Deb's Blog of Wit & Near-wisdom

Tribute to a Victorious Life

2012-02-13T10:35:00.000-05:00

Photo by Marian Crawford

My husband and I were stunned when the call came.

"You need to come now," my nephew said, his voice catching. "It doesn't look like she'll make it through the night."

He was referring to his mother, my dear sister-in-law, Suzi, who had seemed the very picture of vitality before she'd unexpectedly received a diagnosis of metastatic lung cancer two days after Christmas. It had already spread to her spine, ribs, and hips, and the doctors gave her only 6-12 months. Maybe more with treatment.

But it wasn't to be. The cancer progressed more quickly than they thought. The phone call that rocked our world came just six weeks later.

It's true that we're all just one phone call from our knees.

When we arrived at Suzi's home, hospice had set up a hospital bed in her family room beside the wall lined with dozens of black-and-white photos of her ancestors. But Suzi couldn't see them; her eyes remained closed most of the time, except for the few moments she cracked them open to respond to her daughter's voice, or when her beloved brother arrived. And then it was questionable how much she was really seeing, for her normally twinkling blue eyes were glazed and dull with impending death.

We, the family, took turns speaking to Suzi, and caressing her hands and sponging her forehead in attempt to soothe pain-induced writhing. An hour passed painstakingly slowly.

But then something truly amazing happened.

Suddenly, Suzi threw back her head and lifted wide, clear eyes toward the ceiling directly above her bed. It was so obvious that she was looking at something, we all gazed upward to see what had commanded her attention. Our mortal eyes could see nothing, but Suzi, already passing through the effervescent veil into eternity, seemed mesmerized.

In one accord, we recalled her husband's account of Suzi's midnight conversation with Jesus a few days earlier. In the darkest of nights, Suzi, her husband declared, had begun answering and asking questions to an unseen bedside visitor, whom she identified with complete confidence as Jesus. Suzi's normal conversational cadence and pauses for responses that her husband couldn't hear caused him to believe with all certainty that the presence of the Son of God was unquestionably in that room, and every bit as real as if she'd been talking to her best friend.

At that time, Suzi told her husband that Jesus had said it wasn't yet time for her to come, but that she needed to stay and fight a little while longer. And then, in the end, she would win the battle.

And victorious she was, as she drew her last breath and the people who had loved her most in this brief life ushered her into the next by joining hands around her bed, praying and singing hymns and praise songs through their tears.

"Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints," (Psalm 116:15, KJV).

As precious as Suzi was to those who knew and loved her, what immense comfort to know she's even more precious to her Creator and the Lover of her Soul who welcomed her home with opened arms.

Certainly makes one think. Life after life .. am I ready? Are you ready?

Reflections

2012-02-09T15:09:00.000-05:00

Be careful little eyes what you see,
Oh be careful little eyes what you see,
For the Father up above
Is looking down in love,
So be careful little eyes what you see.

There I was, driving along, singing at the top of my lungs to my wee grandson's kiddie CD when I suddenly smacked into the brick wall. No, not literally (thank you, Jesus), but it felt like it.

I wasn't expecting to be convicted by a children's song, for pity's sake. But there it was, the fiery arrow of true guilt zinging straight into my heart, hiding beneath the unassuming words of the last verse:

Be careful little mind what you think,
Oh be careful little mind what you think,
For the Father up above
Is looking down in love,
So be careful little mind what you think.

The Father up above is looking down in love, so be careful little mind what you think.

All at once it hit me. All those times (and lately it seems like a gazillion) when I've bitten back a harsh response to a co-worker, boss, crazy driver, clerk, family member or friend, and instead thought searing, critical, or sarcastic replies that I thought were private ... weren't. The Joan Rivers in my head seems always to be hot to go and never hesitates to skewer anyone who crosses me.

Silently, of course. I am, after all, an inspirational writer and speaker.

I thought I was doing the "Christian" thing by not blasting the victim with my verbal Uzi.
I thought I was being patient and even kind by putting them in their place mentally instead of physically.
I thought being a reflection of Jesus was surface stuff ... like the shimmering reflection of trees in a pond.
I thought turning away and rolling my eyes and biting my tongue was acceptable in God's sight because no actual relationship damage was done. No messes to clean up. No apologies to utter.
I thought that nobody hears what I don't say.
But I was wrong.

Somebody hears. Somebody important.

The Father up above is looking down in love, so be careful little mind what you think.

Gulp. My only consolation is that He is indeed looking down at me in love and promises to forgive all that faulty thinking. And maybe sharpen my reflection, too, so someone can actually tell Who the blurry image is supposed to be.

But that's not enough. The next step is to replace my stinkin' thinkin' with something else. Something strong enough and satisfying enough that I won't be tempted to reload my weapon and slip back into nastyland. Something like the apostle Paul had in mind in Philippians 4:8: "Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right."

So now I'm trying to come up with a Yield sign for my thoughts. A short, powerful slogan that will become my automatic default when my eyeballs start to roll and sarcastic inner responses beg to placate my desire for personal retribution.

Got any ideas? What helps you sharpen your reflection?

Praying the SAM Creed

2012-01-11T21:37:00.000-05:00

We're never really alone, even when it feels like it

In my last post, I mentioned that for the past few weeks, our family has received bad news about so many of our friends and relatives, it feels surreal.

And overwhelming.

The prayer list I keep in my rolling cathedral (car) is overflowing with urgent needs of those I care about. The thing is, I often don't know how to pray, especially if the person I'm praying for is terminally ill. Or if the situation seems, by human standards, hopeless.

Dare I pray for a miracle for each of these loved ones?

I found the answer in the third chapter of Daniel. It's the well known story of three Hebrew boys (four counting Daniel, but he's not a key player in this particular part of the story) who have been taken captive and are living in Babylon under King Nebuchadnezzar, their self-centered monarch whose only god was himself. I'm going to call him King N to give my weary typing fingers a break.

Following some bad advice from his yes-men advisers, vain King N built a giganto statue of His Royal Hiney and ordered everyone in the kingdom to fall down and pay homage to his royal self or die. These true-God-worshipping Hebrew slaves, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, refused. They flat refused to worship any other but the one and only God Almighty knowing the alternative was death in the bowels of King N's fiery furnace.

That was gutsy all right, but not as gutsy as what they did next.

In verses 17-18, our boys answered King N's snide question, "What god will be able to rescue you from my power?" with what I call the SAM creed (an acronym of their names):

"If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God whom we serve is able to save us. He will rescue us from your power, Your Majesty. But even if he doesn't, you can be sure that we will never serve your gods or worship the gold statue you have set up."

But even if He doesn't... five powerful words that contain a lifetime of pure trust.

In other words, the SAM fellows said, "We believe that the God we serve can do anything. He can save us from this disaster. But even if He chooses not to, we will still serve Him."

And you know the rest of the story ... God did indeed work an incredible walk-with-me-through-the-fire miracle and King N ended up declaring, "There is no other god who can rescue like this!" (verse 29)

So it occurred to me that maybe I should pray about the seemingly hopeless situations on my prayer list by the very same SAM creed: "Lord, I believe that you perform miracles now just like you did then. Please send a miracle to save my friend from this impending disaster. But even if you choose not to intervene, and my heart breaks with the suffering of this dearly beloved one, I will still serve you."

Is there someone in your life you need to lift up in prayer with the SAM creed? Tell me about it - I'd love to hear from you.

Starting the New Year Out Right

2012-01-01T12:29:00.001-05:00

Photo by Marian Crawford

I must admit when I awoke before dawn this morning, New Year's Day, my thoughts were a bit on the dreary side. I was bummed by recent family problems, pressing decisions, and the sudden death of a close friend a few days before Christmas.

Yes, I know, I know - compared to many people, these barely rate a .5 on the 1-10 problem scale, but my relatively minuscule ticky-tack problems combined to cast a blue hue over the upcoming new year.

After wading through depressing headlines and unfunny comics in the Sunday paper, I dressed and headed to church all alone because Spouse was under the weather.Wouldn't you know, the day I needed company most, there wasn't any.

Or maybe there was.

Just as I pulled out of my driveway and nosed the car around the first curve, I was immersed in light. Beautiful, sparkly, utterly amazing white light from the largest array of sunbeams I've ever seen. Maybe it was a unique combination of sheen and mist, maybe the angle of the sun was different than usual, I don't know, but it was more magnificent than the most elaborate light show Disney could possibly imagine.

Now before I continue, I must mention here that I am a connoisseur of sunbeams. A self-proclaimed expert, mind you. Since I was a little girl, I've taken special joy in early morning sunbeams - those long fingers of Papa God reaching down to earth through the mist to touch His creation with the first light of a brand new day.

Such promise! Such possibilities! Anything could happen.

Many, many mornings, I've taken my prayer walks precisely at the time I know the best sunbeams will make their appearance, usually around 8:10 am. For me, it's one of those heart-bonding times I have with my heavenly father when He cuts through the fog and the mist and clutter of my day to reach right in and caress my careworn heart.

Be still and know that I am God (Psalm 46:10, NKJ).

Knowing, simply knowing that He is large and in charge soothes my troubled spirit and brings me peace. Sometimes, I think, we just need a little reminder.

So today, without giving my personal pick-me-uppers a single thought, suddenly, I was surrounded by these soul-stirring reminders that I am not alone. That my Papa God is right here with me. And He will be though 2012 just like He was through 2011 and the 50+ years before that.

Then just to bring the point home, I drove past a man with a black garbage bag, shuffling along with his head down through the most incredible dazzling sunbeams anyone could ask for, totally oblivious to the light show all around him. He was actually bathed in light ... translucent, iridescent, brilliant light. But he missed it.

He missed the whole thing because was looking down, collecting trash.

"Look up! Look up!" I shouted out my window. But he only glared in my direction, shook his head at the crazy lady driving by, and dropped his gaze back to the ground. He never knew what he was missing.

Like a smack in the gut, I knew I was seeing myself. Yep, it was me all right, trudging along so many days with my eyes cast downward, collecting my own brand of garbage. Feeling alone and forgotten when all I had to do was look up and see that I'm surrounded by the most amazing light: the presence of my Lord, Savior, and Companion through all of time.

So my best New Year's gift came without a bow or a box. It came in a beam of light. And whether you see it in an incredible early-morning display of hope, or a candle in the darkness, or even during a rainstorm, I hope yours will too.

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-25T06:00:00.007-05:00

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.

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-24T06:00:00.003-05:00

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.

***

The Panhandler's Breath

By Robin Dance

He slipped in sideways between the closing elevator doors, as if he were late to a meeting; he pressed the "5" without looking. Instead of suit and tie, though, baggy pants and faded navy hung on his tall, slim frame...and his stealth entry stiffened the hairs on the back of my neck.

I had noticed him a few seconds earlier, just after we had parted a sea of clamorous teens. He was smiling, grandfatherly, standing maybe 30 feet away where the electric shuttle picks up.

I had no idea he had been watching us, studying us, predator patiently awaiting his next prey.

The four of us were sealed in a four- by six-foot metal tomb. Tomb--that thought really scampered across my mind. I wondered if he had a knife in his pocket. I wanted to protect my son. Fight or flight pumped adrenaline but there was no where to run.

Extreme and ridiculous, these thoughts - and more - flashed through my mind. The Stranger began speaking.

"Yessir, I see you're a family man with your wife and your son here..." and he nodded in my and my son’s direction.

"...you see I'm homeless and all I've got..." and on queue, he reached into his left pocket and pulled out two old pennies blackened with age. Two cents to his name?! It was all too contrived, too practiced, and I didn't believe a word he was saying.

It was then I smelled it ~ the small space lent itself to that ~ and I doubted my doubt.

His breath.

It wasn't the scent of alcohol. His eyes weren't red, his voice didn't waver; his wizened face matched his graying hair.

His breath was morning's, zoo breath, the pet name I'd given to the scent inhaled when kissing my children awake when they were little.

He needed to brush his teeth. I wondered how long it had been since he brushed his teeth.

The elevator door opened and I handed him my leftover pizza as my son and I brushed past him. My husband handed him a bill and the Stranger thanked and God blessed him.

The elevator door closed behind us. Conflicted, I was relieved.

We got in the car and blurted first reaction--

"I didn't believe a word he said."

"That made me nervous."

"I wonder if he'll really eat the pizza."

In the quiet, we were left to our own thoughts, contemplating the right thing to do. At the end of the day, this is what I decided: It doesn't matter whether or not his story is true; for an old man to resort to begging, he has to be desperate. The money my husband gave him will never be missed. It was a reminder we've been entrusted with much and given much. Materially, yes, but more so spiritually. Loved, chosen, forgiven, redeemed, graced, lavished--every spiritual blessing. E v e r y.

There's a part of me that wishes I would have been brave enough to ask the man his story, made sure he knew he was loved...and bought him a tooth brush.

Later, it occurred to me he could have been an angel. Doesn’t that mean generosity, kindness and hospitality is always the right response? Then it's not about you or the stranger or the circumstance, it's about a simple, God-glorifying response.

Had we entertained an angel unaware? We'll never know.

But it wouldn't be the first time the Breath of Heaven smelled like a zoo.

***

In a decades-old, scandalous affair with her husband, Robin also confesses mad crushes on her three teens. As Southern as sugar-shocked tea, she’s a recovering people pleaser who advocates talking to strangers. A memoirist, Compassion International Blogger, and Maker-upper of words, Robin writes for her own site, PENSIEVE, and also for (in)courage by DaySpring (a subsidiary of Hallmark) and Simple Mom. She loves to get to know readers through their blog comments and on Twitter and Pinterest. www.pensieve.me

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-23T06:00:00.006-05:00

***

Inside Out Christmas

by Debora M. Coty

My veterinarian friend, Dr. Katie, tells the story about the December when a woman brought a very sick black lab into her clinic. The dog was only ten months old, so she was really just a big puppy, but she’d been vomiting incessantly and her worried owner didn’t know what was wrong.

“Why don’t you go on home?” Dr. Katie told the owner. “I’ll need to run tests for about four hours. We’ll give you a call when we’re finished.”

Dr. Katie’s assistant took x-rays and hung them on the light panel for Dr. Katie to examine. Hmm. Something looked a little peculiar. Dr. Katie called her assistant over.

“Is it just me, or does that look like a … a camel to you?” she asked incredulously.

“Matter of fact, it does,” replied the astute assistant. “And look, there’s an angel here, a shepherd there, and down there in the colon, it’s Baby Jesus!”

At that moment the phone rang. It was the dog’s distraught owner. “I can’t believe this! I just got home and glanced at the coffee table where I put my manger scene yesterday. There’s nothing there but an empty stable!”

As I thought about this quite literal technique for internalizing the true meaning of Christmas, it occurred to me that sometimes I have the opposite problem. With all the bustling busyness, my inner joy in celebration of my savior’s birth never really makes it to the outside.

Oh, I have plenty of glittery, festive evidences of the holiday in decorations, baking galore, and gifts under my tree. But those things are for show. They’re merely the pretty wrappings, not the gift itself.

Can people really see the core-deep joy that radiates within me when I think of the true gift that Papa God sent the world in his son, Jesus? Is my immeasurable gratitude for eternal life evident as I dash through this hectic season?

I’m afraid all too often, the answer is no.

I’m just too preoccupied to allow my outside to reflect my inside so that nonbelievers recognize that I rejoice because of the hope that is within me. My joy is obscured by the mounds of clutter. Gratefulness is sucked out of my soul by the vacuum called urgency.

“But let the godly rejoice. Let them be glad in God’s presence. Let them be filled with joy” (Psalm 68:3, NLT).

This verse has become my prayer this Christmas season – that I would make the time to give priority to rejoicing, being glad in God’s presence, and letting my inner joy show for those who may be silently desperate to know the giver of true joy.

Yep, there’s a better way to internalize the gift of Christmas than the black lab technique. We can lodge the Little Lord Jesus in our hearts rather than our colons.

***

Debora M. Coty is a humorist, inspirational speaker, and award-winning author of twelve books, including Too Blessed to be Stressed, and coming in March, More Beauty, Less Beast: Transforming Your Inner Ogre. Debora would love to swap Christmas hugs with you at www.DeboraCoty.com.

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-22T06:00:00.005-05:00

***

Simple or Sparkle?

by Tracey Eyster

It’s a simple ornament made of thin cheap metal and it looks quite out of place on our CHRISTmas tree. But each year I lovingly and safely nestle it amongst its expensive and sparkly peers, without a care as to how unglamorous it appears.

Many of our CHRISTmas ornaments have a story and an uncanny way of welling up emotion in me, but this certain one causes an intense stir.

You see the ornament is engraved with the name of my grandmother, Sara, and was given to me by my mother, who ordered it from Hospice, after Grandmama’s death. Yes, the months leading up to her death carry memories of a frail and failing grandmama, but that ornament carries my thoughts to sweet CHRISTmas memories of the past.

CHRISTmas Eve dinners in her home, laughing, singing, gathering and celebrating a year filled with blessings as we remembered the birth of our Savior. CHRISTmas mornings, she was always there participating with glee, in our raucous CHRISTmas happiness. Her gifts were always bank envelopes gently tucked into the pine needles of our CHRISTmas tree, fresh cut from the property she grew up on.

All memories of my Grandmama make my heart swell. You see she was my Jesus with skin on. She lived her life full of joy, serving others and approached life selflessly with an attitude of, “What can I do for you?”

Just months before she left us, even as the Alzheimer’s was robbing her mind she shared her love of Jesus with a sweet little old lady friend, who came to know the Lord – a divine appointment. The very next day that little old lady silently slipped away to meet in person the One Sara introduced her to just the day before.

At the time I wept, realizing that regardless of our own frailties and failings, God can still use those of us who are willing to do His work and are well practiced at hearing His voice...no matter our lack of sparkle in comparison to others.

A simple life lived for Him, a simple ornament in memory of Sara...a simple truth for you to ponder.

***

Tracey Eyster wife, mom, relationship gatherer and Creator/Editor of FamilyLife’s MomLife Today is a media savvy mom making a difference where moms are, on-line. Through speaking, writing and video interviews Tracey is passionate about encouraging, equipping and advising moms on every facet of momlife. Her first book, Be The Mom will be released August 2012. You can connect with Tracey at www.momlifetoday.com, her personal site www.traceyster.com or www.twitter/momblog.com.

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-21T06:00:00.009-05:00

***

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.

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-20T06:00:00.009-05:00

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.

***

Family Traditions: A Glimpse into Christmas Future

by Tricia Goyer

Have you ever thought about family traditions? As I helped my 1-year-old place ornaments on the Christmas tree this year I imagined her doing the same thing with her children—and maybe even grandchildren—one day. Traditions are beliefs and customs handed down through generations. By sharing meaningful moments with your kids you're sending yourself into the future. How amazing is that?

Sharing family traditions cause us to slow down from the busy, adult world for a while. We ignore the laundry to set out the nativity set with our kids. We set aside time in our schedules to drive around and look at Christmas lights.

Holiday traditions aren't only fun, they also help strength family bonds. Through traditions kids trust in the security of family unit. They think, “This is our family and this is what I do.” Of course, the most important thing to share isn't just what we do ... but why. Why do we put out a nativity? To remind us the real meaning of the season—Jesus coming to earth. What do the Christmas lights represent displayed on homes and on trees? They represent the Light of the World, Jesus.

Using traditions to bond our families and share our faith isn't new. I love these two Scriptures that talk about that very thing.

Exodus 12:25 says, “When you enter the land that the LORD will give you as he promised, observe this ceremony.”

Psalm 78:4 says, “We will not hide them from their children; we will tell the next generation the praiseworthy deeds of the LORD, his power, and the wonders he has done.”

What are you're traditions? Here are a few of ours:

Baking a Birthday cake for Jesus

Buying a new ornament every year for each child

Acting out the Christmas story (with props!)

Praying together before opening presents

What are your traditions? Write a list and appreciate them in a new way this year. Then ask, “If I could add one new tradition this holiday season, what would it be?” I'd love to hear what you choose! It also makes me smile to think of your children's grandchildren doing the same.

***

Tricia Goyer is a CBA best-selling author and the winner of two American Christian Fiction Writers’ Book of the Year Awards (Night Song and Dawn of a Thousand Nights). She co-wrote 3:16 Teen Edition with Max Lucado and contributed to the Women of Faith Study Bible. Also a noted marriage and parenting writer, she lives with her husband and children in Arkansas. www.triciagoyer.com

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-19T06:00:00.008-05:00

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.

***

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

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-18T06:00:00.010-05:00

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.

***

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.

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-17T06:00:00.003-05:00

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

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-16T11:44:00.002-05:00

Welcome to the 12 Pearls of Christmas!

