You Forget

2009-09-01T11:23:00.004-06:00

Sometimes you forget how big you heart is. Or how much strength you have. Or how much you can really handle.

At least I do.

Take today for instance. I started my 7th or 8th year (not quite sure) of teaching a girl's Bible study class. I knew I loved "my" girls, but the summer had a lot of thoughts about the responsibilities of the class, how I'd have to open my heart up all over again and learn to love a new crop. About the investment, the time, the energy . . . but then they began to arrive. I just didn't know how much it would mean to me when they traipsed into the classroom, started hugging each other, and flashed those amazing, beautiful, masterpiece of the Creator smiles. I hadn't thought about how my heart would just swell up with love.

And take Sunday night. My friend Niki got frustrated with me. She found out I needed a resource she could have easily supplied but instead of asking her I'd done without for a while, and then agonized over spending the money for something she had extra of. If I'd only asked the need would have been met with little effort or sacrifice on her part. She told me this story she'd seen on a Shari Lewis show (circa 7os). Shari told her puppet to pick up the couch. The puppet said he couldn't. She told him to try. He failed. She told him to try his hardest. He still failed. She asked if he'd used all his strength. He said yes. Shari asked the puppet if he'd asked his friends for help. The puppet said, no. Then came the moment of truth: Shari said, "If you haven't asked your friends for help, you haven't used all your strength."

And take this morning, for instance. I read in a devotional by Edward Miller about how Christians often use the phrase, "He won't give me more than I am able to bear." He went on to explain how we need to see the big picture behind that sentiment. The same God who promised us He wouldn't give us more than we can bear also promised us limitless resources through His indwelling Spirit.

See, sometimes I forget how much I can love. I love not only out of my tiny, little heart but also out of the boundless love of the God who lives within me.

Sometimes I forget how much strength I have. I go it on my own. I don't ask my friends for help.

Sometimes I forget how much I can handle. I think my ability is my own, when I'm actually empowered by the God who created the galaxies.

Right now I'm remembering. Hope these thoughts help you to remember, too.

God's Arms Reach Through Good Books

2009-08-06T08:00:00.000-06:00

The following blog was posted yesterday by yours truly on the Inkwell. Thought I'd share it with my readers here.

Ever heard this one: "Oh yeah, that's those Amish books, right?" or how about this one: "I don't read prairie romance."

I'm always amazed at how uneducated the general public is on the books published in the CBA. Yes we have our Amish books and our prairie romances--and some of them are absolutely fabulous and have hung out on best seller lists. But we also have fantasy, thrillers, mysteries, and . . . well, you name it, we've got it. (Almost.) CBA books offer diversity in style, taste, and artistic expression, even as they all offer the most important thing--God Himself.

Take, for example, three of the novels I read this summer. They weren't even that dissimilar in genre. All three included some romance. All three three explored an inner female journey. All three included faith elements. But despite the fact that they had similarities, they were very different. On purpose.

I won Gunfight at Grace Gulch in a drawing when its author, Colorado ACFW member Darlene Franklin, spoke at HIS Writers. I breezed through the book, enjoying references to places I knew from my childhood in Oklahoma, including the lake I swam in most every day one summer. The book was a light fare, romance and mystery, and perfect for an evening when I just needed to escape the pressures of life and enjoy a safe story. Published by HeartSong Presents Mysteries, I knew it would be a book I could trust not to rock my world too much--a fun, quick read. And it lived up to its expectation. Dependable. Trustworthy when my heart couldn't take one more assault. The guy got the girl--or uh, the girl got the guy. The bad guys were defined and called out. The faith questions were dealt with. I enjoyed humor, creativity, and romance while taking a break from a stressful time. When I finished this book I felt peaceful. There was a hope that all can be righted in His due time, that justice will eventually be served and love will find its voice. I rolled over to quiet dreams as God's faithfulness wrapped around me like a hug.

