The Mother Blog

Book Review of Exposed

2010-09-27T19:38:00.000-07:00

Exposed, by Ashley Weis, is unlike any Christian novel you’ve ever read.

First, there’s the subject matter—pornography and the effect it has on women whose husbands become involved in viewing the material, as well as the women who “star” in the projects. The novel changes point-of-view with each chapter, alternating between a Christian wife and a young woman involved in the industry.

Then there’s the language used in the book. Don’t get me wrong—there’s no cursing or use of profanity, but there are words that are nitty-gritty and don’t usually make an appearance in a Christian novel. However, they are necessary to the plot, and are not used in a vulgar manner. It’s realistic writing.

Exposed exposes the secrets that some people try to hide for their whole life. It shows how easy it is for vulnerable young women to become enslaved to this lifestyle. The tension and deep hurt that pornography brings to a marriage is shown. This is something many women can identify with.

The chapters are short, which means one always has the time to read at least one more! The writing is tight and descriptive. Ms. Weis has tackled an extremely difficult subject with much realism, grace, and hope. I highly recommend this novel, and hope she continues to write many others.

A Series of "It Could Have Been Worse" Events

2010-03-24T06:26:00.000-07:00

Late Sunday afternoon I looked forward to fixing dinner for some good friends who were coming over for dinner and games. No matter what we eat, and whether we play Hand and Foot, Five Crowns, or Rummikub, the four of us always have a fun time together.

I poured a bit of oil in the frying pan and set it on the stove to heat before browning the chicken breasts. Then it struck me--it was time for a new profile picture for my Facebook. So back to the other end of the house I went to find John and ask him to be my photographer. He gladly obliged and spent probably five minutes snapping away.

Suddenly, the blaring belch of the smoke alarm roared through the house. I ran down the hall toward the kitchen.

Black smoke churned in the corners of the living room. I yelled, "I've got a fire!" and heard John running behind me as I entered the kitchen. Flames danced against the blackened backdrop of the frying pan. I used a towel to pull it from the element, and the flame burned out.

We threw open every window in the house and I ran around like a mad woman, flailing a towel and trying to push the smoke out the windows. John got fans started.

We surveyed the damage to the stove.

What a stupid thing I did, right? Turning the stove on and forgetting about it a minute later is not something I want to start doing!

But let me tell you about my husband's reaction. He is such a sweet man of God. He didn't yell at me or even raise his voice, nor did he call me any names. No anger at all, at least that I could see. I, of course, was apologizing all over the place as I tried to drive the smoke out of the house. He graciously helped clean up the immediate mess. We got the blackened wall above the stove cleaned up, and evaluated the damage. John got on line and figured it would be over $200 to replace the melted knobs,bubbled display, etc.

We managed to get things aired out enough to not poison our guests when they arrived. I served a delicious dinner, in spite of the accident and adrenalin of an hour earlier.

Then I went to make coffee to accompany dessert. The first pot started burbbling part way through its cycle, and we ended up with grounds in the finished product. Threw it out. Made a second pot. It not only burbbled, but overflowed, running down the cabinets, which appropriately had a coffee stain applied at the factory!

It seemed that everything I touched fell apart that evening. No one wanted to take a chance of being on my team for games that night!

The next day I went to Walmart to pick up the $138 monthly prescription that I have to pay for out of pocket. When I unpacked the bags at home I couldn't find the medicine. John and I searched all over, including my car. I called the store, but no one had turned it in.

I was heartsick. Not only had my mistake the day before cost us around $200, but now I was adding a $138 mistake to it. I didn't know how we were going to cover these unexpected costs, as at my age, I'm much too old to make money standing on a street corner!

An hour later the pharmacy called to inform me my bag of medicine had just been turned in to them. Praise the Lord! And John checked things out on the computer and found he could get replacement parts for the stove for just under $100. What an answer to prayer it was to have God take care of situations I'd created for myself.

(Just last week I had lost my Blue Tooth and had no idea where it could be. I did the usual search of my car, purses, and jacket pockets. Between my mom and John, they decided he should check the car again, and sure enough, he found it between the seats.)

I've tried to figure out why I'm suddenly "losing it." Is it just from getting a bit older? (No, I'm too young to get older!) Not enough sleep? (No, I'm sleeping well.)

Then I realized that for the past thirteen months I've been under a lot of stress due to various family situations. I've never felt the need to cry about the pain caused by these bad decisions made by others. It's not like I'm stuffing it inside, as I talk freely to friends about what's going on. But for some reason the tears won't come. I've decided the stress is coming out in my brain cells--that I'm losing them!