Enjoy these Christmas "Pearls of Wisdom" from some of today's most beloved writer's (Tricia Goyer, Babbie 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.

***

Where is Comfort and Joy Found?

By Sandy Ralya

The year 2006 ushered unwelcome emotions into my life. My husband was unhappy in his job, two of my grown children were making poor choices, my mother-in-law was showing signs of Alzheimer’s, extended-family issues were surfacing, and I was writing a book. Things only got worse. Much worse.

Early in 2007, I was asked to represent the mentoring ministry for wives I founded, Beautiful Womanhood, and lead a women’s conference in Uganda, Africa. My husband wasn’t sure if traveling to Africa was a good idea, so we committed it to prayer. While we were listening for an answer, I sensed God asking me to fast from spending, except for groceries, for thirty days. Sometimes you know that you’ve heard God’s voice because you’d never have come up with those words on your own. This was one of those times. I’d never heard of a fast from spending. Tom needed no convincing that a fast from spending came directly from the mouth of God. He still gets excited just thinking about it!

During the fast, it became clear I had used spending as a way to gain a comfort fix. When I was spending money, I felt carefree and lighthearted. Instead of dwelling on the unpleasantness in my life, I was thinking of my purchases and how they would bring me pleasure. Not until I stopped spending did I realize how short-lived the fix really was. During the fast, when I felt the urge to spend—to anesthetize my pain—I pictured myself running into the arms of Jesus, the Great Comforter. Oh, what comfort I received!

One night, I told good friends my experience of gaining comfort through the power of the Holy Spirit rather than money. I exclaimed that I had never felt so comforted. One friend then told us about a dream he’d had shortly after hearing about the invitation from Uganda. After the dream, he had awoken and recorded the following thoughts:

“. . . this is for Sandy. Christ’s redemption of women is beautiful. Beautiful Womanhood is a result of redemptive wholeness. The visuals the ministry uses on the books, etc., are like a piece of beautifully veneered furniture. There is something going on with the ministry to the brokenness of abused women. In Uganda, there are hurting, abused women, and something is connecting their need and Beautiful Womanhood. Though there is nothing wrong with veneer, it is only the topping—the covering, and without good structure it is shallow and will not hold up. It is time to add a new depth to the ministry.”

Then these verses came to my friend’s mind:

All praise to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. He is the source of every mercy and the God who comforts us. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When others are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. You can be sure that the more we suffer for Christ, the more God will shower us with his comfort through Christ. 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 NL

When my friend was finished sharing, everyone in the room broke down in tears, praising God for His work in my life. I’d learned to listen and God had spoken. I’d obeyed, and He’d acted. When He acted, I was changed.

Needless to say, I packed my bags and experienced some of the best days of my life in Uganda—offering God’s comfort to His troubled women.

***

Sandy and her husband Tom have been married since 1980 and live near Grand Rapids, Michigan. They have three adult children and a growing number of grandchildren. When not writing and speaking, Sandy enjoys shopping at yard sales for vintage clothing, cooking, travelling, and drinking really good coffee (black is best) with her husband. For more information, contact Sandy at sandy@beautifulwomanhood.com. Subscribe to Sandy’s blog at www.beautifulwomanhood.com/blog. Find Sandy on Facebook at Beautiful Womanhood. Follow Sandy on Twitter @MentoringWives.

12 Pearls of Christmas

2011-12-15T06:12:00.003-05:00

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.

Advent
By Sibella Giorello

Consider the bride's walk down the aisle. We all know where that woman in the white is going but somehow waiting for her to arrive at the altar is an essential part of the ceremony. In fact, the waiting is so essential that even cheapskate Vegas chapels include wedding marches.

Why?

Because the wait adds meaning to the moment.

At Christmas time, we tend to forget this essential truth about anticipation. We're lost to shopping malls and checklists, rushing toward December 25th so quickly that we forget the quiet joy of the month's other 24 days -- and then we wonder why we feel so empty on the 26th, amid ribbons and wrapping paper and our best intentions.

Because the wait adds meaning to the moment.

And that is why Advent is so important to Christmas.

I'm as guilty as the next harried person. This Advent was particularly tricky because just six hours before it started, I was still trying to finish a 110,000-word novel that was written over the course of the year -- written while homeschooling my kids, keeping my hubby happy, and generally making sure the house didn't fall down around us.

It's an understatement to say my free time is limited. But waiting adds meaning, and Advent is crucial to Christmas, so I've devised several Advent traditions that are simple, powerful and easy to keep even amid the seasonal rush.

When my kids outgrew the simple Advent calendars around age 7, I stole an idea from my writer friend Shelly Ngo (as T.S. Eliot said, "Mediocre writers borrow. Great writers steal." Indulge me.)

Here's how it goes: Find 24 great Christmas books, wrap them individually and place then under the tree. On the first day of Advent, take turns picking which book to open. When we did this, we would cuddle under a blanket and read aloud -- oh, the wonder, the magic! We savored "The Polar Express," howled with "How Murray Saved Christmas," and fell silent at the end of "The Tale of The Three Trees" (note: some of the picture books I chose were not explicitly about Christmas but they always echoed the message that Jesus came to earth to save us from ourselves and to love us beyond our wildest imagination. In that category, Angela Hunt's retelling of The Three Trees definitely hits the Yuletide bull's eye).

This Advent tradition lasted for about five years. It gave us rich daily discussions about the season's real meaning, without being religious or legalistic, and it increased family couch time. But like the lift-the-flap calendars, my kids outgrew the picture books.

Because the wait adds meaning, and Advent is crucial, I prayed for another way to celebrate anticipation of Christmas. By the grace of God, last year I found an enormous Advent calendar on clearance at Pottery Barn. Made of burlap, it has large pockets big enough to hold some serious bounty.

But my husband and I didn't want the kids focusing only on the materialist stuff for Advent -- we already fight that on Christmas day. We decided to fill the daily pockets with simple necessities and small gift cards. We also printed out the nativity story from Luke 2:1-21 in a large-sized font and cut each verse out. From Day 1 to Day 21, there is one verse to read aloud. The kids memorize it, then get to open their present (again, on alternating days for each person). Then we tape the verse to the wall in order. By Day 22, all the verses are on the wall, in order, and the kids now try to recite the entire nativity story from memory. That's not as difficult as it sounds because they've been memorizing one verse each day. Still, the entire recitation -- verbatim -- usually requires Day 23 and Day 24. Whoever does memorize the entire thing -- without mistakes -- earns a bonus gift of $25.

Does that sounds extravagant?

It is.

Because we want our kids to understand that God came down and humbled himself and taught us about love right before He suffered and died on behalf of the undeserving -- which is every one of us.

"That's" extravagant.

And in the waiting, we find even more meaning.

***

Sibella Giorello writes the Raleigh Harmon mystery series which won the Christy Award with its first book "The Stones Cry Out." She lives in Washington state with her husband and children, and often wishes there were 36 hours in a day.

12 Pearls for Christmas

2011-12-14T06:05:00.001-05:00

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.

***

A Christmas of Kindness

By Suzanne Woods Fisher

"You can give without loving, but you can¹t love without giving." Amish proverb

I do it every year.

I plan for a simpler, less stressful Christmas season and, every year, by Christmas Eve I'm exhausted! After our delicious and very-time-consuming-to-make traditional Swedish meal to honor my husband¹s relatives (think: Vikings), it's time to head to church. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but the last few Christmas Eve's, I have sent my husband and kids head off without me. The pull to spend an hour of quiet in the house feels as strong as a magnet.

It's odd. My children are young adults now. Wouldn't you think that Christmas would be simpler? Instead, it's just the opposite. Jugging schedules to share the grandbaby with the in-laws, trying to include our elderly parents at the best time of day for them, dancing carefully around recently divorced family members whose children are impacted by the shards of broken relationships.

The thing is: you can simplify your to-do list, but you can't really simplify people. We are just a complicated bunch.

Here's where I borrow a lesson about simplicity from the Amish. It's easy to get distracted with the buggies and the bonnets and the beards, but there's so much more to learn from these gentle people if you're willing to look a little deeper.

Yes, they live with less "stuff" and that does make for a simpler, less cluttered life. But it's the reason behind it that is so compelling to me: they seek to create margin in their life. Not just empty spacebut space that is available to nourish family, community, and faith. Their Christmas is far less elaborate than yours or mine, but what they do fill it with is oh so right.

Christmas comes quietly on an Amish farmhouse. There is no outward sign of the holiday as we know it: no bright decorations, no big tree in the living room corner. A few modest gifts are waiting for children at their breakfast place settings, covered by a dishtowel. Waiting first for Dad to read the story of Christ's birth from the book of Luke. Waiting until after a special breakfast has been enjoyed. Waiting until Mom and Dad give the signal that the time has come for gifts.

Later, if Christmas doesn't fall on a Sunday, extended family and friends will gather for another big meal. If time and weather permits, the late afternoon will be filled with ice skating or sledding. And more food! Always, always an abundance of good food. Faith, family, and community. That is the focus of an Amish Christmas.

And it's also how the story begins for A Lancaster County Christmas, as a young family prepares for Christmas. A winter storm blows a non-Amish couple, Jaime and C.J. Fitzpatrick, off-course and into the Riehl farmhouse. An unlikely and tentative friendship develops, until the one thing Mattie and Sol hold most dear disappears and then. Ah, but you¹ll just have to read the story to find out what happens next. Without giving anything away, I will say that I want to create a Mattie-inspired margin this Christmas season. Mattie knew inconveniences and interruptions that come in the form of people (big ones and little ones!) are ordained by God. And blessed by God.

Creating margin probably means that I won't get Christmas cards out until the end of January, and my house won't be uber-decorated. After all, something has to give. But it will mean I make time for a leisurely visit with my dad at his Alzheimer's facility. And time to volunteer in the church nursery for a holiday-crowded event. And time to invite a new neighbor over for coffee. Hopefully, it will mean that my energy won't get diverted by a frantic, self-imposed agenda. Only by God's agendathe essence of true simplicity.

And that includes taking time to worship Christ's coming at the Christmas Eve service. You can hold me accountable! This year, I will be there.

***

Suzanne Woods Fisher is the bestselling author of The Choice, The Waiting, The Search, and The Keeper, as well as nonfiction books about the Amish, including Amish Peace. Her interest in the Anabaptist cultures can be directly traced to her grandfather, W. D. Benedict, who was raised in the Old Order German Baptist Brethren Church in Franklin County, Pennsylvania. Suzanne is a Christy Award nominee and is the host of an internet radio show called Amish Wisdom and her work has appeared in many magazines. She lives in California. www.suzannewoodsfisher.com.

Guest Bloggers

2011-12-13T18:04:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the 3rd Annual Pearl Girls™ 12 Pearls of Christmas blogging series!

We've gathered several of today's most beloved authors to share their Christmas "Pearls of Wisdom"! Please follow along beginning tomorrow (Wednesday the 14th) through Christmas day as Tricia Goyer, Suzanne Woods Fisher, Rachel Hauck, Sandy Ralya, Sibella Giorello, Susan May Warren and more, share their heartfelt stories of how God has touched their life during this most wonderful time of the year.

If you'd like to share the 12 Pearls of Christmas with your blog readers too, just email Christen and she'll send you the series.

AND of course there is a giveaway! Beginning tomorrow you and all your friends can enter to win a PEARL NECKLACE and EARRINGS valued at $450! The winner will be announced on New Year's Day! Pearls - a tangible reminder of God's grace to us all.

***

Just a quick note before the series begins on the 14th ...

As I write this, I imagine that we are sitting at my kitchen table and chatting over a cup of coffee while familiar Christmas carols celebrate the Season. My twelve year old Chihuahua, Pongo, barks for a pinch of pound cake while my Shih Tzu, Lilly, patiently sits by the chair and waits for a crumb to fall.

My name is not Martha Stewart, and I will never receive a neighborhood beautification award. Just look at my front stoop. Yes, my never-had-time-to-carve-the-pumpkin-that-now-suffers-from-frostbite slouches next to the front door which is decorated with a Christmas wreath. I plan to roll this large orange ornament to the garbage pile tomorrow. For now, however, I will pretend that my front stoop is a contemplative modern art exhibit capturing the essence of contrast.

Actually, I love the concept of juxtaposition – placing things together that don’t seem to belong together, yet somehow ultimately make sense being paired. A personal example for me this season is the phrase: “comfort and joy.” Having just completed my manuscript for New Hope Publishers about the aftermath of grief, I fully understand the contrast of those two words. How can comfort bring joy? How can one find joy in loss?

Perhaps, dear reader, you have experienced loss this year – loss of a loved one, loss of friendship, loss of health, loss of financial security, loss of trust, loss of love, or loss of direction. Even with the best intent, words of encouragement shared by others can somehow seem insufficient to address an inconsolable loss. A spoken word cannot fully restore joy to a broken heart; however the Word can. And that’s the bottom line message of Christmas! God gave us the most amazing gift: His Son - the Word of God, the Holy Comforter.

“For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but shall have everlasting life.” (John 3:16).

You are not alone this Christmas, dear friend. Juxtaposed to the unexpected grit in life is the gift of God’s grace wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. This year I purposely placed a pearl in the Nativity scene as a metaphoric reminder. When we place our grit into the hands of the Lord, His grace transforms our pain into a pearl.

“Joy to the world!”

Thank you so very much for sharing the JOY of the Season with us this year.

God Bless,

Margaret

@mcsweeny

***

Margaret McSweeney lives with her husband, David and two teenage daughters in the Chicago suburbs. She is the founder and director of Pearl Girls. For more information please visit www.pearlgirls.info. Margaret is fast at work on several fiction manuscripts. Her book Pearl Girls: Encountering Grit, Experiencing Grace was written to help fund the Pearl Girl Charities. She is also the host of weekly radio show, Kitchen Chat. Connect with Margaret on Facebook or Twitter.

Thanksgiving, the Sequel

2011-11-29T21:39:00.000-05:00


Coty family circa 1974

Thanksgiving has just passed on my calendar, but not yet in my heart. And I'm glad.

This year, more than other years, I was acutely aware of the passing of time. I came across this old photo of my husband's family that was taken around the time I entered the picture as a fresh-faced college freshman, giddy with girlish dreams, ambitions, and of course, falling in love with this hunky guy (second from right) and the family that came with him.

In those days, I didn't realize that it wouldn't go on forever - the holidays shared, laughs remembered, and little idiosyncrasies known and appreciated only by members of a family. A truly special, exclusive little club that we may not fully appreciate until the club is disbanded.

But now I know. Kids grow up and move away. Parents grow older and then are gone.

I smile at this photo of my beloved parents-in-law even as I mourn that they no longer grace our Thanksgiving table in body. Only in spirit. I'm thankful once again for the limitless love they showered on us while they could.And I renew my prayer that I can do the same for my children and grandchildren during the years - the marvelous blessing of time - that I'm given with them.

Leaving and Cleaving.

2011-10-17T08:50:00.002-04:00

Wedding bells chimed in the Coty household this weekend. My only son, Matthew, hitched his star to that of the lovely Rebecca, the new Mrs. Coty (I'll have to get used to this - I've been the only Mrs. Coty since my mother-in-law passed away years ago).

It was both easier and harder than I thought it would be.

Easier in that Rebecca is immensely efficient and took care of all the details without burdening me in any way.

I love that about her - she's so thoughtful and knows this has been a very busy time for me with a recent book release. It really was quite simple ... I pretty much just showed up and enjoyed. A vast difference from the exhaustion of planning and carrying out and cleaning up after my daughter's wedding a few years ago.

But it was harder than I thought it would be to watch my little buddy (regardless of the fact that he's now a head taller than me) award his heart to another woman. I thought I'd worked through all that. After all, he's twenty-nine years old and has been living away from home a decade. He's had girlfriends, most for years at a time. Girls I learned to share his heart with. For a time.

But this one's for all time.

As I watched him kneeling, tuxedoed and handsome, at the unity candle altar, I suddenly flashed back to Captain Buttertub, our nickname for 3-year-old Matthew who loved to run around the backyard in his Spiderman underpants, an old buttertub from the sandbox jammed upon his little blond head as he fought valiantly with his stick-sword to protect his mama from invisible villains.

And now he's vowing to protect someone else from the world's invisible villains.

I know our motherly job is to raise our children to this end, that they will fulfill the biblical mandate to leave their childhood homes and create a new home, cleaving to their wife in adulthood as they did their mothers in infancy. I know. I know. But still it aches somewhere in a hollow place deep inside.

It was a happy/sad moment that only mamas can fully comprehend.

Sniff.

Seeking Adventure

2011-09-27T10:32:00.000-04:00

Deb entering the London tube

My husband Chuck and I had a jolly good time on our UK excursion earlier this month. It was an overdue anniversary trip (we intended to go for our 25th anniversary and it's now our 33rd!) and a time of seeking adventure and fun as a couple after a long stretch of real life.

That's important for a marriage, don't you think? Seeking adventure, I mean.

Nothing lights a spark like breaking away from the grind and focusing on each other in a strange land (England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland) with strange food (haggis??) and strange customs (baked beans for breakfast).

Our first day was an adventure in itself. After checking in to our London hotel at 10 am Sunday, we grabbed a few hours of jet-lag induced sleep and set out in the late afternoon to catch the evening service conducted by Chuck's rector friend in Christ Church, located in Virginia Water, which we thought was a suburb of London.

Nay, not so, ye weary traveler.

Virginia Water turned out to a quaint little town not terribly close to London, accessible by way of an underground train (also called the tube), overground train, and brisk half-hour walk from the final station.

We, of course, were typical clueless American tourists, wandering around the bustling stations trying to figure out how on earth to get where we were going, asking a dozen total strangers what to do, leaving our tickets in the ticket machine after depositing our pounds ($), and trying to figure out the value of change when the size of the coin has absolutely no bearing on its worth. (Come to think of it, American nickles are bigger than dimes too.)

But it was all worth it. Chuck and I re-bonded. We laughed together, fretted together, got lost together, and snapped photos of each other looking perplexed but excited in places we'd never been and might never be again.

Along the way, we met some very nice natives, basked in the rare British sunshine streaming through the train window, discovered chocolate with hazel nuts, and lifted our voices in a 200-year old church filled with hymns sung in lovely English accents worshiping the Almighty God who created us all.

That's adventure, my friend.

We Have a Winner!

2011-08-31T11:06:00.000-04:00

SOMEBODY TRIP THAT RABBIT!

Congrats to Randy Chitty for his winning caption for the week 4 photo caption contest (see right).

Randy's name will be entered into a drawing with the other weekly winners to win a free autographed copy of Too Blessed to be Stressed and a week's supply of his favorite Starbucks chill-out beverage.

We're going to take a break from the contest for a few weeks and resume in late September, with more of Marian Crawford's terrific nature photos and a chance to win some cool prizes.

In the meantime, I want to thank our photo caption judges for pitching in their time and talents: Jim, Chuck, Andie, & Cricket. You do a wonderful job sorting through the entries and choosing a winner that most embodies the spirit of Too Blessed to be Stressed.

And I must share my unbelievable news: Too Blessed to be Stressed just hit #3 on the Amazon Bestsellers List in the women/spirituality category! Yay God!

An utterly dedicated fan

Be sure to check out the newest 2-Minute Stress Busters at www.DeboraCoty.com (just click on Stress Busters). We're adding new ones almost every week!

Get out of your shell and put words in my mouth!

2011-08-22T08:15:00.002-04:00

Photo by Marian Crawford, www.mariancrawfordgallery.com

Congrats to Nicole Henke, winner of week 3's photo caption contest. See Nicole's winning entry attached to last week's picture (below).

This stressed out shell guy is the week 4 photo - it's a doozy! I can't wait to see the decom-stress captions you send in (send to deboracoty@gmail.com).

All the weekly winners will be entered in a drawing for a signed copy of Too Blessed to be Stressed and a week's supply of your fave Starbucks chill-out beverage.

You're invited to join me this week on Thurs, 8/25/11, at my Facebook Launch Party for Too Blessed to be Stressed. At 8 pm EDT (7 CDT, 6 MDT, 5 PDT), just click on this link

https://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=100796683354892


"Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path" (Psalm 119:105)

and follow the simple directions there to join the fun. Bring along some friends and enjoy chic chat, trivia questions, swap funny stories, share some decom-stress tips, and win lots of great stuff like a Kindle, free books, chocolate and more!

It's like going to a pajama party but you don't even have to leave home!

And don't forget to check out my newest 2-Minute Stress Busters by going to www.deboracoty.com and clicking on "Stress Busters."

I'd love to hear from you!

Are you a bird or a fish?

2011-08-15T10:24:00.000-04:00

Photo by Marian Crawford, www.mariancrawfordgallery.com

Congrats to Sonja Gissy, winner of the Week 2 photo caption contest; see her winning caption beneath the photo below right.