Reading The Queen of Sleepy Eye, by Colorado author Patti Hill, was a whole different experience. Published by B & H Fiction, this novel was willing to push the envelop. Still a story of faith, everything wasn't settled so neatly. The struggles were real, the heart strings were tugged, and as the heroine grew up, so did I. The end satisfied not because everything was settled perfectly, but because God was faithful even when life was hard and choices were less than stellar. As one reviewer said on the back cover copy, the book portrayed the "crushing cost of sin and the transforming power of grace." It's a book that made me think a little deeper, and live a little more honestly. Even though it was hard to walk through the pain of that growing up summer with its heroine, Amy, the story was offered to me with gentleness, penned with beauty of phrase, deep characterization, and an eye to redemption. God's hug wasn't quite so safe, but it was just as faithful, and perhaps its grasp was little tighter--a testament to HIS faithfulness in my weakness.

ACFW author Claudia Mair Burney's book, Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and white, didn't come to me with gentleness. It sang out with passion and zing. Liz Curtis Higgs calls the book "Unflinchingly honest and bold as brass." Published by David C. Cook, this book confronted me with the raw power and unpolluted clarity of God's amazing grace--undeserved, yet freely given. The romance was so beautiful at times that I wept, swept away by the glory and purity of love, and yet the story's twists and turns also included such agony that on occasion my stomach hurt. It undid me, probing ugly places I don't want to even admit are in my world, leaving few sacred stones unturned. The writing also sometimes left me breathless--both from the story it told and from the sheer strength of the collection of its words, carved onto the page with a voice all their own. There was no meandering through this book. There was no holding onto false illusions of strength. I was laid bare, reminded that it is only the merciful God of grace who can save. Reminded that He never gives up. God's hug through this novel was fierce, protective, and unrelenting. He will never, ever let me go.

Three novels. Three experiences. Three reactions. Yet all three showed me God's faithfulness. Maybe that's part of what I love about reading books from the CBA. I can find books for my ever-changing seasons and needs. I know where to turn when I need to be stretched and what to grab when I need to feel safe. And I can trust each time that I will find God there, calling me into His arms.

Next time someone you know wants to put CBA in a box, send them my way. I'll bet we can find an author who tickles their fancy--and give them a God hug at the same time.

Ah, Forgiveness

2009-07-24T11:24:00.005-06:00

Ever have one of those days when every time you turned around you were gut punched? The tension mounts, the wounds gape, and the next thing you know you're not only on the receiving end of ugly, you ARE ugly.

If you'd asked me at three o'clock yesterday when I pulled out of my driveway if the day could be redeemed, I'd have answered with a resounding, "no!" Broken and weeping I fought traffic, already thickening for rush hour, clogging the highway like exhaust puffing ants.

Proverbs says that hope deferred makes the heart sick. Disappointments and fears, like multiplying viruses, invaded my weary heart. Surely it was diseased. Anger, caustic words, and faithlessness had erupted out of it, spewing on those most precious to me.

Where was God in all of this? How could I find a way to survive all the stress pounding me without destroying those relationships most precious?

By six I'd sat through another round of stop and go. The air conditioner was no match for the hot day, and the sun beat upon me, adding physical discomfort to the emotional agony I still couldn't shake.

I couldn't face my loved ones. Delaying my re-entry to family life, I drove around the block several times. A friend on the other end of my cell phone prayed for me. She asked for miracles for my family. She thanked God for my tenderness and gentle spirit.

The tears followed. I wanted to be tender and gentle. I wanted my family to be embraced by a loving mom. But I couldn't see those qualities anymore. My discontent, fears, and weariness had shoved them into some dark corner of my soul. Other stuff--undesirable stuff--was taking up residence instead.

"Oh how the Lord loves you," her soft voice intoned. "You are so beautiful to Him."

Trying to believe it was true, I pulled into the garage, ready to apologize to my family. I found the teen I'd been the hardest on and before I could open my mouth, his words washed over me. "I love you, Mom. I'm really sorry." We each took our share of the responsibility, and my boys smothered me with hugs.