So I'll try to cope by paying extra attention to the things I'm doing, knowing that my mind can easily wander. I know the Lord will take me through even this, though I certainly look forward to the time when things settle down, perhaps by the end of summer.

Meanwhile, Christina told me I should go see a therapist. "It would be a lot cheaper in the long run, Mom!"

Feed the Birds, Tuppence a Bag

2010-03-18T10:23:00.000-07:00

Don't I wish that it only cost a tuppence for bird food as it did when Mary Poppins was around! Where is that gal when you need her?

Spring has definitely taken up residence here in Western Oregon. We always have birds that stay over the winter and don't head south to Arizona with the other wimps, but it's so nice to see the return of those that have been gone.

Only problem? They're eating me out of house and nest! I have four different types of feeders hanging along the eaves of my porch, and it's almost a full-time job to keep them filled. A beautiful pair of doves spends hours a day browsing along the patio edge, nibbling on leftovers the finches, nuthatches, chickadees, juncos, pine siskins, and others are scattering from the feeders.

Today I reached a new level. I'm not sure if it's a high or a low--you'll have to tell me. The "sock" that the finches love to eat from was spilling seed. When I checked it, I saw that some little finch, badly in need of a manicure, had torn holes in the netting of the sock. So, as the Bird Woman of Ashberry Lane I felt called upon to take my needle and thread out there and do a little sock darning. (Like I asked, high or low?!) Yes, I know the easy solution is to simply buy a new sock, but I'm not going to town until tomorrow and I didn't want the bird buffet to be lacking anything today.

Reminds me of the wonderful verse in Matthew 6:26 where Jesus says, "Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?"

Or as The Message puts it, "Look at the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, careless in the care of God. And you count far more to him than birds."

Careless in the care of God--what a great way to live!

Feelin' Groovy

2010-02-26T16:54:00.000-08:00

Several decades ago, when I was a teen, one of the cool sayings was “groovy.” If I remember right, it originated with the surfing community. But even we landlubbers used it. “Look at that cute guy over there—he’s so groovy.” (Nowadays the term would be applied to me, but only when talking about the deeply etched lines on my face!) Groovy connoted fun and youth, a carefree time of life.

I’ve recently reconnected with feelin’ groovy. I attended a recent writers conference and the key-note speaker, Robin Jones Gunn, talked of the necessity of a schedule. Since I don’t work outside the home, it’s easy for me to think I have all the time in the world. Yes, I have a writing project I need to work on, but first Iread the newspaper. Answer e-mails. Check Facebook. Get a cup of coffee. Look through a magazine. Wander over to Facebook again. Before I realize it, I’ve frittered the day away and have little to show for it. I needed to find my groove.

I contrasted two words in the dictionary—groove and rut. I tend to think of them as being very similar, and it’s true. Some of their definitions could be interchangeable. But in reading through the possible meanings of both words, I believe groove carries a more positive connotation.

Groove is defined by Webster as “a situation suited to one’s abilities or interests; top form.” (I find it interesting that groove is squeezed between groomsman and grope!) Rut, on the other hand, is “a monotonous routine.”

We talk about cars driven on a rutted road, trapped and unable to go anywhere but in the predetermined tracks. We get in a rut when it comes to cooking, making only the simple meals we always turn to, afraid of trying new recipes. Our relationships can get in a rut when we only hang out with the same people all the time, or do the same ol’ activities with our families. Let’s try something new. Jump out of the rut and into a groove!

How much better to live in a situation designed for our unique abilities and interests, where we can work in top form. Where there is a purpose to what we do, rather than just existence and going through the motions, frustrated with the emptiness of life.

Jesus (if He spoke in the words of The Message) says, “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

He’s telling us to get out of the rut and into the groove—the unforced rhythms of grace. So next time you see me, feel free to ask if I’m bogged down in a rut or feelin’ groovy. (And while you’re at it, get me some of that expensive wrinkle cream!)

Oregon Sunshine

2010-02-17T17:43:00.000-08:00

These past four days have felt and looked like spring. Birds jostle one another for the best spot on the bird feeder, kind of like when you show up at Olive Garden without being able to make a reservation. Bird songs from the surrounding fir trees are a beautiful accompaniment to the blue sky and sunshine. (Yes, I said sunshine!) Bulbs are poking their joyous heads up to take a look at their surroundings.