At left is the new photo for week 3, an amazingly beautiful scene by nature photographer Marian Crawford. Takes my stress level down a notch just by gazing at it!

But before I remind you of the contest guidelines, I want to share an interesting observation about last week's photo and entries.

Okay, stop reading for a moment and glance down at the heron and fish photo below. Now, with whom did you first identify - the bird or the fish? The conqueror or the conquered? The one whose needs were met or the one who apparently needs a miracle to survive?

It didn't occur to me until Spouse pointed out that almost exactly half of the caption entries were from the bird's point of view and half from the fish's.

Hmm. I wonder if our carefully camouflaged underlying perspective of life is inadvertently unearthed when we view a subjective scene such as this. Beneath all the political correctness and say-what-I-shouldness, do we really believe the glass is half empty or half the calories?

Could those half-and-half responses somehow mean we unintentionally impose our victorious versus fighting-a-losing-battle perspectives of our own lives onto that in which we come in contact? Or does it mean nothing at all? Is our identification with the bird or the fish totally random?

When fate has you by the neck, don't forget to look up!

I'd love to hear what do you think. Are you a bird or a fish? How is your life colored by your underlying perspective? And how did it get that way?

In the meantime, while you contemplate the meaning of life (or maybe simply that herons have to eat for heaven's sake!), I'll remind you to send in your captions for week 3 to me at deboracoty@gmail.com. Each week's winner will be entered in a drawing for some swell prizes (scroll down to last week's post to find out more).

Thank you SO much for entering - it's been a pure pleasure seeing your great ideas!

(P.S. The 5 judges had a tough time choosing a winner but Sonja's entry finally eeked it out. Congrats!)

Let's Decom-press Photo Caption Contest - week 2

2011-08-08T13:54:00.003-04:00

Photo by Marian Crawford www.MarianCrawfordgallery.com

Congrats to Sandi Dorey, winner of Week #1 photo caption contest. Sandi's winning caption has been added to last week's photo at the bottom left of this page.

Here's this week's photo at the right - have fun!

Just send your entry loosely based on the theme Too Blessed to be Stressed (the title of my new book) to deboracoty@gmail.com and tune in right here next week, same blog time, same blog channel, to see if your entry wowed our five judges. (Relax - none of them is named Simon!) Enter as many time as you like!

Your caption can be funny, poignant, captivating, silly ... whatever helps you decom-stress.

The previous week's winner will be announced each Monday when a new picture is posted. It could be you!

All 9 winners will be entered into a drawing for an autographed copy of Too Blessed to be Stressed, plus a week's supply of your favorite Starbucks chill-out beverage (mine is chai latte). PLUS, everyone who sends in a caption (whether you win or not) will be entered into a drawing for a great surprise gift package.

Speaking of great prizes ...

Don't stress over your tress!

Don't forget to register in my FREE KINDLE GIVE-AWAY sweepstakes; the winner will be announced at my FaceBook Launch Party for Too Blessed to be Stressed on August 25 at 8 pm Eastern. Simply click here to register: http://litfusegroup.com/blogtours/text/13418047

To learn more about Too Blessed to be Stressed or my other books, hop right on over to my website, www.DeboraCoty.com and be sure to sign up for my quarterly e-newsletter to keep abreast of all the great contests and give-aways. And while you're there, click on "Stress Busters" and check out my newest 2-Minute Stress Buster videos (we're adding new ones all the time!) and my hilarious blooper.

Celebrating the Release of My Latest book "Too Stressed to be Blessed"

2011-08-08T01:10:00.005-04:00

To celebrate the release of her latest laugh-out-loud book, Too Blessed to Be Stressed, Debora Coty is hosting the Too Blessed to Be Stressed KINDLE Giveaway!

Too Blessed to be Stressed is a fun-filled read overflowing with insights and practical tips. Perfectly delicious for living happily ever after!
-Rhonda Rhea, best-selling author of Whatsoever Things Are Lovely

Read what the reviewers are saying here.

Debora has created a “Too Blessed” prize package worth over $150! One grand prize winner will receive:

* A brand new Latest Generation KINDLE with Wi-Fi and Pearl Screen

* Too Blessed to Be Stressed by Debora Coty (for KINDLE)

To enter just click one of the icons below. Hurry! The giveaway ends August 25th. Winner will be announced on the evening of the 18th during Debora's De-Stress Facebook Party! Debora will be hosting a "life-preserver" chat (it’s okay if you haven’t read the book – who knows, you might WIN a copy!), testing trivia skills, swapping funny stories, handing out some decom-stress tips, and giving away tons of great stuff! (Chocolate, books, and more!) Hope to see you there. Bring your friends and join the fun on August 25th at 5:00 PM PST (6 PM MDT, 7 PM CDT, & 8 PM EDT).

Also - be sure to check out Debora's series of Stress-Buster videos at her website: www.debcoty.com. She’s also hosting a photo caption contest on her blog for a chance to win a copy of Too Blessed to Be Stressed.

Let's Decom-stress photo caption contest begins today!

2011-07-31T20:54:00.005-04:00

Photo by nature photographer Marian Crawford,
www.MarianCrawfordgallery.com

Here it is! The first photo for our
Let's Decom-stress photo caption contest!

I'll be posting a different awesome photo from nature photographer Marian Crawford each Monday throughout August and Sept. All you have to do is send in your one-line caption, loosely based on the theme, "Too Blessed to be Stressed," the title of my new book.

(To learn more about my books, check out my FaceBook author page or hop on over to my website, www.DeboraCoty.com ).

Your caption can be funny, poignant, silly .. whatever helps you decom-stress. Just send your entries to DeboraCoty@gmail.com (those who have already submitted entries to this blog, please resubmit to DeboraCoty@gmail.com - thanks!).

The previous week's winner will be announced each Monday when a new picture is posted. It could be you!

All 9 winners will be entered into a drawing for an autographed copy of Too Blessed to be Stressed, plus a week's supply of your favorite Starbucks chill-out beverage (mine is chai latte).

So dear friends, without further ado, slap on your thinking caps and send in your ideas! You can enter as many times as you like.

Celebrating Wannabes

2011-07-27T08:47:00.000-04:00

Shortly after I watched a dolphin arc through the air above the blue, blue waters off the shore of Daytona around 7:00 this morning, my attention was captured by the simple elegance and innate majesty of a V of nine brown pelicans. They didn't even know the alphabet, yet they adjusted their ranks to maintain that perfect letter from one end of the skyline to the other.

Wow. Warm and fuzzy inspiration from Papa God's magnificent creation spread from my broken right big toenail to my humidity-frizzied hair tips.

Then came the wannabe platoon. Just behind that gloriously regimented squadron flew five additional pelicans who were trying their durndest to emulate their role models. Four actually did pretty well, forming a perfectly straight line, tipping a wing here, snagging an up-current there to tweak their position and maintain a nice tight line.

Enter Herbie. I couldn't help but remember that poor little discombobulated elf from the animated TV Christmas show, "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer." You know, the one who never quite fit in at Santa's workshop and ran away to find himself.

Well, try as he might, this avian Herbie could not toe the line. He just didn't fly like his biddy buddies. Maybe they were relatives or eggmates and their mothers made them, but the other birds in the group actually spread apart to make room for him in the middle of their rank and file. Sadly, Herbie dipped and weaved and flapped when he should have glided and nearly body-slammed the bird beside him.

It made me laugh. But I doubt Herbie thought it was funny.

When the others finally gave up on him and closed the gap to box him out, Herbie still didn't give up. Despite their obvious snub, he tagged himself onto the end of the line, bobbing and fluttering like a spastic dot at the bottom of an exclamation mark.

Then they landed gracefully in the water to enjoy some fishy breakfast and Herbie plopped down about six feet away, still trying to be part of the group, though it was quite evident he was an outcast.

Boy could I identify with Herbie. Can't you? I think we all feel like we don't belong at some point in our lives. That we're different. That we're misfits. Maybe we're not overtly rejected by our peers, but we know deep down that we're the disgruntled dentist wannabe among happy elves.

I feel like that in my writing life sometimes. Like I'm the wobbling dot beneath the exclamation mark of successful authors and speakers with whom I'm trying to fit in. It may look like I belong, but deep down I know better. I'm just a wannabe.

But you know what? I don't think that's really such a bad thing. Being a Herbie keeps us striving to improve ourselves, to never stay complacent. To reject rejection. To keep practicing our dipping and weaving so that we can fly in formation when we want to, and not be ashamed to be the maverick when we don't.

So here's to all the Herbies of the world! Are you one of us?

How do you get here from there?

2011-07-21T21:06:00.004-04:00

With the August 1 release date of my new nonfiction, faith-based self-help book Too Blessed to be Stressed peeking around the corner, I've found myself contemplating how on God's green earth I got here. Not here as in this city, state or country. Here as in this chocolate-stained computer chair.

Ten years ago I was immersed in my tidy little life as a health care professional, mother, wife and tennis addict. I hadn't written anything deeper than Christmas letters for over 20 years.

And then one day in 2002, in a dentist's office of all places, I heard that still, small voice whisper into my heart's ear, "It's time, Deb."

"Um, what time would that be, Lord?"

"Time to follow your childhood dream of writing for my glory."

So the adventure began. And I've never looked back. Not through enough rejection slips to sculpt a life-sized paper mache rhinoceros in my living room. Not through waiting, waiting, and more waiting in publication purgatory. Not through $1.57 royalty checks (I ain't funnin' ya). Not during endless phone calls begging for speaking gigs. Not even through the fall of the book industry empire.

A seriously scary time, that.

I'll admit the journey to publication wasn't easy. I started out as a cyber-ninnyhead. I knew nothing about websites, widgets and WordServe. But I learned. Slowly and sometimes painfully. Now I not only have a humdinger website, I also write two blogs (check out my other writer's blog), tweet (does that make me a twit?) and even have FaceBook launch parties planned for my next two books.

Who'd a thunk a chick from the sticks would co-found an annual writer's retreat or lead workshops at writer's conferences? Or receive endorsements from literary heroes like Martha Bolton and Patsy Clairmont? (Hey, take it from me, you've gotta get over your paralyzing fear and ask; the big cheeses had to start out as utter butter just like us, and many are gracious enough to offer newbies a helping hand ... if you only ask.)

Well, all of this is impossible, of course. That's why Ephesians 3:20 assures us that Papa God is "able to do exceeding abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us." His specialty is the impossible.

Looking back, I was blessed to be naive enough not to realize how many writerly accomplishments were considered impossible. So they weren't. But I did learn a lot along the way.

I learned the hard way that I can't do it all myself. That a good agent is better than a double mocha latte on a frigid night. That contracts are always negotiable. And money is not as important as readers.

But best of all, I've found that the most blessed, most magnificent, most incredible moment in a writer's life is when someone you don't even know shares how your words touched their heart. Maybe even changed their life.

It's then that you break down in complete humility, awestruck that Papa God used you as His instrument. The pen in His hand.

That's what it's all about, isn't it?

So here I sit, smearing more Godiva into my computer chair, thanking Him for the fantastic opportunity to sweat, fret, learn, and never stop growing as a writer. Care to join me?

Spielberg I Ain't.

2011-07-06T07:05:00.002-04:00

Cut! The annoyed directer shouts. Again.

Okay, this is getting old. Like rancid fish.

Spouse and I are trying our hand at shooting a series of twelve short videos called, "2-Minute Stress Busters," to coincide with the August release of my new book, Too Blessed to Be Stressed.

But we're finding out we're definitely not. Too blessed to be stressed, I mean.

Today's film topic is, "Friends are our best de-stessors." Ironically prophetic.

We've chosen 10 o'clock in the morning to begin shooting, assuming that most folks will be already gone to work and we'll have lots of peace and quiet in which to work. Spouse is behind the camera on a tripod in our driveway, director, cameraman and dolly grip (I don't know what that means but I always see it movie credits and love the way it sounds. Who wouldn't want to be a dolly grip?) Our makeshift "set" is perched at the top of a usually quiet, gently rolling cul-de-sac of five homes nestled beneath a canopy of oak trees. Birds are chirping, bees are buzzing, cicadas are humming. What could go wrong, right?

The first of three brief scenes has my girlfriend, Pam, and I rounding the corner together in a jovial power walk which proceeds across the length of the cul-de-sac and ends at the base of our driveway. We assume our starting positions down the street and Spouse the director gives us the hand signal. The camera is rolling.

Only neighbor #1 chooses this precise moment to drag his trashcans to the curb. Cut!

Take two. As we pass by his house, Neighbor #2 backs his tactical military training vehicle (looks like Rambo in a Hummer) out of his driveway and revs the engine. Cut!

Take three. We make it to the driveway this time and I totter up the slope to my mark in front of the camera and open my mouth to speak. Suddenly backyard Neighbor #3 cranks up his lawn mower.Cut!

We retreat inside the house to kill time until Mr. Green Thumb mows his way around to his front yard. The background noise fades to the level of a jet exhaust. The clock ticks. We can't wait any longer. I'll just have to speak above the din.

We've just resumed filming when Neighbor #4 to our left flings open her front door and lets her yippy dog out. Spouse makes the "keep going" hand motion behind the camera so I distractedly keep fumbling my way through the script until little Fido decides to come on over to our yard and lift his leg on the spider plant just behind me. Cut!

Fido's owner, who has never been a hint-taker, wanders over in her jammies to see what we're doing. She won't leave. I'm ready to lose it. Spouse catches my eye. He senses the volcano about to erupt and gives me the look. You know that look. The one that all married people recognize. The one that silently says, "I know what you're about to do; don't do it."

I know he's right and it makes me madder. Here we are filming a chapter I wrote about loving your neighbor and I'm about to blast mine for no reason except she's lonely and wants to chat at an inopportune time. Okay, doctor Debbie, take your own medicine. I force a smile, wipe the sweat off my forehead, and try to ignore Fido digging up my impatiens.

More poetic irony. He's also uprooting my impatience. But maybe that's the point. Maybe Papa God is trying to show me something here.

What good is knowing something, even writing about it, or worse yet, filming it, if we don't live it?

I suspect that's what He's talking about in my meditation verse from yesterday, "Whatever you do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord." (Col. 3:17).

Humph. I could've meditated on that verse until next spring and never quite gotten the message like this. Whatever I do - even the unexpected like dealing with irritating neighbors, things that don't go the way I think they should, blown schedules, and peeing Fidos - should be in the name of the Lord. Not just the easy stuff, the hard stuff. Especially the hard stuff.

After only a half-dozen more interruptions we finally finish shooting and the director calls a wrap. So when you see Stress Buster Number 7 (Nurturing Friendships) when it airs in August,* you'll hear the lawn mower, notice the trashcans, and be the only one who knows the behind-the-scenes story.

And know positively that our blessings can outweigh our stressings.

*Keep abreast of each new 2-Minute Stress Buster on my website (www.DeboraCoty.com; click on "Stress Busters") as they're posted bi-weekly from July - September. Or for the easy route, just following this blog or like/befriend me on Twitter or FaceBook (you can find links for these on my website also).

Genesis vs Nemesis

2011-06-27T19:05:00.001-04:00

Ever find yourself searching the skies for an IM from heaven? Maybe a brief personal note from the Master of the Universe scribbled in the orange corner of the sunset sky?

I've been thinking a lot lately about discerning God's will.

Like ... how do we do it? How do we know which decision is the right one when there are so many that assault us daily? How can we be sure we're on the path He prepared for us, especially when we encounter roadblocks and potholes? Are they there to detour us or for us to climb over?

In my recent study of Genesis, I noticed that Abraham faced some of the same challenges I do in trying to discern and follow God's will. But he seemed to have a better handle on it than I do.

The first amazing thing is that when God said go, Abe went (Gen 12:1). He picked up his family, tents and belongings that had been his home for his entire life and without argument or what we would call human reasoning, just up and took off. Where, he didn't even know at first. He just marched on in the direction that God's supernatural finger pointed until He said "Stop!" (Gen 15:7)

Once he finally arrived where he didn't know he was headed, God gave an entire country (Canaan) to Abraham at age 75 (Abe's age, not God's), but he still had to work for it. It didn't come gift wrapped with a big red bow. It wasn't a huge empty plot of beautiful, endless pastureland and bubbling streams just waiting on him to move in. There were people living there - big people with big swords and big egos who didn't want to leave.

Abraham not only had to conquer all his enemies, but he had to plant crops and dig well to sustain his flocks. Work, work and more work.

And there were problems. Major problems.

Shortly after he arrived in this promised land, a famine struck, forcing Abe to leave his barely-broken-in-homestead and flee to the country next door (Egypt) just to be able to keep his family alive. Then after he got kicked out of Egypt, he became a nomad in the desert until finally, many years later, he was able to return to once again stake his claim in the land that God gave him.

I don't know about you, but if I was Abe, after all that trouble, I might have wondered if I'd misheard the Almighty. If God had really given me this property, why in the world was I having such difficulty living on it? Shouldn't following God's will be easier?

And there's the rub, isn't it. Shouldn't following God's will be easier?

I don't think Mother Teresa would have answered yes. Or Martin Luther King. Or Corrie Ten Boom, or a thousand other godly men and women pushing their own personal boulders out of the road God set before them. The obstacles were not their nemesis. They were there by design.

God doesn't promise us red bows and smooth sailing in following His will. I wish He did. But His word makes it pretty clear that it's actually the opposite.

Abraham hung in there despite all the thousands of time he must have wanted to turn his donkeys around and head back to the comfort of his roots. And so must I. Even when I can't see the next turn in the road because of the thick fog. Or even when the pavement disappears into a sink hole.

Because that's what this faith journey is all about.

What's your marriage creed?

2011-06-20T08:10:00.003-04:00

"Do you know what my husband said to me yesterday? He said I needed to decide whether I wanted to be married or single."

I almost choked on the water I was chugging down as we took a break between tennis games. Seven tennis buds and I were fighting the blistering heat to squeeze in three sets, and one of the players suddenly decided to spill.

Alana wasn't someone I was particularly close to, but having been a tennis acquaintance for over a year, I was aware of her fiercely independent nature. I recalled a few weeks prior when she appeared for her regular tennis session rather than attending her only child's 5th grade graduation ceremony.

"I don't see why we have to make a big deal about something that should be normal," Alana had said. "Besides, my son won't even miss me - his father and grandparents are there."

And now it appeared as though her marriage was in danger, but Alana didn't seem at all distressed. The rest of us simply stared at her, stunned, as we silently placed ourselves on the wifely end of that ultimatum she'd been given and began to feel the devastation of loss.

A feeling that Alana apparently didn't share.

"I won't tolerate anyone telling me what to do. If he wants a divorce, he can have it. I'll just get a boyfriend. Or maybe two." Alana wiped her pretty face with a towel. Slim and athletic, she looked ten years younger her 43 years. No, she wouldn't have any trouble getting a boyfriend. Or two.

"We've been married 13 years and I've always had a back-up plan. Separate finances, my own car. I kept my house in my name when he moved in ... just in case."

And then, while we were still absorbing this info, she hit us with the biggest zinger of all.

"I know how men are. You have to treat them like crud. Then when you're nice to them, they wag their tails like happy little puppies."

I felt as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water over my head.

"But don't you care about your son?" asked one of the other tennis players. "What about him?"

"He'll be fine," Alana assured us - and herself. "We'll just split him right down the middle." With this Solomon-esque statement (although I'm pretty sure she had never read that biblical account), Alana made a cutting motion with her hand right down the center of her body.

I must say Alana's callous attitude about her family shocked me. Especially her philosophy of marriage. I know she's not a Christian, but what kind of relationship creed is that? You treat men like pond scum and then when you're finally civil to them, they're thrilled by the wonderful surprise. What???

Contrast that self-centered, "it's all about me" attitude with what I consider the Christ-followers' marital creed, Colossians 3:12 -13 (NIV): Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

Sure, like Alana, we all get annoyed with our spouses at some time during our marriages (we just hope it only lasts hours instead of days or weeks!). What would we do without compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and especially patience when the going gets rough? Those spiritual qualities that can only come from the Lord when we're scraping the bottom of the barrel?

As astounding as Alana's confession was, it certainly made me think about my own marriage and renew allegiance to the creed I choose to live by.

How about you? What's your creed?

I'm Getting Engaged

2011-06-14T14:32:00.001-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about life lately. Not exactly the "Why am I here?" or "What's it all about, Alfie?" kind of soul-dredging thoughts.

More like the "How can I fully engage in living while I'm passing through this life?" kind of practical fare that sneaks into my brain betwixt rising at 6 am, fixing the same breakfast I've had every day for the last decade, doing my job, tending to my chores, walking my dog, waving to my husband as we pass going in opposite directions, and making sure everyone's fed at night.