I feared facing my husband, but he, too, looked at me with tender gaze, and I fell easily into his welcoming embrace. Hope came further out of hiding as he told me of an unexpected check paid to his business. Grace upon grace.

The day ended with us laughing at Hogan's Heroes re-runs and munching on homemade chocolate chip cookies.

Ah, forgiveness.

Tidbits

2009-06-09T16:08:00.010-06:00

Keep wanting to write all kinds of deep stuff about the wonder of my oldest graduating or turning 18 . . . but somehow I can't seem to get to it. One of these days I will. *sigh* Until then here's a few tidbit about the wrap of our 2008-2009 homeschool year:

We closed out Sarah's senior year with an eye exam. She got her new glasses today and has wandered around the house in amazement: "Wow. I never knew those pictures were sharp images! I thought they were blurred on purpose." "I can see sunlight filtering through the leaves! And leaves aren't just green blobs!" "I knew there weren't REALLY four trees in the backyard, but I had no idea of everything else I couldn't see back there!"
I've had an offer of a graduation present from my daughter--a thank you for homeschooling her. She wanted to get me my first set of acrylic nails. I was VERY tempted. However, I suggested she spend her money on a special event for us instead. We're going to make a memory.
I've caught my daughter, now 18, giggling to herself on multiple occasions since her birthday. Under her breath are the words, "I'm an adult!"
Summer library programs have begun in earnest. Last year I cried when I signed Sarah up. After 13+ years of trotting to the libraries and winning prizes, I knew the era was almost over. I could almost see her at 5, standing there in pink (I got to dress her back then), eyes aglow. The good news: I didn't cry this year when I only registered the boys.
My third born, Stephen, is not fond of his grammar workbook. After he completed it (the last thing he had to do to complete his school year), he asked permission to destroy it. I rejected the idea of setting fire to it, but did give the okay for several other methods. My only request was that he tear out the page on the appropriate uses and tenses of lie and lay and give it to me as a resource before destroying the book. I never seem to get those right!
The above son brought the book in the kitchen and propped it in front of me later in the day. It was funny to watch the BB's tinkle from the front of the mutilated book onto the kitchen table.
The "baby" of the family is now a definite tweenager. The hormones are kicking in and the drama has begun. It feels all too familiar. In a year and a half I will officially have 4 teenagers. Yes, there's a prayer request hidden in there.
The hockey playing son discovered this year that if he stayed on track with school he could actually be quite successful. He won the outstanding student award for Algebra at our umbrella school with a whopping 97% in the class. His mother, who hated Algebra, thought this was reason for celebration. His response: "What does it matter? It's just easy and boring anyway." Oh . . . K. Not for me. But it does show that letting someone who likes math teach him Algebra was oh so much more successful than trying to do it myself, like I did with his sister. (You may recall the story from an earlier post about how she once said to me, "If you'd just TRY to have a good attitude, we might make it through Algebra." I think that's when I picked up the phone and found a tutor.)
My children have discovered the joy of "forking." Don't ask.
God did a really cool thing for me at a recent writer's conference. Another one of those stories that I'd like to really write. Suffice it to say He allowed me to do something I thought I'd NEVER do . . . Curious? My friend Jan blogged about it at Bold and Free.

Springtime

2009-05-14T23:24:00.004-06:00

Springtime visits my soul like Colorado weather--in spurts and sputterings--comings and goings. While I want it to stay, I will embrace each sweet, fresh breeze. For now I will enter into every beautiful, sunny moment. And I will quit wondering if it is only a fleeting glimpse or a whole new season.

It's springtime in the Rockies as the cobalt sky outside my balcony window testified this morning. Though the wind whipped through the mountains and the expanse to my left included a soft, gray brushstroke, the tinkling chatter of the birds and the new scent carried by the breeze declared spring's arrival loud and clear.

I dressed, but left off my socks and shoes, and slipped outside. My hair, still wet from the shower, whipped about my head as I slipped into the green plastic chair at the corner of the balcony. It was too cold to relax into the experience so I padded back into the room and pulled the knobby blue blanket off the shelf. Melting into its warmth, I cocooned. Blue fuzzy softness wrapped beneath me, around me, warming the plastic chair and draping around my arms, my legs, my everything.