And people feel the difference too. Yesterday the grandkids were outside on their bikes and skateboards, with "Angel" learning how to go down our steep driveway from the upstairs house to our downstairs house on her tricycle. Then the three of them headed down to the lower meadow to play Hide-n-Seek with the cat. Christina even got away from her computer and mowed the lawn.

Enjoy these glimpses of happy faces in the Oregon sunshine. We'll savor it while we have it, as we're aware we usually get one last snowstorm in March.

Review of The Pastor's Wife, by Jennifer AlLee

2010-02-15T18:28:00.000-08:00

This friendly, smiling face belongs to Jennifer AlLee,
author of The Pastor's Wife, which was published by
Abingdon Press this month. I first met her on line, then in person at an ACFW conference. I remember her excitement when she was able to post what her book cover would look like. And no wonder--it's a beautiful cover! I love the way the "i" in "Wife" was supplanted by a church steeple, foretelling the feelings of Maura, the pastor's wife in the story. I'm a former pastor's wife, so was immediately drawn to the title.

Jennifer, can you give us a little preview of The Pastor’s Wife?

Maura Sullivan never thought she’d see Granger, Ohio, again. But when circumstances force her to return, she must face all the disappointments she tried so hard to leave behind; a husband that ignored her, a congregation she couldn’t please, and a God who took away everything she ever loved.Nick Shepherd had put the past behind him. At least he thought he had, until the day his estranged wife walked back into town. Intending only to help Maura through her crisis of faith, Nick discovers his feeling for her never died. Now, he must face the mistakes he made and find a way to give and receive forgiveness.

As God works in both their lives, Nick and Maura start to believe they can repair their broken relationship and reunite as man and wife. But Maura has one more thing to tell Nick before they can move forward. It’s the thing that finally drove her to leave six years earlier, and the one thing that can destroy the fragile trust they’ve managed to rebuild.

What made you want to write this book?

I served as a church secretary for many years which definitely gave me a unique perspective on the lives of a pastoral family. I worked at two different churches. One was a large denominational church, the other much smaller and non-denominational. But the lives of the pastors were quite similar. There’s always another meeting to go to, or one more person that needs counseling. People feel very possessive about their pastors. This usually manifests itself in positive ways, but sometimes it crosses a line. You have to watch out for that. And the pastoral family faces challenges no one really thinks about. They basically live in a glass house and are expected to be active members of every church activity, whether they’re interested in it or not.

When I was working on the original concept for this novel, I thought about the pastors’ wives I’ve known over the years. They’ve handled themselves with amazing grace under pressure. But what if another woman couldn’t? What if a young woman thinks she knows what she’s getting into, but the reality of losing who she is and becoming a “pastor’s wife” is more than she can handle? What if some other tragedy pushes her over the edge? Would she run? And what would happen if she had to return to the scene of her heartbreak years later? All those questions eventually became The Pastor’s Wife.

You grew up in Hollywood. How did that happen?

My grandparents met on the vaudeville circuit. Grandma was a dancer and my grandfather was a concert violinist from Hungary: Duci deKerekjarto (how’s that for a last name?) Duci immigrated to make his mark in Hollywood, which is how our family ended up there. He remained friends with another Hungarian performer, a Shakespearean actor named Bela Lugosi. (Yes, the original Dracula.) Bela died before I was born, but my mom remembers sitting on his lap and calling him Uncle Bela.

My own minor brush with fame came on the day I was born. Michael Landon Jr. and I were in the same hospital nursery in neighboring bassinets. My Aunt Karen nearly passed out when she realized proud father Michael Sr. was standing at the window next to her!

Thanks for stopping by, Jennifer! The Pastor's Wife is an entertaining read, full of clean romance and restoration. It might even give you a new appreciation for what your pastor and his wife face!

Jennifer's next scheduled blog tours can be found at:

Christine Cain - http://liztolsma.blogspot.comFebruary 17 - D'Ann Mateer/Five Bazillion and One - http://fivebazillionandone.blogspot.comFebruary 19 - Miralee Ferrell - www.miraleeferrell.comFebruary 20 - Edwina Cowgill/Musings of Edwina - http://musingsofedwina.blogspot.comFebruary 22 - Pam Meyers/A Writer’s Journey - http://www.pammeyerswrites.blogspot.comFebruary 23 - Debra Vogts/Country at Heart - http://deborahvogts.blogspot.comFebruary 24 - Ane Mulligan/Novel Journey - http://www.noveljourney.blogspot.comFebruary 25 - Christa Allan - http://christaallan.com/February 26 - Peg Phifer/Sips 'n' Cups Cafe - http://www.sipsncupscafe.comFebruary 27 - Jeannie Campbell/The Character Therapist - http://charactertherapist.blogspot.com