My tendency to float through my days aloof and disengaged is what bothers me. Why don't I feel more? Why do I so often just go through the motions?

I suppose the arrival of my first grandson is the spark behind this flame, and that's likely something everyone goes though when they hold a brand new life in their arms. A fresh body and spirit just embarking on the fantastic journey that is this life. So pure and unscathed. So real. So into every picture on the wall I've passed a thousand times unnoticed. So mesmerized with the magic of a tree branch. So red-faced as he screeches his little punkin head off.

Not yet schooled that the best way to avoid feeling pain is to turn the spigot off.

I hope and pray that he doesn't make it to age 60 and stare in the mirror one day thinking, "Where did the time go? What did I do with all those decades that were a gift from above?"

The stages of life are simple, really:
Infancy
Childhood
Teenage
Young Adulthood
Middle Adulthood
Advanced Adulthood

There seems to be no getting around the fact that I'm lurking in the cracks between the last two. At least externally. Internally, I'm smack dab in the middle somewhere and sometimes inch closer to the top.

I guess that's why I write humor books. The irony of Dorian Gray isn't lost on me. The prune is still plum-y beneath the wrinkles. It's when the wrinkles permeate the core that the soul begins to shrivel.

Okay, enough deep thinking for me. That's more than my quota.

But I will set a goal: My goal is to be fully present in mind, spirit and senses for the rest of this day. Like a baby does. I will see, touch, smell, hear, feel and enjoy each activity I undertake. Like it's the first time. Yep, that's what I'll do.

Now I'm off to explore my world through the eyes of Baby Blaine. Oh, look. The fresh chocolate smear on my white capris are evidence that I've got a good start putting everything not nailed down in my mouth.

Sweet Wine vs. Sour Grapes

2011-06-08T12:25:00.000-04:00

It starts out with wine and roses, a luscious wedding cake, gorgeous beaded dress and the promise of endless joy-filled tomorrows.

But then something mysterious happens. Somewhere along the winding pathway of unity during the next few years, erosion creates a few potholes, roadblocks, and maybe even a detour or two.

The disillusioned bride and groom are left standing on the side of the road asking, "What happened?"

In all honesty, it happened to me. And it'll happen to you, too.

But we don't have to abandon our wrecked cars and hitchhike. Nope. We can change the flat tires, fill 'er up with brand new gasoline and climb back in to continue our life-long journey to happily ever after. How? Read on ...

I've been reading through 1 and 2 Samuel in different translations (you should try it - adds fresh perspective to passages you've read a thousand times) and found myself wondering what happened to tarnish Michel's love for David. Michel had been secretly in love with David, her father the king's political rival (1 Samuel 18: 20) and was used as a pawn by dear old dad to coerce David into avenging the king's enemies. Saul was hoping David would be killed in battle, but after David slew a hundred Philistines to win Michel's hand, Saul was forced to give Michel to David in marriage. (Saul had already promised his older daughter to David and reneged - 1 Sam 18:19).

At first, Michel loved David passionately - enough to deceive her father (whose nasty temper could have easily resulted in her own death) and help David in a daring midnight escape (1 Sam 19: 11-17).

But then later, in 2 Sam 6:16-21, we see that Michel's love had turned into contempt for her husband. She criticized him openly and ridiculed him for his celebratory behavior before the Lord. The Bible doesn't say specifically, but my guess is that their relationship took a sharp downward spiral at that point.

What went wrong? What made Michel's mighty, life-on-the-line, heart-bursting affection morph into disdain and contempt?

What soured the grapes of her marriage?

A little research reveals some very telling events that probably contributed heavily. During the years after Michel risked everything to help with David's daring escape from Saul, her jerk of a father turned around and married her off to another man in David's absence. David, too, took at least two other wives while he was constantly running and hiding from Saul.

Time passed. Lots happened before David finally was crowned king of Israel and Michel was able to return to his household. Barren (a source of shame in that culture) while David's other wives spit out babies like watermelon seeds, Michel became bitter and haughty in spirit. She and David had little quality time together and she allowed her critical tongue to fan the flames of discontent. Michel was unable to accept her circumstances and allowed ungratefulness to control her thinking processes, attitudes, and behavior.

I know she's usually skipped over in Bible studies and generally overlooked as a woman of far-reaching consequence in the Bible, but I really feel for Michel. I identify with her in a lot of ways. I think God included her story because there are important things we can learn from her. She didn't ask for all the lousy things that happened to her, but she did have control over her future by the way she responded to the circumstances in which she found herself.

Just like us. Today.

So what are the elements that contributed to Michel and David's relationship erosion?

1. Separation - physical and emotional
2. Allowing situations over which you have no control to make you bitter
3. A runaway, critical tongue
4. Focusing on what you don't have rather than being grateful for what you do

Gulp.

In retrospect, these are all elements that I, too, have been guilty of allowing to creep into my marriage during our difficult patches. The times when our marital vehicle ran off the road or overheated.

And I feel sure that the key to our marriage still being on the road after 33 years is found in #4 above. It can be nutshelled into one word: gratitude. If we seek a spirit of gratitude, and make it a priority to renew our grateful attitudes daily, everything else in #1-3 will become a non-issue.

Those potholes of emotional distance, bitterness, and destructive criticism will be paved over with humbleness, patience, and generosity of spirit. And our marital Edsel won't break down nearly so often. Strangely enough, we won't want to ditch the old boring model and upgrade anymore. We might put forth a little elbow grease and polish it up. We'll actually begin to respect and admire it just like when it was new and shiny.

It's hard to stab a man when you're holding his hand.

Lovin' Those Grace Kisses

2011-06-01T10:51:00.000-04:00

Okay, I realize I'm delinquent in announcing the long awaited birth of Baby Blaine - my very first grand. I stand guilty as charged by my faithful readers who have scolded me soundly for my omission.

He's two weeks old today and cute as a newborn porcupine (have you ever seen one? They really are cute!) and not nearly as prickly.

As I shower the little fellow with baby kisses all over his pink scrunchy face, I can't help but be reminded of Papa God's love for us, His precious children.

He loves to cover us with kisses too - little intimate caresses of affirmation and affection born of His overflowing love, grace, and mercy for us.

Grace kisses. Yep. That's what they are.

We can't earn them and certainly don't deserve them. No more than Baby Blaine did anything to deserve all the love lavished on him because ... well, just because. He's one of us. Part of the family. More than just accepted, he's beloved simply because of who he is, not for anything he's done or will do.

And if I stop my frantic pace long enough to focus, I can actually imagine curling up into my Heavenly Father's big ole lap and feel His arms encircle my tense body and envelop me in His sublime tenderness.

Ahhh. So nice.

So I hope you'll take a moment today and bask in the warmth of Papa God's grace kisses all over your scrunchy face. Relax. Enjoy. Can you feel His soft, loving lips caress your forehead? Be still and know that you are loved.

Who Has Your Back?

2011-05-14T18:42:00.000-04:00

I was incredibly blessed with not just one but two grace notes this week. Just in case you're not aware, that's the phrase I coined in my book, Mom NEEDS Chocolate, for the special little touches from God ... His fingerprints on our lives.

Yep, they were amazing grace notes all right, because they showed me exactly Who was orchestrating the everyday events of my life. The little things that seem like coincidences at first glance. The occurrences that may not seem important or earth-shaking at the time, but that end up making up the real stuff of life.

Grace note #1 crept up on Wednesday, the day I arbitrarily chose to drive over to Sarasota to:
a) Pick up my books that had been consigned to a particular bookstore
b) Stop by and meet the new manager of a different bookstore
c) Get together with a dear friend I don't get to see very often for lattes

As I walked into the (a) bookstore, I was surprised to see a radio booth set up beneath a sign, "The Authors Connection." An author interview was being taped at that very moment. As the bookstore manager was checking me out (my books, not my bod!), the producer of the web radio show heard by 10 million listeners in 142 countries walked over to where I stood with my stack of titles and said,

"Oh, my goodness, are you an author?"

"Um, yep," I answered like the brilliant wordsmith I am.

To which she replied, "Wow - I can't believe our luck! We only come here one afternoon a month to schedule back-to-back half-hour author interviews for our show; but we have an unexpected opening at 3:30. (It was 2:30 at the time). I was just trying to figure out what to do. Could you possibly wait around?"

Gulp. Could I? Are you kidding me? Where do I sign up?

Outwardly I paused, pretending to consider. Stay calm, cool, collected. Try not to cheer. "Well, I suppose so," I acquiesced, then turned around and secretly pumped my fist.

The interview was a blast; the balding, dignified man who interviewed me about my upcoming women's book Too Blessed to Be Stressed: Inspiration for Climbing Out of Life's Stress-Pool turned out to be a girlfriend in disguise and fed off my offbeat chic chat flawlessly with wit and finesse. Our chemistry was great. About halfway through, the producer signaled for the interviewer to keep going, so we ended up taping a full hour. It will air June 21 from 11 am - noon on RadioEarNetwork.com.

Now for grace note #2.

On Friday I left for a hand therapy conference in Orlando, where therapists and orthopedic surgeons from all over Florida gather once yearly to learn about new procedures and catch up with old friends. Well, although there were many colleagues with whom I enjoyed reconnecting, there was one particular therapist I did NOT want to see.

Karen (name changed for privacy) and I had a falling out almost two years ago. We had a history of being co-workers and friendly acquaintances for twenty years at that point, but I was wounded by a series of actions on Karen's part and felt justified in cutting off all communication with her when I left my position for a new job.

This was the first time we had been under the same roof in all that time. I noticed her sitting on the opposite side of the large meeting room and when we chanced to pass in the hallway, we both averted our eyes.

Friday night in my comfy hotel bed, I felt duly convicted and argued with Papa God about the injustice of the situation. I was the one who had been wronged! Why did I have to chew my pride like tough gristle and be the one to gather the hammer and nails to build a bridge?

But I knew what I had to do.

All morning Saturday, I looked for a chance to speak privately to Karen, but there was no opportunity. During one of the last presentations of the conference, I snuck from the meeting room to check out and take my suitcase to my car. On my way, I shot up a little "I-tried-but-it-didn't-pan-out" prayer and added, "Lord, if you want me to say something to Karen, you're going to have to make it happen."

Two minutes later, while I was en route from the parking lot back into the building, wouldn't you know who was standing just outside the door - all alone - checking her phone messages?

I nearly cried right then and there, not because I was able to finally set things right with Karen, but because it was undeniably apparent that my Papa God does indeed care about the details of my life.

And yours.

What a huge relief to know Who has our backs!

Hoof Prints Across my Heart

2011-05-02T15:19:00.000-04:00

Ahh. I just adore the peace and rest I always find in my favorite getaway on earth ... our little cabin nestled deep in the bosom of the Smoky Mountains.

There are just so many footprints of the Almighty everywhere I look: layer upon layer of purple, hazy mountain peaks, crystal clear streams gushing and gurgling happily down their rocky creek beds, tee-tiny titmice warbling, hummers humming and chipmunks scurrying to and fro doing whatever it is chipmunks do.

And deer almost sending our car off a sheer cliff.

No kidding.

As we drove the 20 miles down the winding, twisty mountain road just last Sunday morning to a church on the other side of our mountain, my husband Chuck and I unexpectedly came face to face with eternity.

We were cruising along, tapping our toes and singing along with 70s music by the likes of Elton John and Norman Greenbaum. Good stuff, that. Easy to forget your worries and lose yourself in the groovy beat.

Just as we rounded a curve, a large deer bounded out of the woods bordering the narrow, two-lane road and stepped out onto the pavement directly in front of our car. Unable to stop that suddenly, the only response left to Chuck was to swerve into the other lane. But that option was not an option at all, for although we hadn't seen another vehicle all morning, wouldn't you know a car was rapidly approaching from the opposite direction.

Miraculously (and I use that term intentionally), the animal paused, turning his head first left, at us, and then right at the approaching car. Then, as if making a calculated decision, he spun around and fled back from whence he came, his white-tailed haunches disappearing into the dense brush of the virgin forest.

This all happened within the span of about three seconds. Like hoof prints across my heart.

The pinched, white face of the other driver as he passed confirmed what we already knew: any alternative move on the part of the deer would have likely sent one or both of our cars careening down the side of the cliff yawning rail-less on the other side of the road.

Gulp.

Good-bye Yellow Brick Road.
Hello Spirit in the Sky.

But as my granddaddy would say, it just wasn't our time. We continued on to church - a little more trembly and a lot more aware of the fragility of life. It could all be over in the flash of an antler.

It was a major grace note - my term for God's little everyday miracles that prove He's got our backs. That all the details of our lives matter to Him. That Psalms 121:7 is not an idle promise: The Lord will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your life (NIV).

And if He's on our side, honestly, who can be against us? Not even Bambi.

Death is a Door

2011-04-21T07:42:00.001-04:00

My daughter is 8-months pregnant with my first grandchild - a joyful and wondrous time for all of us as we watch the miraculous formation of new life.

But that joy was seriously shaken this week when one of my daughter's friends gave birth to a precious baby boy, Nathan, who lived only one hour. I'd like to share with you an excerpt from a poem Jessie wrote for his mourning wife Anna (names changed for privacy) and read at the baby's memorial service.

Please open wide your heart and pray for this grieving young couple who, right here at Easter time, can truly comprehend the grief of our Heavenly Father upon the death of his dearly beloved Son.

Little Did I Know

Little did I know ...
That one day in a doctor's office, I would see my wife fall to pieces,
all the hurt and all the pain without any reasons.
God did not ask, and God did not tell, that days ahead would seem to us like a living hell.

Why us?
Why him? she asked.
But not twice, not even once did she beg for it to pass.
To be a husband and to be helpless is one thing I will never forget.
But to be married to my wife is something I will never regret.
We cried, and we prayed and looked to each other for protection,
but before long we knew that's why God sent his Son in our direction.

Little DO I know
why, on April 15th, we would see ourselves begging at His feet.
The anticipation of the unknown was so hard to bear,
some would ask did God ever hear us or did He even care?

The day was here and the time had come for us to give back our little son.
As she held him in her arms, and touched his little face, there was not a sound in the room,

Beloved son, Nathan

only peace in that place.
An hour went by as we enjoyed his short life,
and I stood by amazed at my beautiful wife.

Everything I know tells me all the prayers and late night calls were not in vain,
Because God still prevails, God is still our ALL.
We might not ever know the reason for Nathan's death,
but rest assured it was not his last breath.
We will stay strong in our faith during the days ahead
because we know that our God is alive and our God is not dead.
Nathan only had a few breaths of life, but his last here was his first with our
Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Everything I know still won't answer why
Our faith was put through this test,
but I never doubted once that He gave me the best.

My Heart's in the Arts

2011-04-14T08:32:00.000-04:00

My daughter Cricket

I had a rather disturbing conversation recently with a co-worker in children's church. At least it was for me, although he seemed unfazed.

I was preparing to show a clip from the overtly Christian movie, Facing the Giants, at the end of a David and Goliath lesson for over 100 elementary-aged kids. When I mentioned how the last football scene in the movie always gave me chill bumps and misty eyes, Sean (name changed), my "co-host," abruptly stated that he'd never seen the movie and probably never would.

"Why not?" I asked, astonished. I knew he had a son and daughter who were the perfect ages to benefit from the tremendous application message in the film about honoring God in sports (and life) no matter what - win or lose.

"Because," he stated rather smugly, I thought, "the acting and directing are reportedly sub-par. As an actor myself, I can't abide movies or plays that don't achieve the highest standards."

"Oh, I see. So you've never been to your children's school plays? Or any church productions?"

"It's not the same thing. They're not professionals."

"But what is their end goal - their purpose (as believers) for performing?"

"To glorify God, of course."

"And what is the purpose of Christian producers, directors and actors in the mainstream arts?"

Sean paused. "To glorify God, I suppose." The irony of his answer seemed to sink in as his face colored slightly. "But when I'm spending money to see a film, I want to spend it on something that will edify and challenge me. Not something that I could have done better myself."

"I thought you said you'd never seen it."

"I haven't."

"Then how do you know God wouldn't use it to touch your heart, or edify and challenge your wife or your children through a movie that was completely created and dedicated to His service? The first time I saw it, I thought some of the acting could have been better, but in the end, it didn't matter one whit. I was so caught up in the story and the wonder of God's miraculous intervention in the lives of the characters that I was intensely moved, more than by any movie I've seen in a long time. In the Bible, God speaks through donkeys and chickens. Why would you assume He can't speak through arts created by gifted people who love Him?"

Sean shrugged and turned away, but I noticed later while the clip was playing he was riveted to the screen along with every other eye in the room.

I feel very strongly about supporting faith-based arts. I'm not saying we have to pretend to like them all, but I feel that we owe it to our brothers and sisters in the Lord to support their efforts to use their talents and abilities in His name. After all, He intentionally gave them their talents and abilities for just that purpose.

I want my money to speak for my choice to dwell on things that are true and honorable and right; things that are pure and lovely and admirable (Phil.4:8). I want Hollywood to know by my attendance - numbers ares the only way to speak their language - that I support movies that make me think about that which is spiritually "excellent and worthy of praise."

And I'm willing to plunk my Andrew Jacksons down as proof.

I haven't yet seen the newest big screen phenomena, Soul Surfer, but I plan to as soon as Spouse emerges from tax week and we can manage to carve out a date night. I've heard good things about it, but even if I hadn't, I'd go to make a moral statement. And I hope you will too.

Even the Rocks Will Cry Out!

2011-04-04T10:37:00.000-04:00

Had a wonderfully uplifting weekend worshiping, learning and just plain goofing off with a delightful group of ladies at an international Free Methodist women's conference.

Representatives of three cultures were there, with interpreters simultaneously speaking during my talks. That was a first for me.

One group had headset translators, with a male translator sitting in the back of the room doing his best to translate unique Debbie Coty terms like "joy-sucking dully-funks" that are sprinkled throughout my presentations. I apologized to him afterward for my girls only talk that included the three B's: boys, boobs and babies. Thankfully, he had a robust sense of humor.

The other translator spoke aloud to her group, which created an interesting echo whenever I paused for breath. After the first twenty minutes, I got (sort of) used to focusing on what I was saying instead of standing mesmerized like a deer in headlights watching her lips fly. I'm quite sure I never got the hang of speaking slowly enough, and want to take this opportunity to express appreciation to hard-working, under-appreciated translators everywhere.

The sing-along songs were a real hoot. I almost always include one of my original funny sing-along songs in my presentations, and it was quite an experience when half of the group could't read the lyrics (in English) and therefore couldn't follow the gestures either. It was really hilarious watching everyone do their best to copy the hand motions of their neighbors without knowing what in the world they meant. The Haitian ladies did an especially good job ad-libbing.

But I'm telling you - there's nothing quite like singing spirited praise songs in a room full of simultaneous languages. Everyone came together in a unity of spirit that was incredible. God must have been smiling. I know I was.

Throw Open the Drapes!

2011-03-26T18:32:00.001-04:00

Oh. My. Stars. I've just had an epiphany. A revelation. A break-through in understanding my oh-so-strange self.

Early this morning I posted a funny piece about being recognized this week by a reader solely because of the crazy hat I was wearing (see my writer's blog: www.gritfortheoyster-book.blogspot.com). I closed by asking my three readers if they thought my hats could possibly be my brand, since the buzz these days from my editor is that every writer needs a brand (something to set him/her apart from the herd).

I got some great responses but one in particular made my jaw drop, my heart pound and my wide-open eyes finally see something I haven't been able to see for 40 years. No kidding. I felt like somebody pulled up the shades of my brain and light finally beamed into a corner that's been dark most of my life.

Okay. Here's what happened.

A childhood school chum, Vicki, responded to my hat question with a question of her own: "Just curious - are you the daughter that didn't remember to brush her hair? I started carrying a brush in my purse after your mom (my teacher at the time) told our health class how important it was to keep your hair brushed. She said she had a daughter that she always had to remind of this ... was it you?"

I was suddenly transported back to middle school and relived in writhing agony a memory I had apparently blocked soon after it happened. I was a gorky sixth grader at the time and was quietly slipping into Mama's classroom to stick something - I don't remember what - in her purse. I was tip-toeing and holding my breath, trying so hard not to draw attention to myself while she was up front teaching.

Suddenly, she stopped her hygiene lecture cold and told everyone to turn around and look at my hair as an example of "poor grooming habits." They were 7th graders - a whole year older than me - and of course I didn't know any of them, so I was absolutely mortified. And horror of all horrors, there were at least ten boys in that room. I ducked my head and dashed out the door just as the first giggles began to titter around the room.