Well, almost. My head peeked out the top so my eyes could drink in the green, gray, brown, and blue hues of tree topped mountains, rock outcroppings, and sky.

And my feet peeked out the other end. They embraced the sun in a way none of the rest of me could, pressing against the stained, sun-drenched wood beneath them. Toasty toes sunbathed, warmer than the whole of me despite my soft, fuzzy blue world. I don't know if feet can have feelings, but the way those tootsies stretched in the light and breathed the fresh air seemed to me a display of sheer, unadulterated joy.

Spring came to my soul today. It visited first my bare beet.

Breeze

2009-05-07T22:42:00.004-06:00

The curtains swell and fall in response. As my hair lifts from my brow and the cool caresses my cheeks I am stuck by how something so simple becomes so profound.

I had a huge disappointment last night and haven't been able to shake it today. It's been as though the energy within me drained out into a puddle at my feet. All that was left was a zombie like response. Get through another day. Fix a meal. Sort the laundry. Help with a math problem. My husband, good man that he is, listened to my hurts and allowed the tears to pool in swollen eyes.

Still the barrenness continued.

But now there is a breeze. It floods over me tingling and tantalizing.

Cool. Fresh. New.

The night air dancing through my window reminds me that all is not stagnant, stale, and senseless. It slips around my warm, worn body and promises refreshment.

Too Sweet?

2009-04-08T08:36:00.002-06:00

I don't usually get emails like that one. Most of the correspondence I receive from Soul Scents subscribers is encouraging. So when I received it a while back--must be over a year now--I paused, thought about whether to respond, and felt this particular opinion was not one I was to take on. So I never answered engaged the author in dialogue, just sent a short (and I hope gracious) email saying I'd fulfilled his request to be taken off my subscriber list.

But today I'm thinking about it again.

The person (if I remember correctly it was a male writer), accused me of a syrupy sweet belief system. He told me to take him off the devotional list because he couldn't be a part of a religion so easy--or something like that.

When I left the rules behind to embrace a life of grace led by the Holy Spirit, some people were confused and afraid. I remember telling a dear friend that when you surrender to God's leading on a daily basis, focusing on Him instead of a list of rules, the cost is greater. No longer can you get by with doing the right thing. Now you are asked to surrender in ways you've never surrendered before. You are convicted of your attitudes and motives, not just left to check off behaviors from the good little Christian list.

To me, though the road is much sweeter to walk, it requires more of me. At the same time, the grace to face the requirements is multiplied. So while I disagree with the man who wrote the scathing email, maybe there is an element of "easier" in this faith because I don't have to rely on my meager strength, nor do I have to live in constant pressure to "live up" or in guilt when I haven't reached the mark.

Today I'm wondering if the man who wrote me the angry email would still believe I have a syrupy religion after watching me struggle to surrender over the past couple of years. Would he still think my belief system is too easy after reading my devotionals about on-coming storms? Would he think my faith too sweet as he read about my determination to stand firm despite pain and opposition?

Maybe he would. Because I still believe in a God of mercy. A grace-filled God who gives to us freely, not based upon our performance, but upon His love and compassion. Two of my favorite verses in this season have been, "And so I know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love." (I John 4:16) and "The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love. The Lord is good to all. He has compassion on all He has made." (Psalm 145:8-9) (Both Scriptures taken from the NIV.)

If asked to boil down my belief system into a single line, I might answer with this phrase from an old hymn: "My faith is built on nothing less than Jesus and His righteousness."

Because my faith is in Christ's righteousness and not my own works, I can fully receive the sweet parts of being a Christian. I can believe every single day that I am my Father's beloved child. I can trust every single minute that He is working all things for my good, conforming me to the image of Jesus, and that He has a hope and a future for me. My life is intertwined with my Lord. He enfolds and encircles me. He goes in front of me and follows behind me.