Contact Jennifer in cyberspace:
website - http://www.jenniferallee.com/
personal blog - http://jenniferallee.blogspot.com/
group blog - http://inkwellinspirations.blogspot.com/
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/jennifer.allee
Twitter - http://twitter.com/jallee

You can purchase The Pastor's Wife online at:
Amazon.com - http://www.amazon.com/Pastors-Wife-Jennifer-Allee/dp/1426702256/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1262215416&sr=8-2
Christianbook.com - http://www.christianbook.com/Christian/Books/easy_find?Ntk=keywords&Ntt=Jennifer+AlLee&action=Search&N=0&Ne=0&event=ESRCN&nav_search=1&cms=1&Go.x=2&Go.y=13

Review of Thin Places, by Mary DeMuth

2010-02-08T23:45:00.000-08:00

I'd like to give a warm welcome to Mary DeMuth, author of a new book entitled Thin Places, published by Zondervan. Reading the title you might think this was a diet book, but believe me, it's a book rich in experiences, language, lessons, and forgiveness. No diet for the soul in this book!

Mary is a successful novelist and has written many articles for various publications. But I believe her true depth has come out in this brilliant rendition of her experiences from early in life.

I was excited to receive a copy to review, as I just had a feeling this memoir would be different from the few others I've read. That's not a genre that usually captivates my interest, even if written by a movie star or political figure. Could a true story by a "regular" person grip me?

The answer to that question turned out to be very simple--yes! I crawled into bed with Thin Places the night I got the book, and read 3/4 of it before forcing myself to go to sleep. I finished it the next night, and hated to turn the last page.

I am a huge believer in honesty and transparency, and that's what Ms. DeMuth brings to her book. With gut-wrenching reality she shares the life-path she has walked. It's not an easy read,or a feel-good book, due to the various subjects she deals with. But it's a healthy look at how God can use even the horrible times of life to bring about a beautiful product. Ms. DeMuth doesn't sugar-coat things, but shares what she has learned about God and herself as she's worked through the process of not being a victim, but a victor. She doesn't leave one with the false hope that her life is perfect now, but she can look back over the years and appreciate all the changes.

My life has been nothing like that of Ms. DeMuth, so one may think I wouldn't find anything meaningful in the book. Though the causes may not be the same, emotions resonate within each of us. Truths she has learned through her experiences can still be applied to different situations I'm dealing with.

As I read, I thought of the life-stories of several of my friends and of how they can benefit from reading Thin Places. I was reminded of women in my Bible study who have experienced similar things to Ms. DeMuth. I know of a ranch for abused women not far from my home. I'm going to take copies of this book to place in their library.

I heartily recommend reading this book and benefiting from the wisdom within. You won't regret it.

If You Loved Me Enough

2010-02-03T21:42:00.001-08:00

A couple of years ago my granddaughter, Andrea, was traumatized. No, she wasn’t kidnapped. She didn’t witness a brutal event. She didn’t even get hurt—physically. But she cried, with all the angst of a drama queen, when her parents left for a concert without taking her. “I want to go! I’ll be really good! It’s not fair!”

I was in the kitchen fixing dinner for those of us who were left behind when Andrea came in and asked to use the sidewalk chalk. Her eyes were swollen, her skin blotchy.

When I went outside to call her for dinner, she asked me to come see what she’d done with the chalk. In the middle of the driveway, where they were bound to see it when they returned, Andrea had left a message for her parents. Under a large pink heart she had written: “Dear Mom and Dad, if you loved me enough you would come back and get me. Love, Andrea.”

Are there times when you say that to your Heavenly Father? “Lord, if You loved me enough You would get me a job. Sell my house. End the chaos in my life.” Is that how love is shown—by making everything perfect? That’s what we tend to think, isn’t it? If things are going well and there’s no major problem confronting us, the Lord must really love us.

But when real life happens and those unexpected events blow in like a winter storm on the Pacific coast, we run for cover. “Help,” we yell to our friends. “My teenagers have become mutants and I have no idea what to do with them.” Or “What can I do about my crumbling marriage?” we ask as we turn on the TV to take advantage of Dr. Phil’s insights. “Dear Lord, if you loved me enough You would come back and get me out of here. Love, _____(fill in the blank with your name.)