Forty years later, sitting in my computer chair reliving this long-oppressed memory, my face flushed and I wanted to crawl beneath my desk. Another niggling thought made me cringe: That wasn't Vicki's class, so Mama must have told more than one of her classes. Gulp.

But then all of a sudden the angels began singing that full-bodied, eight-note "Ahhhh" chord that means something important just happened and the light bulb popped on in my head. THAT's why I have a hat fetish! Now I get it! I've never been able to explain to my family why I keep wearing those confounded " embarrassing" hats that my kids used to beg me to hide when their friends were around. Why I just have to buy every cute and perky hat I see. Why my closet looks like the Cat in the Hat exploded.

What an "Ah-ha" moment!

One of my deepest mysteries is now uncovered. Revealed. Divulged. And it makes me wonder how many more of my quirky behaviors result from some squirreled away childhood incident.

Righty then. Now that I've spilled my guts, I want to sift through some of your guts too! How about it? Are you brave enough to go there? What odd little behaviors can you trace back to your past? Maybe something you remember your grandmother doing or a comment your dad made that changed the way you look at things. C'mon, dig deep.

Don't fret - I'll keep thinking too. The next goofy behavior I want to understand is why I put salt on my watermelon.

Activating Change

2011-03-17T09:10:00.000-04:00

We continuously hear the term "political activist" batted around the media, sometimes as an accolade, sometimes with a distinct sneer (depending upon who's reporting and what side they're on).

Recently, I've become aware of a different kind of activist; someone whose goal is not only to change their city and country, but to change the whole world one heart at a time.

A spiritual activist.

This kind of activist is not motivated by political gain or partisan power, but by a deep, visceral drive to help others in the single most important way a person can. By saving their eternal lives. By introducing them to peace and joy and hope that can't be found anywhere else on this earth.

I recently attended the funeral of one of these spiritual activists. His name to us was affectionately, "Rev." David Nicholas was the cool/hip/rad minister of a (at the time) small church in Boca Raton, when my husband Chuck attended high school in the early 70s. Rev led Chuck and then his entire family to the Lord, and went on to grow a mighty evangelistic church and make a huge spiritual difference in the lives of many generations.

Another spiritual activist is Cookie Gray, a gracious woman who has touched the hearts of thousands of women through her ministry at Brandon Florida's LifeCare Center. Cookie, a polio survivor, selflessly councils women in the throes of devastation due to unexpected pregnancy, STD's, financial ruin, and a host of other life-altering problems. She does it from her wheelchair. And always with a sweet spirit, open heart and kind smile.

I look at these awesome people - Rev and Cookie - and become at first humbled and then motivated to become a spiritual activist myself. Some might say, "Aw, they're just doing their jobs," but in truth, activism became their jobs because of the conviction of their hearts.

We can all be spiritual activists - ministers, really - regardless of our profession. There are no greater evangelists than garbage collectors, store clerks and bank tellers whose actions profess their faith louder than words on an everyday, every hour basis. In faith, like in writing, showing is always more effective than simply telling.

I look at my role as a hand therapist and author, and my mind is flooded with memories of times I wasn't much of a minister. In fact, I'd categorize my inner thoughts and outward responses as more like Rambo than Mother Teresa.

But I can do better. And I will.

(That's one of the best things I learned from years of tennis lessons: Instead of beating myself up over past mistakes, adopt the positive manta, "I can and will do better." It's much more productive!)

How about you? Can you do better? Who's your spiritual activist role model?

Rip Off

2011-03-04T09:41:00.000-05:00

Thou shalt not steal.

Those four simple words echoed through my brain recently when my brand new website was kidnapped and held for ransom.

No kidding.

Naively, I never knew such a thing existed until my longsuffering husband Chuck woke up at 7 a.m. (after working on the website until 2:30 the night before) and logged on to add a few finishing touches.

Instead of his wife's intricate website he'd spent more than sixty hours pouring his time and energies into, he found a blank screen. Letter by eerie letter, a profanity-laced message appeared stating that the site had been heisted by "Hacker Ali." If we ever wanted to see it again, we must arrange payment through the French e-dress listed.

Intellectual Property Theft. A shattered sense of security.

It happens more often than many of us realize. Just ask those who've had their identity stolen and have been forced, through no fault of their own, to forfeit scads of precious time and money attempting to regain what was rightfully theirs in the first place.

In many cases authorities have no recourse. Our policing technology of online theft has not kept pace with the ingenuity of the bad guys, such as Hacker Ali, who hide behind layers of protective screens and cleverly leave no discernible trail.

Stealing. Taking what is not ours. Why is the eight commandment so widely ignored in our society? Scripture forbidding stealing includes not only Exodus 20:15, but also Leviticus 10:11. And Exodus 22:3 goes even further to say that if thievery occurs, restitution must be made to the extreme of the thief being sold into slavery if redemption of property is not possible.

God takes stealing seriously. And so should we. Even seemingly innocuous, everyone-does-it transgressions like pocketing the extra dollar the clerk mistakenly gave in change, taking office supplies home from work, or fudging on income tax.

Why is it such a big deal? Because stealing dishonors the name of our God (Proverbs 30:9).

Not only is He watching, but often little eyes are soaking up our example of living out real Christianity regardless of social mores that diss integrity and idolize pirates, cool criminals and "gangstas."

If we don't live our faith, they won't.

And that would be the most tragic rip off of all.

BB Gun Stand-Off

2011-02-22T10:40:00.000-05:00

"Oh, aren't they adorable?" I asked Spouse just yesterday as we stood in our front yard observing the new crop of baby squirrels that appear every spring about this time.

Carefree little furry rodents chased each other around our big oak tree, scurrying up to perch on low, spreading limbs to peer at us peering back.

At that moment, a shadow passed over us as a red-tailed hawk circled overhead, casing the joint for lunch. The clueless baby squirrels were easy prey and more than once I'd watched helplessly as a hawk swooped down to skewer one of "my" babies with its razor sharp talons.

The evil beasties won't even release the poor squealing squirrel when I throw whatever is handy, or even if I run screaming right at them.

"I'm really going to get a BB gun this year," I threatened for the 100th time. I say that every year but Spouse convinces me that I'd end up in the slammer for one reason or another if I start messing with guns. No doubt he's right.

So this morning on my neighborhood walk, I come upon one of my neighbors traipsing around his yard with a BB gun, looking up into the tree branches. Aha! Now this guy's got the right idea!

Before I can open my mouth to commend him and ask if I can borrow it for the horrible hawk infestation on my street, he points the gun upward and fires. AT A SQUIRREL!

"What are you doing?" I cry, when I really want to say, "That's not a hawk - is your eyesight really that bad or are you just an idiot?"

"Gotta get rid of these pesky squirrels," he says, like he deserves a medal or something. "They're wrecking my pool enclosure and stipping my blueberry bushes. We need to import more hawks to get rid of them."

All I could do was stand there with my mouth hanging open.

It reminded me of my tennis buddy who disagrees with me on every single social or moral issue right down the line. She's hardline liberal and I'm hardline conservative and never the twain shall meet. Yet we consider each other friends and enjoy playing tennis together often. How? We agree to disagree and leave politics off the court.

I guess sometimes neighbors have to agree to disagree. That or give everybody BB guns and let them shoot it out until there are no squirrels or hawks or even people left and although everybody wins, nobody wins.

As they say, there are always two sides to every issue, and if we're emotionally involved, it's tremendously hard to see the other side.

Kind of like the two sides of the aligator issue. We Floridians have learned to live with gators and respect their habits and habitats. After all, they were here first. They can't help who they are - we have to just accept that they devour fluffy little dogs that come near them and keep our dogs away. And during mating season, they get aggressive, so we give them extra space. LOTS of space.

But some northerners don't get it and think they should be wiped out completely - why tolerate a killer species that serves mankind no useful purpose? (That point is certainly debatable.)

During my conversation with such a person, I found it difficult to see his side until I realized he was speaking from fear. Fear of the unnknown and fear born of ignorance. He knew very little about gators except all the bad stuff he read in the newspaper on the rare occasion when someone is killed by one. So his opinion was formed by unbalanced data. Information weighted to one side of the issue, with nothing for counter-balance.

Which means, I suppose, that we must take it upon ourselves to become educated about both sides of an issue before we stake our position. Or break out the BB guns and be the last one standing.

Chillin' with Your Peeps

2011-02-14T12:31:00.000-05:00

What a fun girls night out!

A group of us neighborhood girlfriends put on the ritz and strutted our bling at a stage play performance at our local Performing Arts Center. Boy were we stylin' - even though someone told me I looked a bit gangsta in my new $7 pinstiped suit (YAY for consignment shops!).

No matter. Nothing was going to spoil the night. I can do Bonnie and Clyde if it means chillin' with my peeps.

It's so important for women to make girlfriend time a priority, but it's not something most of us do on a regular basis. Pity. We miss so much when we don't spread our wings with the flock.

Girlfriends are our link to levity when reality becomes too intense, our safety nets when we're freefalling. They're the distributors of grace when we're fragile, tears when we're broken, and warm hugs to begin fitting the pieces back together. (Excerpted from my upcoming book, More Beauty, Less Beast).

Aristotle said, "The anecdote for fifty enemies is one friend."

Just think what six friends can do for you! These gals are actually part of our neighborhood Bible Study group that meets every Friday at rorating houses. We average ten and although we started meeting for an hour at our inception two years ago, we can barely stop after two hours now.

I think that's because everyone needs a soul sister, a kindred spirit who offers unconditional love and acceptance. A safe place where we can store our secrets and be sure they won't leak. What a blessed bonus if you're dedicated to studying and applying scripture together! Too cool. Someone to travel the life road with - speed humps, potholes, sharp turns and all.

Did you know that fun is actually contagious? A British medical journal concluded from social experiments that happiness transferred between people can last up to a year. A year! So it's true - when you smile, the whole world really does smile with you!

So who are your peeps? Do you have a soul sister or a possibly a group of kindred spirits? If not, how about starting one?

Trust me, you'll never regret it.

Irradicating Vultures (Part 2)

2011-02-04T10:56:00.000-05:00

On my last posting, I mentioned that my unfortunate neighbors have an infestation of vultures lurking on their roof.

I rode my bike over to snap this picture and although there was a whole line-up of taloned criminals when I arrived, only four were willing to hang around for the mug shot. Note the happy bird roosting in the chimney. Looks like the gang plans to hole up for a while.

My previous point was - and is - why would carnivores hang around unless there was plenty to eat? I'm talking dead stuff. Carrion. Rotting meat.

In a human sense, not unlike some of the dearly departed plans I've never followed through on, or discarded projects, or spiritual good intentions gasping their last breaths. Deceased, all, and ready to be devoured by those nasty vultures hanging out on my roof. Well fed critters, my vultures.

So how do I rid myself of these death mauraders whose shadow lurking over my head makes me feel that just another failure is inevitable?

I got a clue in trying to get close enough to snap these photos. When I first rode up on the street, they generally ignored me. With my first step into the yard, the first vulture took off. With each subsequent step bringing me closer - although they were twenty feet over my head on the roof and I was no actual threat - more and more of them flew away. The closer a living, breathing, powerful force got to them, the faster they took flight. By the time I was beneath the eaves, not one bird remained.

Vultures aren't intimidated one bit by defunct, lifeless, decaying debris, but pit them against a vibrant life force and they're overwhelmed. They're intimidated. They're out of there. Gone like an Egyptian dictator. (But that's another story.)

So it occurred to me - maybe that's how I can get rid of the debilitating vultures looming in my own life: ask for help from the biggest, most powerful life force there is. Those unseen spiritual vultures bringing me down - defeat, depression, disillusionment - can't remain in His presence.

And that's spiritual warfare in a nutshell.

Bye bye birdie.

Vultures on the Roof

2011-01-27T14:33:00.000-05:00

During my daily walks around my subdivision, I can't help but notice that one of my neighbors has a vulture infestation.

That's right - a whole covey or flock (or whatever) of vultures, of all beasties, have taken to lining up in a row across the very peak of his roof.

Now vultures aren't cute like sparrows or doves; they're huge, black, hulking preditors with scary, hungry eyes, dagger-like talons and an ominous, sharp beak that could rip a body to shreds. And often does.

But the thing is, vultures eat dead things. They're raptorial birds that exist almost entire on carrion. If a creature is running, hopping, limping, or even still squirming, they won't touch it. They'll wait patiently, stalking the poor critter until it finally kicks the bucket.

So I wonder what the heck those vultures on that roof are waiting for? They wouldn't be hanging around if there wasn't plenty to eat. They'd take off for deader pastures.

Now this puzzles me.

The more I think about it, I begin to wonder if maybe I don't have vultures on my own roof. Maybe not the beak and feathers kind, but some sort of nasty, formless, spiritual predators who continue to lurk around because I keep them well fed with dead stuff.

Yep, I discard tons of dead stuff ... failed relationships, half-cocked ideas that I never got around to thinking through to fruition, projects that I started but never completed. A vulture's smorgasboard of demise, dissolution and decay.

They're up there, circling, hovering, waiting. I just know it.

I don't want them peering at me with their black, beady eyes any more, stalking me ... waiting on me to falter at something else so they can sink their bloody talons in.

So what do you think? How do I shake the vulture paranoia and shoo the horrible creatures away?

(Stay tuned for the next installment of vulture fumigation 101!)

The Power of Descriptions

2011-01-19T17:37:00.000-05:00

I was in a bread store today, headed down the aisle to pick up my regular two loaves of honeywheat, when I overheard a conversation that grabbed my attention.

Tall, freckled, mousy-haired woman: "Hey, Edna, I haven't seen your Ruthie since she was in kindygarden. What does she look like now that she's all growed up?"

Short, fat, frizzy-haired woman: "Well, I reckon she looks a lot like me - petite but maybe a little chubby, with wavy hair and glasses."

I did a double take. Was she serious? I would NOT have described the 200-lb woman speaking as "petite" or even "a little chubby" in a million years. Maybe "obese," "rotund," or "dumpy."

Nor would I have thought of her thin, wispy hair as "wavy" - I think "curly" might have been too generous. Think Brillo Pad or Chia Pet here.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that few of us probably describe ourselves as others do - because we perceive ourselves in a way that preserves as much self-esteem as possible. And that's a good thing. If we don't think of ourselves in a positive light, who else will?

I think it's time to tweak the way I think of people - even in the privacy of my own head. I would much rather give someone the dignity that comes along with being "svelte" as opposed to "skinny;" "big boned" rather than "behemouth;" "mature" instead of "old;" "assertive" instead of "pushy."

And I hope they do me the same service.

Signing off,
Your frosted (not graying),
flowing-haired (not split-ended),
healthy (not plump),
energetic (not ADD),
au natural (no make-up on at the present),
friend (even if you don't know me, you'd like me better if you thought of me as a friend),
Deb

In the Beginning ...

2011-01-12T08:07:00.000-05:00

I was reviewing some interesting (and a bit offbeat) notes I'd jotted down during my recent study of Genesis and thought I'd share a few of them with you. I'd love to hear your comments!

1. Gen 4:1 - Right after Eve had a big falling-out with God, she named her new baby Cain, which means, "With the help of the Lord." Cool. After all she'd been through with the forbidden fruit and getting kicked out of the Garden of Eden (blowing it for all humanity and all), she still was able to get past the anger and guilt and recognize where her blessings came from.

2. Gen 4:13-14 - Cain's response to punishment for his sin (murder of his brother) was not remorse and repentance, but self-pity. So how do I respond when caught in sin ... defensiveness? Anger? Self-pity?

3. Gen 4:16 - You can actually choose to leave the Lord's presence; Cain did. Do I?

4. Gen 4:26 - the beginning of "church" upon the arrival of Seth to Adam and Eve (after Seth had a son). Now we can do "church" anytime, anywhere.

It's a Rocky Road!

2011-01-07T08:21:00.000-05:00

Call me a marshmallow. I guess I am when it comes to my little furry friends.

Take Rocky, for instance. He's not even my dog (he belongs to my daughter, pictured left), but the poor little guy is so needy, I can't help but sympathize. He was recently whining in pain from a slipped disc, so to help immobilize the lesion site, I used my occupational therapy splinting skills to make him a little body brace.

What an ordeal! You just haven't lived until you've made a squirmy 5-lb dog a body brace. And then it never occurred to me to check the placement of the belly straps until he stood pathetically looking up at us in the yard when we told him to go potty. Turns out one of the straps was directly over his little wiener. When we removed it, he went for 30 solid seconds.

Live and learn. That particular problem never came up in my 30+ years of fabricating splints for humans.

I don't know if it's a "tiny dog" problem or just Rocky, but the little fellow shivers practically nonstop from October until March. If the temp dips below 65, he quivers like a tower of Jello. We've taken to heating up a beanbag and slipping it under the blanket in his doggie bed. If we forget, he stands beside the bed shaking from head to tail like his paw is stuck in the electrical outlet, giving us the puppy-dog eyes until we get up and pop the thing in the microwave.

The other day I got home around noon and walked into the bedroom. I noticed the electric blanket light beaming from my bedside stand, so I went over to turn it off., My husband Chuck, who isn't exactly known for his canine affinities, popped up behind me, saying, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I must have left the electric blanket on this morning," I replied. "I'm just turning it off."

"No, don't do that," he said, looking sheepish.

It was then I noticed a small lump beneath the bed covers. The lump moved. For heaven's sake - the man who outwardly had little sympathy for four-legged creatures had put the dog in our bed and turned on the electric blanket.

Go figure.

Made me think about the way God treats me - I'm so needy and dependant on his sympathy to get by day to day. He splints my boo-boos, cleans up after my mistakes, and when I turn my poor pathetic puppy-dog eyes upward and beg for his mercy, He's more than happy to take me into His bed and turn up the heat.

I couldn't be more thankful for His traveling mercies on my own Rocky Road!

Expecting the Unexpected

2010-12-30T12:39:00.000-05:00

As 2010 draws to a rather mellow close, I'm enjoying the soothing peace. For a change.

But I know that expecting the unexpected is a way of life in this busy world we attempt to function in, so I can't help but wonder a bit about what surprises 2011 has in store.

I'm reminded of the night a few weeks ago when I agreed to play the piano at a wedding. Now I don't really play much any more ... actually NONE ... since I stopped teaching private piano students three years ago, so I was a smidge nervous about this prospect. It was a small wedding and the bride wasn't at all picky about her music, so I suggested four classical pieces, which she readily agreed to.

So I diligently brushed up on those specific pieces - Pachelbel's Canon in D, Beethoven's Ode to Joy, Bach's Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring and Beethoven's Fur Elise - for several weeks. Altogether, they were designed to last about 15 minutes before the bride was to appear at the door, cuing me to launch into "Here Comes the Bride."

Cool beans. No worries, mon.

Then came the big night. The bride's sister (the only family member able to attend from Haiti) was delayed at the airport at the last minute so the 7:00 wedding was switched to 7:30. Finally, at 8:00 when she still hadn't arrived, and the guests and I had become thoroughly bored staring down one another, I was told to "just begin playing - she should be here any minute and we'll start the bride down the aisle at approximately 8:15."

So I played. And I played. And I played. All my prepared music. Then I went through them again. And again. I had no other pieces with me and heaven knows whatever I'd memtorized during my early years had long since evacuated to higher ground.

I finally had to stop due to hand cramps after completing Canon in D for the FOURTEENTH time. Honestly. I ain't funnin' ya. I considered Chopsticks and Heart and Soul as time-fillers, but decided against it. I think if I ever see Canon in D again I'll rip out my very last three hairs.

I felt like cheering when the bride finally appeared at the back door, giving me the thumb's up. I attacked "Here Comes the Bride" with the zeal of a freshly pardoned convict.

So unforseen things happen from time to time, and we are called upon to dig deep to deal with them. Gracefully. It's easy to deal with them like spoiled little brats - my personal forte, but much harder to act like a grown-up. I've been told that once you're in your 50's you're expected to be that level.

Sigh.

So here's hoping your New Year will be peaceful and calm and uncluttered with Canons that never stop.

A Place for Jesus

2010-12-24T13:04:00.000-05:00

So this is what it's supposed to look like, right? The nativity set in your front yard, I mean.

Well, mine didn't. For the entire month of December, something - or should I say someone - crucial was missing.

It all started last year when I took my yard nativity set in to Children's Church as my visual aid in telling the Christmas story on a stage before 200 kids. My coffee table model was just too small, so it seemed like a good idea to heist the larger hollow plastic model from the yard.

Everything was great until the chubby 8-year-old playing Mary was so startled by the heavenly host appearing that she stepped backward on the manger and sent Baby Jesus log-rolling across the stage. You could hear the c-r-a-c-k of the cheap plastic manger legs in the back row.

Bummer.