When my faith is in Christ and not in myself, I can rest. Even while I work hard and seek to serve my Lord, I don't have to strive. I don't have to be in a frenzy of performance driven behavior. I can know my offerings--however big or small--are accepted by the One who loves me without condition or hesitancy.

If this is what my reader meant by "too sweet" or "too easy" then I receive that angry email with joy. I take it as a compliment to Jesus! For He IS sweet. His love is beyond finding out and freely offered. He is merciful and forgiving, slow to anger and rich in love.

A Whisper of Me

2009-04-04T11:53:00.003-06:00

A vanilla scented candle flickers next to my old blue recliner, its aroma gently wafting toward me teasing my senses with something so simple, so pleasant, that I wonder why I so rarely touch a flame to its wick. Bach's violin concertos dance on the airwaves and a moment ago I actually joined them, my feet briefly flickering across the carpet in a movement almost involuntary. My glass of apple vanilla white tea has been draining and my journal boasts 9 pages of new, purple ink. A slight tenderness in my pointer finger attests to the fact that I my pen and I have again reconnected. And the pages, though full of mundane wonderings and restless wandering, also contain beauty. A moment of private joy captured in language I thought could no longer flow from me.

In my throat resides the ache of repressed sobs and my eyes burn with unshed tears. Could I be coming back? Might this emptiness I've lived through actually give way to new expression?

I'm afraid. Afraid to believe the peace and joy of this morning might actually be something I can hold onto. Afraid that if I take steps venturing back into writing that it might be too soon. My days are demanding--the last few weeks giving little time for sleep much less pursuit of soul or art or stillness.

But today. Oh today! Quiet contentment seeps into my being like the snow that drapes the newly budding limbs in my yard. Perhaps today there is hope of spring for my soul beneath the quiet that envelops it.

Downstairs jeans bang around in the dryer, zippers clinking against the metal sides. My hungry boys rattle around in the kitchen, thankful for last night's left overs, and in the other room one of them listens to a story on CD, its narrator a dim done covered by Bach's melodies. My life continues, full. Mostly filled up with good things. I am not unhappy with life as it is. But I know there is more.

And today with its flickering candles whispers there is more to me, to my life, than I've been able to enter into for many months. I miss that whisper of me. And today instead of simply awaiting her return, I've actually touched this self.

Elation of a Homeschool Mom

2009-03-11T11:01:00.005-06:00

Surprised, I stared at the transcript. I hadn't expected this reaction. Elation, gratitude, and a sense of awe settled over me.

We'd done it. It was really happening. My first child is graduating from homeschool.

I scanned the official transcript issued by our umbrella school. English credits as required . . . Algebra, Chemistry, World History, Spanish, and almost twice the required electives.

I had to sit for a minute and let it soak in. I remembered the harried moments, the tears, the joys. I won't forget the thrill I felt when Sarah's chemistry teacher said she'd earned an "A." Or the day I decided to quit teaching Algebra on my own. Sarah stared at me and said, in all sincerity, "Mom, if you'd try to have a good attitude, we might get through Algebra." I stared at her, realized that she was absolutely right, and started calling around for a tutor.

I remembered the long hours spent preparing for speech and debate competitions--and the subsequent "catch-up" time after competition season was over. Even now I can feel the tension I felt in those push times, when I was absolutely sure I couldn't spend one more day on Biology or American History. When I wondered if we'd ever complete the required courses.

But now. NOW!

Now we stood at the end of a long road, and all I could think is, "Wow. We did it. And we did it well. She did it. I did it."

And then a pause . . .

He did it! Thank you, Lord.

Must I Feel So Deeply?

2009-03-01T20:42:00.002-07:00

I've been on a wild ride on the currents of emotion. One day I think I'm flying along, productive, passionate and content, and the next I crash . . .