I John 3:1 says, “Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God!” We don’t have to wonder if God loves us enough—He’s already proved it. “For God so loved the world, He gave His only begotten Son …” (John 3:16a) “But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)

The next time you’re tempted to question God’s love for you, take a few moments to write down all the things He’s done for you. You’ll have writer’s cramp long before you exhaust His riches and care. He loves you more than enough!

Review of Thicker than Blood, By C.J. Darlington

2010-01-24T14:59:00.000-08:00

If you're looking for a good read that deals with relationships between sisters, Thicker than Blood, the debut novel of C. J. Darlington is what you want to pick up. I was sent a copy to review by Tyndale House Pulishers and am happy to report I loved the book!

Christy Williams has been estranged from her younger sister, May, whom she walked away from fifteen years previously, when a terrible family situation brought a rift between the sisters. Christy's life tumbles in a downhill spirial, as she becomes involved with a sinister, controlling boyfriend. She has lost herself in the process of trying to build her life in her own way. Christy has an interesting job in a bookstore that deals in antiquarian (old) books, often bought from estate sales, but her boyfriend interferes with her life there, causing her to be charged with a crime she didn't do. (I really enjoyed learning about the antiquarian book business, what to look for to know they are first editions, etc. Especially for me as a reader and writer, the book store was a great setting.)

May has spent the last years constructing a fulfilling life on a ranch, working with her hands and building a "family" with the other people on the ranch. But she often prays for her sister Christy, wondering what has become of her and why she simply walked out of her life.

Through an interesting and realistic series of events, the two sisters reunite, though it's not with the ease of a Hallmark movie. Their world view and religious beliefs are nowhere the same, and when danger shows up at the ranch, this becomes very apparent. These are real women who have to deal with problems in their lives that are nearly as old as the books Christy deals with! It isn't easy.

Thicker than Blood covers the issues of broken relationships, forgiveness and chances to try again, and ultimate redemption. Ms. Darlington develops her characters well, so much so that there were times I wanted to shout at Christy for making such bad decisions! This book held my attention and didn't to slow down. It was one situation after another that eventually brought these sisters back in contact, with a chance to build a deep family bond.

I'm thrilled for Ms. Darlington that her book is now available. I give it four stars for an entertaining yet thought-provoking look at the possibility of broken relationships being restored.

About the Author:
C. J. began writing the story that would become Thicker than Blood (her first novel) when she was a fifteen-year-old homeschool student. She has been in the antiquarian bookselling business for over a decade, scouting for stores similar to the one described in the novel before cofounding her own online bookstore. Thicker than Blood was the winner of the 2008 Christian Writers Guild Operation First Novel.

C. J. co-founded the Christian entertainment Web site TitleTrakk.com with her sister, Tracy, and has been actively promoting Christian fiction through book reviews and author interviews. She makes her home in Pennsylvania with her family and their menagerie of dogs and cats. Visit her website www.cjdarlington.com for more info.

QUICK LINKS:

Inefficient Thoughts

2010-01-05T14:31:00.000-08:00

It’s January, the time when we think of a lot of things we’d like to accomplish during this brand new year. We’re all too familiar with the usual thoughts of losing weight, exercising more, keeping our house cleaner, or always having a smile lighting up our face. Or we may go the spiritual route and decide to fast weekly, read our Bibles daily, and pray every hour. While these may all be good ideas, that’s usually as far as they go. They simply ricochet from one side of our brain to the other, zinging around looking for a place to land but not having much luck.

Unfortunately, other kinds of thoughts find a couple brain cells jutting over a vast crevasse and manage to hang a hammock and rest a while, swinging back and forth in the breeze. Thoughts of our inadequacies or weaknesses. The never-ending list of our responsibilities and obligations. The "shoulds" and "oughts" of our lives.

And then there’s the unseen presence that is out to paralyze us. It fills our minds in the quiet of the night when everyone else in the house is asleep, their bodies relaxed, their breathing slow and easy. It’s the giant monster of worry that hides in our bedroom closet or under the bed, waiting to grab us as soon as we relax.

You’ve been there, I know. You’re about asleep in your slippers when you finally hit the mattress, and just as you’re ready to become a citizen of La-la Land you think of something that makes your heart pound harder than a rock musician on the drums, and your skin vibrate more lively than Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin fame on the bass.

WORRY. A five-letter word that can wreak havoc on our lives. A word that can start as a legitimate prayer concern before butting trust out of the way. Worry steals joy and peace, replacing them with endless churnings of concern and anxiety.