Because the set is 20-years-old, there are no replacements available, and I haven't been able to find any wooden boxes or feed troughs that would do. So we've had no manger to house the wee Savior all season. It just didn't seem right to lay the Prince of Peace on the bare ground, so we decided to leave him boxed up in the garage until an idea hit us.

But none did. Until today, Christmas Eve.

I was in the backyard, sprawled on the hammock under the big oak tree, and happened to remember our manger-less manger scene. "Lord, can you please help us with this one? We want to honor Your son, but we've exhausted all our ideas. Got any You can share?"

About a minute later, a shaft of sunlight peeking through the leaves hit something metalic in our yard debris pile at the back of our lot and shone like a lantern. It was an old rusty fireplace grate we'd discarded years ago, the PERFECT size for a manger.

It had been there all along but we never saw it until we asked for heavenly help.

Isn't it heart-warming how God will provde a place for the Savior in our lives if we only ask Him?

Coty Near-Facts of Science

2010-12-19T14:09:00.000-05:00

Okay, girlfriends - I'm caving in to requests for a synopsis of a few of my Coty Near-Facts of Science. Sorry, my publisher won't let me share ALL the new ones coming out in my fall 2011 and spring 2012 releases, Too Blessed to Stay Stressed and More Beauty, Less Beast, but I can spill those from Mom NEEDS Chocolate and a preview of a few new ones.

Can you come up with some of your own? I'd love to hear them! Enjoy!

TCC: Time Contortion Continuum: An angel with a warped sense of humor mans the time joystick in heaven and loves to make us squirm. Need proof? You know how time drags on sleepless nights as you thrash about in the covers, but zips by in hyperdrive when company's coming and the gravy boat hits the linoleum?

Theory of Negative Relative-osity: As soon as you utter the prophetic words, "My child will never ..." cosmic forces kick in to ensure that your little darlin' will perform that precise behavior for the rest of his life. Or until you end his life.

Earring Paradox: When shopping for a specific style or color, inevitably the only cute earrings you can find are clip-ons.

VR Theory: Volume Relativity: The phenomenon that occurs over the summer when your jeans inexplicably shrink two sizes in your dresser drawer. We HATE this one!

Spontaneous Degeneration: When left in an unnaturally clean state, matter will spontaneously atrophy into indiscriminant disarray. An hour after you triumphantly finish slaving over a clean house, mold begins to sprout on shiny faucets, green slime oozes from the vegetable crisper, and dust bunnies proliferate for a closet reunion. Black dirt erupts like lava from the carpet nap, clothing magically appears on every piece of sit-able furniture, and dirty panties peek from behind hampers just in time for the dog to proudly present them to dinner guests.

BBP: Bursting Bladder Phenomenon: That inexplicable law of nature that expands one 6-oz cup of hot tea comsumed before bedtime into two quarts an hour after you hit the sack. And then mysteriously dredges up another quart every half hour therafter. It's the gift that keeps on giving ... all night long!

D.A.M.: That dreaded teenage malady, Disorder of Adolescent Memory. Amazing how stacks of dirty dishes and chores they've done every single day of their lives are so easy to forget! There are times you just want to hook a voltmeter up to their little punkin brains to see if anything is getting through.

Christmas Glitter

2010-12-09T07:26:00.000-05:00

Don't you just love the special treats Papa God sends our way to remind us that He's intimately involved in every detail of our lives? I call them grace notes. My friend Esther recently told me of one of God's amazing grace notes in her life.
Esther had been dismayed that during her only son's wedding three years ago, somehow a photo of Esther and her husband with the newlyweds had fallen between the cracks. The photographer had snapped pics of family groups and friends and seemingly everyone there except the four of them together.

Esther was deeply disappointed. She knew that was a special moment she could never get back.

Fast forward three years. Esther turned a flash drive from their camera into Walgreens to retrieve some recent pictures she needed of the children's Bible Club she leads. Because there were 200 pictures on the flash drive, the clerk told Esther she'd receive a free 8x10 with her purchase, and asked her to choose one. Esther didn't really have time to look through all 200 photos, but she felt an inner nudge to do just that. Lo and behold, buried deeply in the bunch, somehow - no one knows who snapped it or when - there was a head-on, looking-right-at-the-camera wedding shot of Esther, her husband, her son and his brand new wife.

It was exactly what she had wanted!

In Esther's words, "God's grace sprinkled over me like Christmas glitter, saying, 'Thank you, Esther, for being still to listen; I heard the desire of your heart.'"

What grace note glitter will God sprinkle into your life this Christmas season?

Not Just a Pretty Face

2010-12-01T19:24:00.000-05:00

I was floored last week to barely recognize a well known actress from a 70s sitcom as she loomed large on my TV screen. I rarely watch TV, but being it's the Christmas season, my daughter insisted that we catch a few of the Hallmark Hall of Fame cheesy holiday movies.

I had to double check the credits as this particular actress caught my eye. She slightly resembled her younger famous self, but she hadn't aged well at all. It sure got my attention. And made me sad in a way. I guess partly because I've been thinking a lot about appearance lately as I've been working on a chapter about outer beauty for my new book, More Beauty, Less Beast.

I have to admit the damage done by the ravages of time made me pity her.

And then today as I was filling my gas tank, I studied my reflection in my car's side window and suddenly identified with that poor actress. How often do we really look at ourselves? For me, it's just a casual glance in a mirror a few times a day to make sure I don't have spinach between my teeth or my hair isn't sticking out like a scarecrow. But there in the glaring light of day reflected in my window, every single wrinkle, ugly pore, blemish, and saggy jowel showed up loud and clear.

Was that really ME? It didn't look like the me in my head - the self-image I've had of me for the past decade.

It was eye-opening to say the least.

I was immensely thankful that I don't have to make my living by my appearance. How draining it must be to have to be beautiful all the time. Certainly there are those who do it and have done it well for decade after decade; Christy Brinkley, Rachel Welch, and Sophia Loren come to mind. Timeless beauties, by anyone's standards.

But what is beauty by God's standards?

That's precisely what I intend to find out. That intangible, indescribable, radiant beauty that shines from within - we've all known people who had it. People who don't necessarily posess society's standards of physical beauty, but leave us basking in their beauty nonetheless.

As I journey through life, never knowing what surprises (or wrinkles or bags) the next bend in the road will bring, I want to know that I will always be beautiful to my Father. The only one who counts.

Let's Party!

2010-11-26T07:34:00.000-05:00

After 40 years of reading the Bible cover to cover, I discovered something I never knew yesterday while perusing the book of Exodus. But then again, maybe I'm the only one in the world who wasn't clued in.

Did you know that Moses wasn't the only one (besides Adam and Eve) to actually see God face to face and live to tell about it? In fact, did you realize that God threw a party for a hand-picked bunch in His mountain hide-away and hung out with them while they chowed down?

No? Well I'm glad I'm not alone in my duh-ment. I fear that many of the times I've waded through some of the heavier Old Testament books like Exodus , Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy, I was either half asleep or brain-fried enough that what I was reading didn't register. Happily, this time it did and I feel oh, so enlightened.

In Exodus 24:9-11, it's recorded that while the Children of Israel had recently left Egypt and were just getting started in their wilderness adventure, 74 Hebrew leaders were invited up to Mt. Sinai where "they saw the God of Israel" and "they shared a meal together in God's presence!" (New Living Translation)

Is that not cool? Can you imagine being invited up to God's place and being served manna appetizers while the Master of all Creation and God of the Universe hangs out with you?

I must admit it makes my imagination run wild just considering what the party chatter must have been like:

"So, Lord, what does your agenda look like for the next 40 years?"

"Hey Moses, did you try the quail wings? The secret's in the sauce!"

"Do want us to stay and wash dishes, Yahweh? Good help is so hard to find these days."

No disrespect is intended, of course - I just like to insert myself in these amazing biblical scenarios to see what it could have actually felt like. Guess that's the actress in me.

Nevertheless, I think that's really something that God loves His children so very much that He intentionally seeks our company - He wants to spend time with us. Do we, on the other hand, give Him the same consideration?

How many times have I closed my Bible after 4 verses because I'm tired and would rather go to sleep? Or left a prayer unfinished because I got sidetracked by other important claims on my time? Or had a whole list of good intentions to perform in His name that just somehow never made it to fruition?

Hmm. Maybe it's time to rethink my priorities. Maybe I can still make the invitation list to the Almighty's next shindig.

Oy! Coty Meets Coyote

2010-11-15T14:37:00.000-05:00

I had heard rumors of missing cats in our semi-rural neighborhood, and even a blood and guts description of, well, the blood and gut remains one neighbor found of her cat one foggy morning. There were several accounts of coyote sightings caught in headlights during the wee hours of the night.

And then this morning, I had my very own close encounter.

I was walking my dog down our quiet neighbohood street just after sun-up when we were both startled by a large critter emerging from between two houses about 20 yards in front of us. My ferocious miniature poodle went ballistic but the beast only nonchalantly glanced our way, never even breaking stride. He wasn't exactly loping, but walked at a right smart clip as he crossed the street and disappeared between two houses on the other side of the road as if on a mission.

He ignored us like we weren't even there.

I understand urban coyotes are more common in Florida than most people realize. And by the time you see one, you're probably infestated. They're cunningly adaptable and surprisingly agile. This one had the coloring and height of a German Shepherd but was more gangly, thin and scruffy. He definitely had a wild look about him.

I actually enjoy observing wildlife, which is why I moved to this 200-home subdivision on the cusp of town and country. It brings joy to my heart to see the array of sandhill cranes, iris', red-tailed hawks, owls, silver foxes, racoons, bunnies, possums, and even the occasional alligator traipsing down the middle of the road on a trek between the ponds flanking the neighborhood.

But I must say this encounter didn't bring me the least bit of joy. I'd say heart palpitations is more like it. I've read that coyotes consume just about anything - garbage, dog food, berries, roadkill, eggs, small pets and any kind or varment they can run down. And they've been known to breed with female dogs when one is handy, producing a "coy-dog," which can never be fully domesticated.

So what's an urban animal lover to do? Take the good with the bad and just get over it? Or buy a pellet gun and start packing? What's your opinion?

Trapping the Weasel

2010-11-12T08:21:00.000-05:00

Fear is a covert weasel that can sneak in under the wire and wreak havoc in our feelings and decisions without us even being aware of the wily little beast.

I've never been more aware of this fact than last week when my daughter asked me to accompany her and her husband to their 12-week sonogram. To my surprise, my first impulse was to shout "NO!" and run the other way. But I didn't. Carefully keeping my expression neutral, I saw the excitement and joy radiating from her eyes about this momentous occasion, her first baby, and knew it was a precious honor she was offering me and I should accept graciously.

But my gut reaction puzzled me. What was so frightening to me?

As I considered this perplexing question, a decade faded away like early morning fog and I was transported back to a tiny sterile cubical at a long-forgotten OB office. It was my own 12-week sonogram visit and I was thrilled, despite my daily bouts of nausea, to be expecting our third child at age 42 after five devastating miscarriages. Our two teenagers had been supportive and everything seemed to be going fine. I was already in maternity clothes. I'd asked my mother to come with me, since she had never seen this new technology - sonography - and we giggled like school girls in anticipation as we entered the little office.

Then, the technician began searching with the probe, and I watched her friendly smile disappear as she kept moving the wand around and around. She suddenly turned off the screen and abruptly left the room, stating, "The doctor will be in to see you momentarily."

My mother's face melted. It was only then that I suspected something was wrong. Dark, hollow dread began in the pit of my stomach and snaked outward to fill my chest cavity and my head as the doctor came in to explain my lifeless womb.

I had grieved over the years, sure, but some losses are bured so deep they never really go away. They just get planted over.

And so, as history seemed to be repeating itself, I nervously crowded with my daughter and her husband into another tiny examining room, and found my heart in my throat as the technician pulled out the ultrasound probe.

I had prayed incessantly about this moment, and given my fear repeatedly to Papa God, but tentacles of that wretched, weaselly creature wrapped around the soft vulnerability of my mother-love and squeeze the very life away.

Please, Father. Please let this baby be okay. Please.

Suddenly, a tiny beating heart filled the screen and little arms flailed around a safe, warm womb housing a living, thriving, miraculous baby.

Tears filled my eyes - as they do even now - in grateful relief and joy for God's amazing grace that conquers fear.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7, NKJ).

Meet my future daughter-in-law!

2010-11-09T20:48:00.000-05:00

My son is engaged! Matthew popped the question to his beautiful Rebecca at our Smoky Mt. cabin last week. No date yet but we'll keep you posted!

The Party's Over

2010-11-08T18:15:00.000-05:00

Just got back from a wonderful, relaxing week in the Smokies where Spouse and I saw no less than 7 deer, 2 foxes, a gazillion chipmonks (a rare treat for us Floridians) and a few elderly squirrels. Not exactly like this one - most used canes instead of walkers.

As an extra treat, we had about 2 inches of snow the last few days, which was a mixed blessing. It was great fun to romp in winter wonderland until it came time to pack up and go home Sunday morning.

We arose at 5:30 am to 20 degrees and frozen everything: pipes, screws, spigets (is that how you spell that?), even the hose we needed to drain the hot water heater was frozen stiff and filled with ice. Poor Spouse had to soak it in a bathtub of hot water to get it to loosen up enough to to run water through. What a mess!

But we were finally on the road by 7:30 am, just in time to hit a huge traffic back-up just south of Atlanta. Grrr. Three lanes funneled down to one for 12 miles for construction, which consisted of ten guys standing around watching one guy break up pavement with a jack hammer.

The hour delay was tolerable but barely. At least we had plenty of apples I'd picked from a tree up our mountain, and of course chocolate covered you-name-it (oreos, Nutter Butters, pretzels, etc ad nauseum) from our favorite chocolate shoppe in Highlands.

So now we're home and back to work with nothing but memories of frosty mornings, snowball fights.and geriatric rodents.

A little spiritual refreshment

2010-11-03T08:31:00.002-04:00

Enjoying a girls day at the beach for fun, food and Bible Study with my spiritual sisters a few weeks ago.

Okay, back to my series of Scripture meditations from my personal spiritual retreat. This one is from Zephaniah 3:17, CEV: The Lord your God wins victory after victory and is always with you. He clebrates and sings because of you, and he will refresh your life with his love.

1. He celebrates and sings because of me; with deep love, joy and appreciation especially and singularly because of ... me! Wow! How incredible!

2. He wins all the victories of my life that I'll allow him to fight. So why don't I give ALL of them over to Him?

3. He's always with us. Always. I think there are three levels of His presence:
   Level 1: He surrounds us with evidence of His presence/love through nature and blessings.
   Level 2: We have a personal audience with Him, His undivided attentioin.
   Level 3: We're in Him and he in us, melded together, the vine and the branches. We're extensions of His    heart, spirit, and thoughts. He resides in us.

I aspire to the third level, but in reality, I think I spend most of my everyday awareness moments on the first level with occasional toe-dips into the second level.

4. He will refresh my life with His love. Refresh: renew, reinvigorate, animate, exhilerate, rouse, stimulate, revive, new start, renovate, reawaken, rebuild, re-do, restore, replenish. Do I need this? YES!!!

5. I am special to Him - His beloved little girl. He loves me unconditionally, the way I love my beloved little girl.

If You Can't Fix it, Decorate it!

2010-10-27T07:25:00.000-04:00

I didn't know the neighbor at the far end of my walking route, but I felt badly for them. One night during the sweltering summer months, someone had backed into their brick mailbox stand, toppling the top half of the four-foot-high monument adorning their front yard.

Apparently too heavy to remount, the beheaded portion stood akilter alongside its base, jagged edges exposed in a pathetic silent plea: Fix me!

I could just picture Mrs. Homeowner helpfully reminding (some call it nagging) the little mister every day to "Do something with that mailbox, dear," and him replying, "Just what do you suggest I do with 300-lbs of broken mortor and brick, dearest?"

So there sat the unsightly mound of brokenness, day after day, month after month. Finally, October rolled around and I couldn't help but smile as I rounded the corner on my morning walk to find their marvelous solution. Someone (I assume the creative missus) had strung fake Halloween spiderwebs all over both halves and decorated it in classic Adams Family motiff.

It actually looked terrific! Like a larger version of the vase of rose stems Morticia had carefully de-budded.

I couldn't help but be reminded of all the broken, bulky, unfixable things in our lives. They sit there day after day, year after year, hulking reminders of our inadequacy as we glare at them, grouse about them, but don't actually do anything to fix them. Maybe we can't. Maybe we just plain won't. But whatever the reason, they remain a constant source of irritation and embarrassment.

Yet here was a delightful effort to make the best of the worst, to salvage a little dignity and humor from among the ruins. An object lesson from which we could all benefit.

If you can't fix it, decorate it!

His Voice

2010-10-18T19:12:00.000-04:00

This is the second of a series on my meditations of scripture during a recent personal retreat.

Today's passage: 1 Kings 19:11-12: The still, small voice of God.

1. "Go stand on the mountain" was a command to take action; GO! Stand alone, exposed and vulnerable; wait on the Lord to come to you. You're in His presence on the mountain. Likewise, I'm in God's presence when I climb the mountain he sets before me.

2. The great and powerful wind came before the Lord came. It seemed to shatter Elijah's whole world but he stood firm and waited. He didn't run from the wind, earthquake, or fire, but stayed right there on that mountain ledge, exposed. Do I have the courage to wait through the turmoil?

3. Elijah recognized God's genetle whisper immediately. He knew it wasn't the same as the hubbub that came before. Do I hear God's voice enough to recognize it? Even through the noise of everyday?

4. God told Elijah to go to the mountain in the third person - why? If He was giving Elijah instructions, he must have already been there. So was this His physical presence? No - it was his spiritual presence. God is always here; He sometimes takes his presence to another level. A deeper, more personal level.

5. The huge display of elements was to show Elijah God's power - then He brought it home with the whisper: "Elijah, I am here." (my interpretation). Elijah, who was unmoved by the big show, crumbled and covered his head at God's voice. He ran back to his cave. I, too, often run back to my cave.

6. Elijah was told to go out and leave the cave in which he was hiding. Papa God tells me that, too. But I like my cave. It feels safe. If I go stand out on the mountain, exposed, I can be shot down. But I must leave my cave if I want to experience God's presence in a deeper way.

The Best Gift is a Sacrifice

2010-10-11T10:29:00.003-04:00

This post is the first of a series sharing insights that I encountered about various scriptures on a personal spiritual retreat I enjoyed this summer while all alone for a week in our remote Smoky Mt. cabin. (If you've never invested yourself in a spiritual retreat, I HIGHLY recommend it!)

My technique was to take one passage per day, study it in numerous translations and Bible commentaries, learn the passage's background, read surrounding chapters, read the verses aloud frequently during the day, and meditate on that portion of God's Word during long prayer walks along winding mountain trails, opening my heart and mind to the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

First passage: Exodus 35: 20-22 - Moses leads the displaced Israelites in building a place of worship in the desert

1. Background verse 5: Everyone is invited (not commanded) to give what they have to the Lord as an offering (for the tabernacle). An offering is a voluntary gift, not expected or demanded. The most appreciated gift is sacrificial, something that costs the giver.

2. Their very best was desired (v. 5-9) but not required. They could get by (without penalty) with giving little or even nothing. So can I.

3. Is my heart stirred (v. 20)? Do I desire to give my best as an offering to my Papa God? Am I truly willing to give my time, gifts and abilities with no expectations or strings attached (v. 22)?

4. Gifts must be prepared in private (at home) to get the final offering perfect and ready to present to Him on the altar of my life - like practicing my speeches, agonizing over words in books, responding to readers as they share heartfelt needs with me. Effort is required to prepare and (v. 21) bring/carry/pursue publication in His name.

5. "The Message" translation: everyone "whose spirit was freely responsive" was desired by God to participate.

6. Their gifts/offerings cost them something dear. They didn't have much; they had been slaves in Egypt and left with only what they could carry. The broaches, jewelry and linens they gave were precious to them (v. 22-23).

Are the gifts I'm willing to give to the Lord's work precious to me? Are they a sacrificial offering or merely the leftovers of my best efforts directed elsewhere?

Stress Happens

2010-09-27T08:30:00.003-04:00

Such a marveous weekend! Crazy busy, but marvelous nonetheless. That's not to say there weren't glitches, but hey, all's well that ends well, right?

I've come to realize that stress happens no matter how well thought out or planned-to-the-hilt an event is. I co-directed the Florida Inspirational Writers Retreat at Cedarkirk in Lithia on Saturday, which was preceeded by a manuscript critique at a different location on Friday night.