When God asked me to put down my publication dreams last summer, I knew He was taking care of me, not just asking me to sacrifice. Looking back I see how this season demanded so much emotional investment that to try and live the publication journey would have crushed me.
I heard Anne Lamont speak last fall. She said that if you want to be an artist, you have to make time to stare out the window. After the frenzied pace of the past 9 months I see the truth in her statement. Before this hard season I thought my fiction writing was on the brink of artistry--but creative words, beautiful words, words that blend to paint a picture, words that make my heart sing--they are gone from me.

Still, the Lord promised me that He would give me writing that would blend with this season of motherhood. I did work last fall that took a different kind of creativity and a more straightforward writing style. Payment from the work kept the children's therapy going and it even tapped into some of my passions as I wrote family devotionals.

I recently was blessed with another curriculum writing opportunity. This one is even more suited to my passions of God's grace and empowerment AND to my great love for children and the desire to see them grow in the grace and knowledge of my Lord.

For the last week my heart simply sang. The project is a short one, but I dare to dream that if I do well they might ask me to do more . . . so I've harbored such deep passion and joy inside of me--such awe that I would have the opportunity to affect the next generation through such a meaningful project.

I even felt that if I could do this particular project long-term I could die with no regrets. I could feel I'd been used by the LORD to make a difference--even without ever experiencing the publication of my own books.

This was big. It meant something. And God chose ME!

Friday night my heart soared, lost in these thoughts.

Then I went to a mini-conference on fiction writing. (Imagine here the sound of a plane, falling to the earth, whistling as it tumbles. Hear now the crash, the screeching of twisted metal. The roar of the explosion as it hits the earth and explodes into flames.) Okay, so that illustration might be a little melodramatic. I'm still alive. And I was still alive yesterday as I hid and bawled my eyes out, lying prone on the floor in the basement of the facility were the fiction classes were held.

I'm not sure all the reasons for the grief that overwhelmed me. Mostly, it was the loss of words. Not all words, but the deep, pretty, shmultcy ones. The ones I thought were on the brink of artistry. The ones that were oh so fun to write. It's like there's this gaping hole inside of my soul that used to house something breathless and exciting, but is now just empty and dry and still.

I think, too, as I reflected deeper, there was this sense of stupidity--an embarrassment of being around people who've published and edited and "made it" in the writing world--and remembering the first time I met them, how long ago it was, and how many times our paths have crossed.

And how I'm still an unpublished novelist asking stupid questions.

There were also just the loss of the work. The teachers offered all these opportunities for application--apply this to your latest work, do this to make your proposal sing, think about what this looks like in your story . . . and I realized I had no stories to work on, think about, or try to sell.

It's not that season.

And I couldn't help the grief that poured out of me.

My friends loved on me. My husband listened to me. And I fell asleep last night asking God to hold me.

Fast forward to this afternoon. After church I dug into my curriculum work. My first installment is due tomorrow. As I typed in that concluding project, wrapping up the lesson, I believed again in the God who would take such a project and transform the lives of the next generation. I again sensed the awe, amazed that God would allow me to be a part of such a thing.

And my heart is again full. At peace with this season. My heart isn't quite soaring, but it is in steady flight.

BTW, if you'd like to see the add for the project my friend Kristi and I were the main writers for last fall, click here. Seeing the add wasn't like I imagine it would feel to hold my own book, but there was a sense of accomplishment. :O)

A Perfect Day

2009-02-22T19:00:00.008-07:00

Thank you, Kim, for the pictures.

Just a Thought

2009-02-18T08:41:00.002-07:00

I was blessed this morning as I read this Scripture. Thought I'd share it. I have it memorized in a different version, but when I read it in the New Living Translation this morning it just felt so fresh.

I love the Lord because he hears my voice
and my prayer for mercy.
Because he bends down to listen,
I will pray as long as I have breath!

The Red Siren by MaryLu Tyndall

2009-02-04T08:32:00.007-07:00

Need a break?

MaryLu Tyndall's latest pirate book is feisty, fun, and flamboyant. Worlds collide when the lives of Faith Westcott, lady pirate, and Dajon Waite, naval sea captain, become entertwined.