The first big hiccup occurred when my co-director, Ruth, who was supposed to put up two of the three guest speakers, found out her husband had infectious pneumonia on Thursday. Since we couldn't afford hotel rooms for the speakers, we had to scramble for other accomodations. I ended up putting the husband and wife on my pull-out couch (how very elegant!) and the other in my daughter's guest room (thankfully she's my backyard neighbor).

Then I realized at the last minute that I had to throw something together for breakfast for everyone - hooray for simple quiche recipes! Add a little fruit and sweet rolls and voila! Gormet breakfast!

Then at the retreat, we had the usual forgotten-at-home speaker notes, unexpected equipment failure and awkward silent moments when speakers didn't realize it was their turn to take the podium. And there was the attendee who wouldn't pay and the other who arrived 1 1/2 hours late and ran her car smack into a tree in the parking lot.

Couldn't help but wonder what else was in her morning coffee besides beans.

But to my surprise, the retreat turned out quite well. Speakers spoke, attendees learned, several very talented writers strutted their stuff in a writing contest, and everyone left smiling. And I am soooo glad it's over. Now to start planning for next year!

Picky, Picky

2010-09-08T07:26:00.002-04:00

For lack of table space, I laid out all the fixings for eight gift baskets on the floor of my office ... a cute little scarecrow for each, flavored tea bags, floral stationery, various writing supplies, and a ceramic fall mug filled with chocolate Kisses, Godiva gems, Baby Ruths, Nestle Crunches, Butterfingers, Dove dark chocolate-caramel nuggets, and Tootsie rolls.

Imagining how excited the drawing winners at my writing retreat were going to be when they received these gorgeous baskets, I assembled all the goodies into the elegant wicker baskets and was just beginning to wrap the first with clear cellophane shrink-wrap when I noticed the time.

Yikes! I'm late for church! Will have to finish when I come home. Without another thought, I rushed from the room and out to the car.

When I returned home, the first hint that something was amiss was a crumpled candy wrapper peeking out from beneath the couch. Where did that come from?

One glance at my miniature poodle, Fenway, skulking away with a candy bar sticking out of his mouth like a cigar gave me the answer.

"Fenway! You bad dog! Did you get into my gift baskets?"

Of course he had. The little choco-dickins. The funny part was that Fenway, who normally employs a feeding frenzy not unlike starving sharks, had carefully nosed his way through the bounty of ever-so-sweet options and ferreted out only the best. The Godiva and Dove bars were the only ones missing. A chip off the old block!

I guess if you have to love a thief, at least you can console yourself that he's a discriminating thief.

P.S. Whoever said chocolate kills dogs hasn't encountered the steel metabolism of my Fenway!

Come As You Are

2010-08-27T17:43:00.004-04:00

I'd just finished pouring a cup of water over my head and another down my shirt after sweating out two sets of singles in 93 degree heat. Sounds messy, I know, but us diehard tennis players who stubbornly insist on playing through central Florida summers do it often to prevent heatstroke. If you're already slathered in sweat, what's a little more water, right?

So I'm dripping, stinky and exhausted as I slide onto my car seat (and when you're that sweaty, I do mean slide) and check my phone for messages. I was expecting a message from a newspaper reporter whose call I had returned right before my tennis match (we're not allowed to have our phones on court; they disturb other players).

Cranking the car to get the AC blasting my blotchy, beet-red, face, I wasn't surprised to hear a male voice reciting his message. But it wasn't the reporter. It was the male secretary from the rehab center where I work part-time:

"Just wanted to let you know we scheduled a splint patient for you at 11:00 Friday. See you then."

WHAT?? My eyes darted to my watch; it was 10:45. On Friday. My day off.

I punched the center's number in frustration. They shouldn't have done that, but they did. And now a patient who needed a splint for his wounded hand was trustingly filling out paper work.

'I ... you .... Why? ... Listen, I'm not prepared to work today," I sputtered. "I'm a half hour from home and I'm not in work clothes ..."

"Just come as you are!" the clueless secretary responded. "Nobody will mind."

"Well I MIND! You don't know what you're asking!" I looked down at my tiny barely-bum-covering tennnis skirt, the half moon sweat marks beneath my armpits and the soaking white tennis blouse stuck to my sports bra. I had on not a drop of make=up and a clay-stained Nike hat holding back my greasy, soaking hair, for heaven's sake. I couldn't have looked less professional if I'd tried.

My effort to douse the nasty smell enveloping me in a cloud like the dirt from Charlie Brown's friend Pigpen only resulted in a nauseating mix of Spring Bouquet body spray and B.O. I felt like I was back in the high school girl's locker room on flag football day.

But off to work I go. Hi Ho, Hi Ho.

Of course none of the therapists had a lab coat or even an extra sweater to try to camoflage my inappropriateness. And when the patient (a young black man) eyed me warily as I called him from the waiting room, I could only come up with, "I know I don't look like a therapist, but I am one, really. I, um ... I thought this was the day we decided to do Halloween early (try two months early!) so I'm supposed to be Serena Williams."

At least that got a chuckle out of him, but it dawned on me how risky the invitation to "Come as you are" can be. There's no telling what a disgusting mess you might find if people take you up on it.

Yet Papa God extends that very invitation to each of us when He calls us to Himself. Come as you are. With your ugly attitudes, sinfulness, full of pride, unable to help yourself ... come on, dear child, and I'll cover it all up and make you clean as the new-fallen snow. No matter how you started, you'll end up beautiful.

And thank the Good Lord His body wash works inside and out!

Now I get it.

2010-08-15T17:43:00.004-04:00

As a writing late bloomer (I started writing professionally at age 45), it never ceases to amaze me how many people think they can just jump in and write a book without doing their homework. I spent three years researching, writing articles, attending writing conferences and consuming every industry how-to I could get my hands on before wading into the book publication waters, and then it was with fear and trembling.

I started small (articles and submitting short pieces to compilations and devotionals) and worked my way up to books. And I always followed the advice of successful authors (which you can easily find if you just seek) and invested in good editors before submitting my manuscript to agents or publishing house editors.

At the writing mini-workshop I taught over the weekend (one of dozens I've taught at bookstores and libraries), I spoke with several authors of self-published books who hadn't bothered to have their manuscripts professionally edited before turning them over for printing. Unfortunately, this lack of preparation inevitably shows in the quality of the writing, and reflects poorly on self-published books in general.

One of the authors didn't even know his book was self-published because "it was accepted by a publisher," until I asked, "Well, did they require money to print your book?"

"Only three thousand dollars," was his reply.

I wanted to say, "Good heavens! For three thousand dollars, shouldn't you take enough pride in your work to have it edited properly?" I really don't understand.

I'm not just talking grammar and punctuation here. I'm talking 16 pages of throat-clearing introduction before beginning the first chapter. Or not even pre-plotting out major events in a "fictional novel" (a HUGE redundant no-no as a book is referred to as either a novel or fiction, not both), or using real names and real events without asking permission.

When I first delved into books and faced my 9th traditional press rejection for The Distant Shore, I thought about self-publishing. I recall the advice of published authors to exhaust all possibilities in traditional publishing first because of the stigma attached to self-publishing. Sub-quality editing was the difference, they said. I didn't fully grasp their meaning at the time, and thankfully, my manuscript was finally accepted by a small press who provided its own editing in addition to the professional editing I had already procured, which produced a quite acceptable end product (in my humble opinion).

But I get it now.

After wading through beginner model book manuscripts from people who just decide to sit down and whip out the memoir or novel they've always dreamed of without a lick of preparation, I do indeed get it now.

An Unexpected Twist in Events

2010-07-19T22:39:00.003-04:00

I just returned from two weeks in a mt cabin enjoying the hummingbirds, little brown field bunnies, chipmonks, and 60 degree mornings. It was a very beneficial time of prayer, communion with my Creator within the beauty of His creation, contemplation, study, writing, and spiritual renewal.

Oh, did I mention near-death? Twice within the same hour?

I'd trekked down the mountain to run some errands. Just as I pulled into the grocery store parking lot to grab something for dinner, the sky split wide open and rain fell in buckets. I grabbed my umbrella from the backseat floorboard, tucked my purse against my chest and sprinted toward the store entrance with the umbrella low to my head and angled against the rain blowing in from my left side.

As I crossed the expanse in front of the store, vision occluded by my umbrella, I heard the sickening screech of car tires and a woman standing in the doorway screamed as she pointed in my direction. Suddenly the front bumper of a car entered my field of vision beneath the canopy of my umbrella as it skidded to a stop on the wet asphalt, shiny chrome coming to rest against my left hip.

I laid my left hand on the car's hood, about three inches from my now-trembling body and looked up at the ashen face of the driver, his hand flying to his forehead as he exhaled a long, relieved breath.

Dinner no longer held it's appeal and I pivoted back toward the car. I just wanted to get out of there and back to the snug safety of my cabin.

I sat dripping in my car trying to pull myself together enough to drive. Okay. I'm okay. Just breathe in and out. Thank you Lord; You saved my life. Or at the very least a long night at the ER.

The trip up the twisting narrow mountain road flanked by sheer drops took twice as long as usual in that horrible thunderstorm with dusk closing in. About halfway up, hail began pounding my windshield and I slowed to 15 mph, barely able to make out the center line as visibility decreased to almost nil.

Roundinga sharp curve, I was startled to see, in a timely flash of lightning, an enormous tree falling across the road directly in front of my car. Thankfully, I was moving so slowly because of the weather I was able to brake just in time. I reversed about ten feet and sat staring at the massive trunk and heavy limbs sprawled acorss the exact spot where my car would have been if I'd gotten there five seconds earlier.

Five seconds. The difference between life and death.

Meaningful scripture jumped out at me: If God cares so wonderfully for flowers that are here today and gone tomorrow, won't he more surely care for you? You have so little faith! (Luke 12:28, NLT).

What you hope for is kept safe for you in heaven (Col. 1:5, CEV).

It occurred to me that if we receive God's prescious gift of salvation through the sacrifice of his son, Jesus Christ, we don't have to fear death. It's merely a door opening to the greatest adventure of all : Heaven!

Living by Hope

2010-06-30T07:50:00.004-04:00

This is a good week despite marathon work days and lack of sleep.

I received my advance for the 2-book deal offered me by Barbour Books a few months ago. Yay! There's just something about holding that check in your hand that affirms your call to write and swells your heart with gratitude more than you ever thought possible. You stack hope upon hope, but never really believe this moment will actually come one day.

Ephesians 3:20 becomes more real than ever: "To Him who is able to do EXCEEDING ABUNDANTLY BEYOND all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us, to HIM be the glory ... forever and ever. Amen."

And the hope of a stress respite next week keeps me going. I've been covering hand therapy at three clinics for the last two weeks for a therapist out on maternity leave. I remember the day when I could run, run, run like that without any difficulty but it ain't now. Sheer craziness.

It will be heaven holing up alone in a mt cabin with nobody to answer to but my dog, Fenway. And he's pretty easy going. But knowing me, after a few days of solitude, I'll be more than ready to see the fam when they drive up. It's my favorite place in the world up there - just God, Fenway, the birds, chipmonks, and occasional wild hares on the beautiful mountain trails.

Sure hope Sir Lancelot, my 4-wheeler, is working this trip.

Until next time, here's to HOPE!

Playing Chicken with a Duck

2010-06-25T20:33:00.002-04:00

As I was driving down a narrow, seldom traveled back road today, late as usual, I spied something moving in the road ahead. Partially obscured by tree shadows, it wasn't until I was nearly upon it that I recognized the object in my path as a fat black and white duck waddling toward me down the center of the road.

I squealed to a stop about 10 yards in front of the quacky quacker but undaunted, she just kept bringing it. (I assumed female gender because she exuded an illogical, unmerited superior attitude I've seen before.)

When she wouldn't deviate from her preferred route straddling the center line, I laid on my horn. All she did was stop, stick her stubborn little beak in the air and park her feathered butt to roost right there. She had no pressing engagements; we could be there all day.

What was wrong with this chick? Here's a 2-ton van versus a 5-lb bird and she thinks she can win? Steel and chrome versus webbed feet and tail feathers? C'mon!

And we both obviously felt we were in the right - that we had more right to be there and own the road than the other.

It occurred to me, as we stared each other down, halted at an impasse because neither party was willing to give an inch, that I was witnessing a metaphor of my life.

How many times am I rendered immobile by silly obstacles that I allow to hinder pursuit of my life goals? Obstacles of my own making or even small speed bumps that I allow to swell and loom over me like the Alps?

The thing blocking my path may seem like an immovable precipice to me, but in reality, it's the size of a duck.

In trying to remove this pecking roadblock before me, horns don't work, opponent size doesn't matter, time is not a factor and rank is irrelevant. But there IS a way around. It just takes effort and a plan.

So I got out of the car in the 95 degree heat, walked right up to the obstinant entree, nudged her with my foot and scrambled to avoid her snapping beak. Squawking her annoyance, she finally moved, herded to the side of the road by my perseverant shooing.

My hot and sweaty lesson? Don't waste your time playing chicken with a duck. Regardless of your formidable advantage, you won't win unless you formulate a plan, leave your comfy air-conditioned vantage point, put a little sweat into it and execute.

Balancing Act

2010-06-19T08:10:00.003-04:00

A literary agent's blog I follow has been running a series on finding the right balance between accepting criticism and praise (for writers). A thought-provoking conundrum for real life, too, don't you think?

Most of us feel as though we get much more criticism than praise, or at least we remember the criticism more clearly and often have trouble deleting it's repurcussions from our perception of ourselves. It's a shame, really, because in reality, we get praise from all kinds of sources that we barely notice at the time and certainly don't deposit in our self-esteem banks:

"Great dinner, Mom!"
"That looks nice on you, dear."
"I wouldn't trust this important project with anyone else."
"You're my BFF!"

And yet all the implied compliments, love, and trust are wiped out by one flippant negative remark:

"Don't be rediculous."
"You've got to be kidding me - you really don't get it?"
"My grandmother has a skirt just like that."
"How are you planning to shrink the skin back up now that you've lost weight?"

(Believe it or not, that last one was a real comment I received after a speaking gig.)

And so many times we're deathly afraid of receiving criticism - even helpful, necessary criticism that would help us refine, revise and perfect our skills.

An example would be yesterday when I lead group of neighborhood gals in a Bible Study lesson I wrote and wanted critiqued for possible publication. During the six months we've been meeting weekly, these lovely ladies have become dear friends, so what was I afraid of? I don't know, but I sure was. I was nervous as a cat at a dog show and held my breath at the end after the last prayer was said and I knew comments would follow.

Of course they were kind, and the helpful suggestions for improvement were framed sensitively and Oreo'ed between praise. Yet I'd erected my inner steel wall and braced myself for arrows.

It guess life's just a balancing act in many ways, and learning to accept and internalize praise (not brush it off or overlook it) and downplay criticism (all I could do about the weight loss/wrinkle dig was laugh it off) are just part of rehearsal.

Want a Bun with that Beef?

2010-06-17T07:03:00.003-04:00

I've got a new pet peeve. The cyber-selfish.

I've always felt a bit annoyed when people with whom you're chatting speak only of themselves. You know the type - a conversation consists of you asking them one question after another about their recent exploits because it never occurs to them to ask you anything personal or take an interest in the details of your life.

Sadly, it has been my experience to encounter significantly more of these eg0-centric folk than others-centric. In fact, they are the rule. Exceptions, though quite refreshing when encountered, are few and far between. My family has, upon return from a party or social event, been able to count on one hand the rare caring individuals who delve deeper than "How are you?" and actually listen to the answers.

Well now technology has provided yet another way to make people feel unimportant. I've recently become aware, as have both my husband and grown daughter, of those who blog and e-mail under the guise of friendship only for commercial gain or to promote their cause/book/business/whatever.

I suppose they've always existed - those who join churches or clubs just to have access to a larger clientele pool and such - but for some reason it's extra annoying when they invade my computer space.

It's bad enough when their eyes flit around while they're talking to you at a gathering, checking out who's more important so they don't have to waste any more time on you than absolutely necessary. But it's just as obvious when they never ask one personal question about you, ignore your Facebook comments on their frequent posts, and mention their cause/book/business/whatever in every single correspondence you receive. Which of course, are all mass e-mails or forwards.

Okay, I feel better now.

Do me a favor, will ya? If I ever bore you to tears talking about my life, my books, my granddog (no grandchildren yet but I'm sure that will be an issue too) and neglect to make you feel like a person of interest, respect and dignity, please tell me.

For I truly believe the old adage: People may not remember what you say but they'll always remember how you made them feel.

A Title is Born

2010-06-12T13:28:00.003-04:00

Sooo excited to finalize the title of my newest Barbour book this week. After bantering back and forth, my wonderful editor and I agreed on a doozy: Too Blessed to Stay Stressed. It's the first book of a series for frazzled women and I've been amazed about the feedback I've received in the few days since the announcement was made:

'Oooh, I need to read that book now!"

"Want to interview me for your book? I'm the expert on stress!"

"Can't wait to sink my teeth into that one!"

"Hey, I could write a few volumes about stress!"

Just affirms that today's women are trying to keep so many balls in the air, we're feeling the strain. We yearn for relief from the fray. We want to stop the madness!

I'm so happy to be able to share with my frenzied friends some of the things Papa God has been teaching me - practical pathways to everyday peace. Of course, sometimes my foot slips off the path and I end up ragged out and battle-weary at the end of a busy day. But I think that's all part of the plan. We have to experience the worst before we can appreciate the better.

And that's what makes a terrific book - when we pour ourselves and our experiences into print. Our passion transfers and then transforms the reader as we go through our own metamorphosis.

May our blessings overshadow our stressings!

Squashed

2010-06-05T18:24:00.005-04:00

I was riding my bike out in the country today when something caught my eye in the road. It was a colorful little snake coiled in a patch of sunshine in the middle of my lane. Traffic was very light - almost nonexistant - on this tree-lined back road late on a Saturday afternoon, so of course I had to stop alongside and check it out.

Golly - seems like all I'm doing lately is talking about reptiles, doesn't it?

Now bear in mind I'm a backwoods girl raised by a swamp. Never held much fear of snakes and in fact have had my share of the swiggly things tucked away in a pocket or two.

But as soon as I saw this little guy, I knew he wasn't a pocket-dweller. He was a coral. Red on black won't hurt Jack; black on yellow'll kill a fellow. All swamp rats know how to tell the difference between a harmless scarlet kingsnake and a poisonous coral snake. And we never harm the one and just steer clear of the other.

I stared at him and he stared back at me in mutual respect. Skirting him by a safe five feet, I admired the crystilline beauty of his vivid colors. One of God's masterpieces of design. Coral snakes don't strike or jump at you like other poisonous snakes; they're actually not aggressive at all. You have to practically step on one for it to defend itself and bite, and then it has to sort of chew on you to do any damage.

Anyhow, along comes a truck toward us in the other lane. A shiny silver pick-up driven by a young redneck in a cowboy hat. He slowed down a mite to see what was so interesting to the lady on the bike, and then sped up right as he got to us. Swerving way out of his lane, he intentionally ran his oversized tires right over the little snake, squashing reptile innards all over the road at my feet.

Now I know there are different ways of looking at every issue, and I might feel differently if a coral snake were latched onto the ankle of my toddler, but my blood boiled at the needless taking of this life just because of the color of its skin.

That little snake wasn't bothering anyone. It was just enjoying a little sun-bathing on a warm road. It wasn't encroaching in anyone's habitat, we were in his. I can't believe I'm admitting this but my eyes teared up at the unjust scene of a destroyed creature whose only offense was being himself and a smug self-appointed executioner driving away to his Bud Light.

Makes me realize the sting of prejudice among humankind. The unfairness, the folly of judging someone simply by the color of their skin. Or their tribe. Or their ancestry.

Maybe it's the judge - the guy in the truck and even me sometimes - who ought to be squashed all over the road. There but by God's grace goes each of us.

Feeling Your Pain

2010-06-01T19:45:00.004-04:00

I was preparing to speak about the healing power of empathy last week when God brought the point home in a very moving object lesson.

Our neighborhood ladies Bible Study had just gotten under way Friday when Lynn (name changed) appeared at the front door, visibly shaken and puffy-eyed.

"Can you please pray for me?" she asked, her voice breaking mid-sentence. "I have to put my dog down and the pet hospice vet is coming to the house at 3:00 to euthanize him."

Lynn's beloved Chippy was nearly 14, deaf, and suffering from congestive heart failure. He'd begun having seizures all night and she knew, as shattering as the decision was, that it was time. But knowing it's the right thing to do doesn't make it easier.

We surrounded Lynn and laying our hands on her quivering body, prayed for God to give her His supernatural comfort and peace during this most difficult time. Lynn left immediately afterward, saying she wanted to spend as much time as possible with Chippy.