You'll have to suspend reality to believe the spunky Faith Westcott can be a lady by day and a pirate when her family isn't looking, but the drama of her life will hook you. (Pun intended.)

Here's the back cover copy:

Faith Westcott abandoned her shallow faith when a series of tragedies struck her family. To save herself and her sisters from forced marriages, this fiery, born-to-the-manor redhead is a lady by day and a pirate by night. How long can she maintain this dual identity before she’s caught red-handed?

The God-fearing Dajon Waite, who scours the Carolina coast, expunging it of pirates and smugglers, is a more-than-capable captain in the British Royal Navy. But when he is asked to take on the guardianship of Faith and her sisters, he’s headed for deep water. Having vowed to avoid women, what will he do when he finds himself falling for Faith?

Sir Wilhelm Carteret has always gotten everything he desired, but Faith seems to be unaffected by his charms. When he devises a plot to rid himself of his competition, more than Captain Waite’s reputation is at stake as alarming secrets are revealed.

Will Faith regain her trust in God only to find herself headed for the gallows? Will Dajon scuttle his good name—and neck—to save her?

If you've been around GraceReign over the years, you know this type of story isn't my normal fare. I started the book as a favor for a friend, but once I dug into it, I finished the book for me. The unique, page-turning story and interesting characters captured my attention. It was fun to suspend belief for a while and just go with this imaginary world. My family laughed at me while I read voraciously, unable to put the book down.

As those of you who are faithful readers know, this year has held its challenges for me. Perhaps that's the best time to read a book like this. You can take a break from real life, put up your feet for a couple of hours (or more, I read really fast) , and be reminded through a zany story that God is still God.

Thank you, MaryLu, for bringing some fun into my life in this intense season. I don't know you, but I'll bet we could share some stories since you have even more children than I. How DO you get time to write all these books with 6 children and four cats in the house???

Best-selling author of The Legacy of the King’s Pirates series, MaryLu Tyndall writes full time and makes her home with her husband, six children, and four cats on California’s coast. Her passion is to write page-turning, romantic adventures that not only entertain but expose Christians to their full potential in Christ. For more information on MaryLu and her upcoming releases, please visit her website at http://www.mltyndall.com

Proclamation

2009-02-02T13:35:00.002-07:00

"Give thanks unto the Lord and proclaim his greatness. Let the whole world know what he has done . . . Tell everyone about his miracles . . . Search for the LORD and for his strength, and keep on searching . . . Think of the wonderful works he has done."
Selections from Psalm 105

Life consumes
Stealing strength
Time
Energy
and words

With the morning sun
Comes a sigh
Before pushing back the covers
Wondering how
I can run as fast and hard
As I have to

Therapy sessions
Exercises completed
Fill out a form
Pay for this
Owe for that
Time for practice
Time for lessons
Ride to work or a friend's

Listen
Hearts in pain.
Hug away tears
That don't disappear
Like they used to
When they were young

Deal with issues
Burning up cell minutes
Trying to understand
Trying to help

Hold my tongue
Don't rip on those
Who hurt the ones I love
Though sometimes I want to
Kick some you know what

Words held captive
By the rushing
The soothing
The worrying (forgive, Lord!)
The clock

And yet . ..

Still there are miracles.
Still I want to proclaim
His goodness

The world needs to know
He is real

Seeking His strength
And seeking again.
Remembering not just the
rushing
the pain
the stress

But holding tight
To the provision
Unexpected
A little extra work
Surprise off-season sales
A check in the mail
Cash slipped into
Empty fingers
By friend
Who cares

And the house payment is made
Therapy for the children is continued
Hockey dreams pursued
Speech competitions attended

A dentist who treats
Instead of sending
My account to collections

A new coat
With sleeves the right length
Leaving a friend and me
Both with happy hearts

A job in return
For a conference registration

Food abundant
In my cabinet
And on our table

Miraculous

A proclamation
Of His love

But provision
Is not just financial
God tends the heart

Strength and wisdom
When circumstances shock
Dig like a knife
Overwhelm
Peace comes
Even in unwanted crisis
And hard decisions

Flowers
Fragrant, beautiful
Remind me I am loved

An email from someone
Who "gets it"
More than anyone I've met before

God's arms
Wrap me in love
Through human touch
And supernatural peace

Miraculous

A proclamation
Of His love

Who is He?