I couldn't stop thinking about Lynn the rest of the day. She was divorced and her kids were grown; Chippy was all she had. My heart ached for her. As much as I didn't want to relive the searing pain of having to put my sweet dog, Dusty, down several years before, I knew it was time for me to act as Jesus' hands and feet on earth. I cancelled my afternoon appointments and went to Lynn's house around 2:30.

The vet was an hour late arriving, which heaped hot coals upon Lynn's heart as we waited for the dreadful inevitable. But the beautiful part was that during that agonizing hour, one by one, four more girls from the neighborhood Bible Study trickled in to add their support. When the horrible moment finally came, we were a cohesive prayer force.

We cried with Lynn and laughed through our tears over funny stories about Chippy. We were God's love with skin on it.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4 tells us that God never wastes a hurt. He comforts us in our affliction so that we will in turn be able to comfort others.

Jesus demonstrated the healing power of empathizing with those who are suffering when he cried with Mary and Martha in mourning their brother's death, although he knew Lazerus would be restored to life and health in a matter of hours. He chose to enter their grief and feel their pain.

Jesus wept. One of the shortest but most powerful verses in the Bible.

Empathy opens up a channel directly from the heart to the Holy Spirit. It's a ministry we all can be a part of if we put just forth the necessary time and effort.

Who do voodoo?

2010-05-25T15:30:00.004-04:00

I was super excited about a 2-book contract offer I received last week and in my enthusiasm, told a friend all about it.

"Shhh," she responded. "Don't tell anyone about it yet. Not until it's finished. Somebody might jinx it."

Excuse me?

Now I could certainly understand if she meant not to tell anyone for fear the deal would fall through and I would have to face humiliation in admitting to those I'd confided in that my good news was, after all, bad news. I certainly learned that lesson after my second of six miscarriages when I'd already spilled the beans before I lost the baby and had to painfully answer all the smiling folks who asked how the pregnancy was going.

But that's not what my friend meant. She explained that when she'd had good things on the verge of happening in the past, she had made the mistake of telling one particular acquaintaince who, my friend was certain, counteracted the good by wishing bad on her and thereby jinxing it. The good things never happened and were replaced by bad, worse and downright rotten.

I must say this was a surprising point of view to me. I responded that as a Christian, I believe that Jesus is stronger than Satan and mere people do not have the power to wish bad things on other people and make them come true.

She just shook her head, wide-eyed, and said that in her South American country, she had seen it happen.

So what are your thoughts on supernatural slander?

All I can be is who I am

2010-05-19T22:17:00.006-04:00

Had an interesting interview today with a pastor who had received my name as a referral to fill in at the pulpit while he's on vacation. Now I speak to a lot of groups - mostly at libraries, schools or women's church luncheons. But you can bet I pretty much choked up a gizzard over a Sunday morning sanctuary invitation.

My first question to this very kind and gentle man of the cloth was: "Do you realize I'm a woman?" Apparently his denomination has no problem with that issue. He'd heard I'm a Christian humorist and he felt his congregation could use a little levity with their dutiful dose of religion.

Second question: "Do you realize that I'm not a preacher?" I assured him that to consider me a preacher was demeaning to his profession. "I'm an encourager; a fellow sojourner in this Christian walk; perhaps even a lay-minister, since I consider all followers of Jesus ministers to their fellow man, but I would never in a million years be called a preacher.

"In my opinion, preaching is an honored calling for special servants of God. I have nothing but respect for true preachers and my little feet wouldn't begin to fill those large shoes."

We settled on "sharing." Now that I can do. That I love to do; my preferred delivery is through the written word, but I've found that sometimes it's got to be verbal. People need to see the joy of the Lord in action face to face, not eye to paper. Something dynamic is lost in the translation if it's just read about and not felt.

So although Billy Graham I'll never be, I can be something akin to a Rhonda Rhea, Martha Bolton, or a Chonda Pierce. Or best yet, a Debbie Coty - God's favorite choice for me.

Creepy Crawly Memories

2010-05-16T09:47:00.003-04:00

Reptiles. The word brings a shudder to some but they've actually always fascinated me.

I suppose growing up backdoor to a swamp in north Florida had something to do with that. I have very clear memories of gators in the pond (ducks and small dogs used to disappear back there) and snakes popping up in peculiar places quite often.

I recall racing outside to the neighbor lady's screams one morning to find her clean laundry strewn all over the yard. Apparently snakes like nothing better than to curl up in a basket of fresh sun-warmed laundry from the clothesline. No dryers in those days!

On my daily treks through the woods it was not uncommon to encounter a large specimen stretched across the path sunning himself. I usually just stepped over them, although I did occasionally bring home the smaller guys forthwith to torture my sister.

Unless they were rattlers or corals or cottonmouth moccasins. With those I hastily beat a retreat in the other direction.

Then there was the time the neighbor boy Robert and I were playing cowboys and indians as 6-year-olds. I was the captured indian, so he tied me to the oak tree in his front yard with a jumprope and then galloped away on his stick horse. My play screams turned real as I caught sight of a coiled rattler about 3 feet away from my bound feet. Robert's mama dashed out of the house and beat it to a pulp with a shovel.

I still have nightmares about that one.

When I got the chance to cavort with the cute little gator in the picture (at the TV45 studio in Orlando, compliments of the Gator Crusader, Michael Isaacs) I was thrilled. Felt like old home week at the reptile farm.

At age 3, he seemed an especially calm gator, and I knew Michael had taken him on "tour" for the past year with his ministry, so I asked him what would happen if the duct tape was removed from his pointy little snout. (The gator, not Michael.)

"Why, he'd chew your arm to rawhide," he replied with a smile.

Swell. Suddenly he didn't seem so cute. (The gator; Michael was still a cutie - an American version of the late great Steve Irwin.)

My wrists and ankles began feeling warm and itchy, like they had when tied to that oak tree long ago and far away. Watercolor memories ... Where's a good shovel when you need one?

Interview with an Aligator

2010-05-16T09:25:00.005-04:00

My little buddy...

Smile for the camera!

Picture Perfect

2010-05-12T18:18:00.003-04:00

There's nothing quite like holding pictures of your loved ones in your grubby little hand.

Call me old fashioned, but I just can't get the same warm, fuzzy thrill out of looking at cold electronic photos. It's too much like viewing someone else's life, too far removed from that private place inside that croons, "Awwww" when you're caressing a fave memory. Something crucial and not really easy to explain is missing when you can't respond with your tactile senses.

Stroking a computer screen just doesn't cut it.

Anyhow, I mentioned something like this to Chuck the other day. Actually, it was more like, "I hate not having real pictures anymore." I wasn't even sure he was listening, but the dear man just plunked an 8-inch stack of several hundred printed photos on my desk. They must be every digital photo we've shot during the last year. Wow.

Pitter pat goes my heart. I love that guy!

Guess it's time to unearth the old albums and have some fun.

True Love is Black Duct Tape

2010-05-10T09:17:00.003-04:00

Last Friday I was in a huge rush to make it to our neighborhood Bible Study on time.

I'd rushed home from my tennis match (which I lost, leaving me in a bit of a blue funk to start with) with no time to shower. I spashed on some fruity-smelling body wash over my sweaty tennis clothes, dabbed a little make-up over my newly sprouted sun-induced freckles, threw my purse, Bible, and study book into my bicycle handlebar basket (yes, yes - I have a basket like the Wicked Witch of the West) and careened down the sloped driveway already ten minutes late.

As my front tire hit the gutter at the base of my driveway, the flimsy gizmo connecting the basket to the bike popped off, flinging my purse out and spewing the contents all over the road directly in front of my tires. As I ran over my new leather Coach purse (the only one I've ever owned, which now sports a tire tread down the center), I heard tubes of lipstick crack and all my other essential items of life spread out through the cul-de-sac like a rock slide.

Miraculously, I didn't crash, but the sudden stop caused by sticking my legs out catapulted my Bible onto the asphalt. It ended up spread-eagled upside down, flying bookmarks and ripped pages flapping in the breeze.

With none of the grace of my inbred Southern heritage, I heaved that aggrevious basket as far as I could into the bushes and left the stupid bicycle lying prostate in the gutter. I think I even kicked it.

I hope somebody steals it, I thought, angrily stuffing my broken stuff back into my poor violated handbag. Or maybe the garbage men will pick it up. I never want to see it again. I climbed into my car and tore off, a living testimonial to Christianity at it's finest.

By the time I arrived back home from the Bible Study, I was in a better frame of mind. I didn't even notice that the metalic offender was gone. In fact, I never gave that bike or basket another thought until the following day when, having forgotten all about my vows to forsake two-wheeled transportation forever, I entered the storage room to hop aboard for my regular 5-mile weekend bike route.

I was already astraddle before realizing the basket was somehow back in place and the tires had been reinflated. Now how did that happen? Are there bicycle fairies flitting about?

Glancing down, I had to smile at the black duct tape winding round and round the handlebars securing the basket in place until you-kn0w-where freezes over. Awww... my eyes teared up.

Apparently my husband Chuck had witnessed my Lance Armstrong fiasco through his office window and without saying a word, had gathered up my shattered Humpty Dumpty and painstakingly put all the pieces together again.

Now that's true love with a sticky back.

Repelling the Dagger

2010-05-04T14:37:00.006-04:00

I had just finished my little speech at the women's banquet and was trying to catch my breath before manning the book table at the back of the room. A well-dressed lady whose lips were smiling but her eyes were not approached me, gushed a bit about how much she'd enjoyed the presentation, and then grabbed my arm like you would an old friend.

"Oh, Debbie," she said in an everybody-listen-to-me-now voice, "I thought what you said about losing 40-lbs was amazing. What do you plan to do to make the skin shrink back up?"

Gulp.

There's always one in every crowd. Someone who just can't find it within themselves to encourage rather than discourage. Someone who thinks their candle will shine brighter by blowing out yours.

I hope graciousness isn't becoming a relic. I value good manners and sincerely hope that a genteel countenance isn't just a cultural trait. Having been raised in the South, I have wonderful memories of two lovely white-haired ladies in floral dresses sipping mint iced tea while gracing me with their undivided attention in a room full of adults. A true gift when one feels invisible and unworthy. They were blessed with the talent of making a person feel good about herself - even a shy, chubby ten-year-old with nothing much yet to offer.

Since I've circulated more among strangers as a speaker during the last two years, I've been insulted intentionally and unintentionally many times. Thankfully, early on I learned the value of Proverbs 10:19: "Where there are many words, transgression is unavoidable, but he who restrains his lips is wise."

A simple smile in response goes a long way toward learning not to take yourself so seriously. It really doesn't hurt a bit and nobody's the better when bitterness is exchanged. Surprisingly enough, I've actually made inroads into lasting friendships when a foot-in-mouth comment or two were overlooked.

So next time someone decides to point out that I'm a human river of wrinkles, I think I'll throw my arms up in the air and let my underarm Dumbo flaps speak for themselves.

Ah, Glorious Spring!

2010-04-28T06:10:00.004-04:00

Chuck and I just returned from a wonderful get-away week at our little cabin nestled in the mountains of N. Carolina. Spring was just dawning in our tiny yard about 3/4 of the way up a 5,000 ft peak, although it was in full swing in the valleys beneath.

So unlike our home in Florida, where the only trace of spring is often barrels of oak pollen, I was thrilled to see tulips and daffodils nosing upward from the frozen earth, soft dogwood blossoms of pink and white (sometimes grafted onto the same tree!), and multiple shades of brilliant green as hostas emerged to fill out desolate flower beds.

The creek beside our cabin fairly danced with glee as it gushed with runoff from the 60" of snow that blanketed our mountain this winter.

All small things, sure, but it was sublimely refreshing to have the time to take delight in the small things that often escape my attention in this busy life. On my long morning trail walks in the crisp 40 degree air, I intentionally thanked Papa God for each and every flower, chirping bird and ray of sunshine.

What a difference it makes to have an attitude of gratitude! My entire day was lived from a different perspective - one of humility and awe at the myriad of blessings before me, rather than worry, hurry and regret at things not accomplished.

I think that's why God makes spring. So the renewal of His earth can demonstrate to us the power of renewing our minds.

2010-04-15T14:03:00.002-04:00

Sooo excited to be a guest blogger on Margaret McSweeney's Pearl Girls blog today!

Check it out at http://margaretmcsweeney.blogspot.com

The Real Test

2010-04-14T06:40:00.004-04:00

The call from the Women's Center was surprising: "We've got a homeless woman here who lives in her car. She's written a book and would like to see about getting it published. Since you're an author, we wondered if you'd mind speaking with her."

I cringed quietly (didn't want the counselor to know how annoyed I was) and replied, "Well, I'm kind of busy right now, with two speaking events coming up next weekend to prepare for and a book proposal my agent wanted yesterday."

No reply.

Enter conscience. I had volunteered to help the charity "in any way I can." And I had just finished writing in my speech on "Becoming a Barnabas" the incriminating statements, "A true Encourager must be willing to be used whenever, however, and for whomever God places in her path. That means willingness to be available, even if it means interrupting our own busy schedules for unexpected developments."

Yikes! Time to put my conviction where my mouth is.

So regardless of my private eyerolling and preconceived ideas that this would be a waste of valuable time, I met with "Lynn" in the lobby of a church where we could sit in air conditioned comfort to discuss her manuscript.

To my utter astonishment, it was good. Very good. She was a bit rough around the edges in appearance (who wouldn't be, living in a car?) but was articulate and well educated. Lynn had been working on her memoir for nearly two years and had painstakingly typed it into book form on a computer at the public library.

I found her story fascinating and well written, and with some good editing, I believe it has commercial potential.

When we first met and she reluctantly turned over her well guarded manuscript to me, I could read the fear in her eyes. Or was it distrust? Probably both. Her tension was palpable. For a moment, I thought she might snatch the bundle of papers out of my hands and bolt for the door. But after I completed the first chapter, I'll never forget the light in her eyes and relief on her lined face when I assured her it was one of the best first drafts I'd ever encountered.

Her smile was absolutely radiant!

I was able to offer a few tips and recommend a professional editor I know. But most of all, despite my initial selfishness, I was able to encourage this aspiring writer who had received much discouragement and disappointment from life in recent years. I gave her a copy of my book, Grit for the Oyster: 250 Pearls of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers and invited her to our monthly writing group and a free writing mini-workshop I'll be doing at a local bookstore soon.

We hugged as kindred spirits when we parted ways, me to my nice home in a safe neighborhood and her to her rusty car packed with all her earthly possessions.

Yet I was the one most encouraged.

Sometimes it's Just Roadkill

2010-04-05T09:52:00.004-04:00

Did you hear about the Pennsylvania man who was arrested after trying to resuscitate a possum on the side of the highway?

Nope, I ain't funnin' ya.

According to the article in the 3/27/10 Florida Times Union, a 55-year-old , um, gentleman (and I use the term loosely) was a apparently bit tipsy on his way home one afternoon. Several witnesses called in a report of a man kneeling in the road before the deceased animal, attempting to give it mouth-to-mouth resucitation.

You just can't make up stuff this good.

While we may never understand his motives, one can only assume that he was an animal lover with passions gone awry. Or eww-y in this case. A possum? Have you ever seen a possum up close and personal? That species must have been last on God's to-do list and he ran fresh out of eloquence. A wee, cuddly puppy or an adorable fawn I might understand, but a possum?

It wasn't like our guy had just hit the thing with his car; witnesses said the possum had been "dead a while." Wouldn't you love to read that police report?

Anyway, it occurred to me that trying to revive one of my old manuscripts is kind of like that. I pulled the thing out of its bottom drawer with the intention of infusing it with life and giving it one more shot at a future. After all, I spent many hours of effort and energy on that ill-fated plot years ago; why just bury it without first pulling out the electric paddles?

But you know what? It was too far gone. It had no pulse. No heartbeat. No dying breath. So I got out the coffin.

As much as writers hate to admit that every single thing they write isn't golden, we must face hard, cold facts. Sometimes it's just roadkill.

Bunny Revenge

2010-04-02T16:56:00.004-04:00

Although I've never before observed the tradition of Lent, as I was studying the subject five weeks ago, Papa God whispered to my heart that He wanted to teach me more about personal sacrifice. I was okay with that.

Until He mentioned that chocolate - gasp! - was the sacrifice.

SIX WEEKS WITHOUT CHOCOLATE??? You've got to be kidding!

He wasn't.

The problem is that I'm a world class choco-athlete (I prefer this term over chocoholic; sounds healthier somehow). I've not missed a single day without the creamy, delicious, delightful stuff for thirty years, with the exception of four months in 2008 when I was dutifully bound by a strict no-fat diet (wonder why?)

How could I possibly give up my life blood? My reason for living past 3 PM every day? Surely I misunderstood. Instead of chocolates, maybe God said to give up socklets or wallclocks.

Only those things hold no great affinity for me and I know the purpose of Lent is self-sacrifice, reflection anad repentance. Originating before AD 1500 as a preparatory time for Easter, Lent is the forty-day period beginning on Ash Wednesday during which believers commemorate Jesus' forty-day pilgrimage into the wilderness (Matthew 4:1-2) by fasting, praying and rededicating themselves.

I realized that it was no personal sacrifice if the item I was fasting held no special meaning to me. If it wasn't melted into my very soul with its luscious Godiva tentacles wound around my heart and caressing the comfort center of my brain. Sigh.

And so I entered the Lenten season kicking and screaming, wrestling the overwhelming hourly urge to indulge my little secret vice. When you can't have something, it screams your name even louder.

With only a few days to go, you can well imagine that I'm a bit, well, on edge. Actually, I fear it's withdrawal: My hands shake, my head jerks like a squirrel's and I'm even more ornery than usual. I know this because my family and friends are now baking me brownies and begging me to take just one nibble of fudge. I don't think they can stand me much longer.

But I'm holding firm.

How pathetic that Jesus could suffer and die for me and I struggle to give up this one little thing when He asks me to. Every time I open my computer drawer containing my stash of Cadbury bars, I breathe in the heavenly aroma and remember His sacrifice for me.

It doesn't quell the craving but at least it redirects my thoughts and fills me with humble gratitude.

Another added bonus, I have definitely learned more about that prune in the fruit bowl of the spirit: self-control. But I still plan on biting the heads off every chocolate bunny I can find Easter morning.

Smiling in the Dark

2010-04-01T09:16:00.004-04:00

I'm soooo excited that Everyday Hope has been nominated for a Retailer's Choice Award! It's such an honor even to be nominated, but the down side is that it's up against a Max Lucado book. Yikes!

It would take a real miracle to win. But hey, God's in the miracle business, right?

May I share a letter excerpt from a reader of Everyday Hope?

"I went into the grocery store and this beautiful little book jumped into my cart! It must have known how many people in my life are struggling with hope. I shared your devotion, 'Smiling in the Dark' with a friend whose mother-in-law fell two months ago, which resulted in her becoming blind. My friend couldn't believe the words that seemed meant for her:

'Hope isn't just an emotion; it's a perspective, a discipline, a way of life. It's a journey of choice. We must learn to override those messages of discouragement, despair and fear that assault us in times of trouble and press toward the light.

Hope is smiling in the darkness. It's confidence that faith in God's sovereignty amounts to something ... something life-changing, life-saving and eternal.'"
~ Nancy Stoppelkamp, North Carolina

1st Baptist Riverview

2010-02-06T23:23:00.004-05:00

What a wonderful group
(click on picture to enlarge)

Atlanta's TV57 presents "A Talk with Debora Coty

2009-07-22T23:54:00.001-04:00

Mom Needs Chocolate, NOW!

2009-07-14T11:27:00.001-04:00

Denise & Larry's Choc-Out Party

2009-06-09T21:19:00.000-04:00

Bell Shoals "Girlfriends" Night Out

2009-06-05T21:15:00.002-04:00

(click on photo to view larger)

First Presbyterian Church Dunedin

2009-05-28T21:05:00.000-04:00

Shout out to my dear Friends, Nancy & Marcia Allen!

Southside Baptist Church Spring Luncheon

2009-04-26T12:52:00.003-04:00

What a wonderful group of ladies!

Mom Need Chocolate at Lifeway and Family Christian

2009-04-22T12:59:00.000-04:00

What a wonderful surprise to find Mom Needs Chocolate prominently displayed!

Choc-Out Party at Cheryl B's

2009-04-19T21:00:00.001-04:00

Inaugeral Choc-Out Party at Sandi's

2009-04-08T10:14:00.010-04:00

Click to enlarge

"Mom Needs Chocolate" book signing - Barnes and Noble

2009-04-04T10:56:00.000-04:00

Charlottesville, VA

Click to enlarge

Miracle's "Mom Needs Chocolate" book signing

2009-03-26T11:04:00.000-04:00

Click to enlarge