2009-01-18T15:38:00.002-07:00

Who is He?

And why do I want nothing less than Him?

What makes me seek His face--long for a morsel of attention--whisper in the quiet stillness of the night, "I need you?"

He often doesn't give me my way. Even when I know He can do anything. Even when what I ask seems so good and reasonable.

He has the ability to smooth the way before me, and yet He leaves me to scramble over boulders and make strenuous, steep climbs.

So why do I want nothing less than Him?

Who is He to capture me so?

He is patience. He is forgiveness. He is perfection.

He is love.

When I crumble instead of conquering, He stands protectively beside me.

When I am petty and take offense, His regard never falters.

When I fall, He helps me to my feet, gently pointing me in the right direction, redirecting my missteps.

When I feel empty and tired and unlovely, He sings over me.

When I feel I have nothing to offer Him or anyone else, He still wants me--shell that I perceive myself to be.

Why do I want nothing less than Him?

Where else can I find rest like this? Complete confidence in a love so unconditional, so unrelenting, so full and complete?

There is nowhere else. No one else.

And so, no matter how I feel, no matter what life brings, no matter my gage of personal fullness or emptiness, I know and rely on the love God has for me.

Who is He?

Why do I want nothing less than Him?

He is love.

True Colors

2008-12-30T11:54:00.006-07:00

I've been meaning to cozy up with True Colors by Erin Rainwater for some time. I was finally able to do so over the holiday break, and was so glad I took the time!

The story line is fast-paced and full of intrigue, and the main characters, Cassie and Michael, engaging. One of the greatest strengths of the book is portrayal of the life of an army nurse. The author, Erin, served as an army nurse during the Vietnam War and her personal experience add authenticity to Cassie's journey as a nurse during the Civil War. Another interesting element is that Erin's true life father was a WWII intelligence officer, which no doubt adds to her ability to write about the life of Major Michael Byron, who serves his country in that capacity.

Rainwater's research into the Civil War area lends a believable and historically intriguing backdrop, and since most of the story takes place not on the battlefields, but in the hospitals and prisoner of war camps, there is a lot to learn that is not typically portrayed in Civil War novels. The characters portrayed in True Colors also offer strength of purpose, compassion, and a chivalry too often absent in the novels of today.

Erin has another work of historical fiction, The Arrow that Flieth by Day, that chronicles the journey of a minor character from True Colors. Set in Colorado during the pioneering era, the story is rich in historical substance and has the depth of character development that is such a strength in The Arrow that Flieth by Day. If you enjoy True Colors, you'll want to check out the next book as well. One thing I especially liked about both books is their portrayal of principled, courageous, yet compassionate men. I think Erin gives us a glimpse into the character of God through her male protagonists.

I had a sweet moment with the Lord while reading True Colors. The heroine, Cassie, is thrown into a world of intrigue and finds herself totally confused, wondering who Michael really is and unable to trust he is the same man she fell in love with. I wanted to yell at her--"Come on. You know his heart. Can't you still see the man you trusted?"

As I was processing this, I felt the Lord whisper to me, "And what about you? Can you still see my heart despite the circumstances of life you don't like? Do YOU still know my true character? Do you still trust me?"

Many thanks to Erin for this enjoyable read, and for the spiritual encouragement I gleaned from it.

I also want to offer a public thank you to Erin for stepping up and serving HIS Writers, our local ACFW group as interim vice-president when I was unexpectedly promoted to president last summer. Erin, you are a gift--easy to work with, a prayer warrior, and a team player. Thanks for the time you put into serving us. We'll miss your smiling face at our board meetings. You filled an important hole and kept us afloat as we adjusted to the growing pains of our Colorado contingency.