Corrie Ten Boom said, "Worry is a cycle of inefficient thoughts whirling around a center of fear."
That reminds me of when I was a kid and would open the top of the washing machine to watch the agitator in the center whirl the dirty clothes around. There was something nearly hypnotic about the action—clothes and soap bubbles spinning back and forth.

That’s what worry looks like—fear in the midst of agitated chaos. Our mind spins as we try to work out solutions to our concerns, but we’re really visiting the same territory over and over. We somehow believe it’s our responsibility to come up with the right answer; to work our way out of whatever situation we’re facing.

Inefficient thoughts can’t exist in the same space as trust in God’s involvement in our lives. Psalm 46 says, "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear." Later in the chapter we are told to "be still, and know that I am God."
Stillness refers not necessarily to the lack of movement of our body, but I believe, even more, to the state of our mind, heart, and emotions. We can learn to be so focused on Christ and His promises to us, that nothing moves us from His peace. We are still. We are centered on Him instead of fear and worry.

May this year be one of much growth for each of us. May we follow Paul’s directive in II Corinthians 10:5 and "bring every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ."

A Christmas Kaleidoscope

2009-12-09T15:20:00.000-08:00

Do you remember the kaleidoscopes you got as a child? You held the long tube up to the light and looked through to see a myriad of colors at the other end. Then you twisted the tube, the colors changing shapes and designs, with new colors replacing the old ones. It never looked the same way twice.

Christmas is much like that. There’s the green of the Christmas tree itself, as well as wreaths and holly. And don’t forget the mistletoe! Green brings freshness into the staleness of our everyday life. The mundane gets replaced by having a tree in the corner of the living room. What a concept! So it can be with our spirit. Life-as-usual is replaced with the realization that the freshness of Christ Himself came to dwell with man, right in the corner of our living room!

Red lifts our spirits and gladdens our hearts. It’s found in ribbons and bows that wrap around a gift. Isn’t it fun to get presents from our children, spouse, or friends? We place them under the tree, waiting for the right moment to untie the red ribbon and see what lies within. So it is with God’s gift to us. In the fullness of time He presented His gift, the gift of His only son. We can leave that present under the tree, simply admiring its beauty, or we can touch the blood-red ribbon He wrapped the gift with, and open the mystery waiting inside.

Then there’s the beautiful blue that offsets and contrasts with the other Christmas colors. Blue can have a very calming effect on people, and we all know we need a heaping serving of serenity at this time of the year. Though we want everything to be perfect, we have to realize we can’t make that happen. Only God was able to do that.

Think about it—take the stress surrounding the census, a nearly 100-mile donkey trip, a husband who refused to make motel reservations, and a KOA campground that was severely lacking in amenities, and you have the stress surrounding Mary at the time of the first Christmas. I wonder how she was feeling and speaking as she made that long, uncomfortable trip. Was she serene, sitting on the bony back of a donkey mile after mile, a beatific smile on her face, already posing for all the Christmas cards that would grace people’s mantels a couple thousand years later?

Or was she griping like I would have been? "Joseph, are we there yet? My back is killing me. Yes, I’m sure you would have preferred to leave me home with my mother, but a wife’s supposed to follow her husband, you know! Griping? I’ll show you griping! If you think it’s so easy, you try doing this when you’re nine months pregnant!"

The Bible doesn’t record any of that. But what we do know is that Emmanuel, God With Us, joined Mary and Joseph in the midst of their discomfort, fears, uncertainty, economic unrest, and distance from family. Ever been in that place? Isn’t it comforting to know we’re not left to muddle through on our own, but that the very Lord of Heaven walks along beside us?

Silver and gold remind us of the royalty of Christ. Though He came as the babe in the manger, He will return as the conquering king. Every knee will bow before Him in recognition of who He truly is and what He has done for mankind. May we, this Christmas season, look around and see Jesus in the world around us. We don’t have to wait until He comes back.

Book Review of The Fence My Father Built, by Linda S. Clare

2009-12-03T14:51:00.000-08:00

Take a father who longs to be part of his daughter’s life, a broken marriage between an interracial couple, and a young girl who grows up knowing a part of her life is missing. Add a legacy of alcoholism and addiction that follows the girl into adulthood, and her need to know the side of the family she was never around. Mix in a rebellious teenage girl, potbellied pigs, an intriguing male neighbor, and a fence line built of oven doors, and you have The Fence My Father Built.

Set mostly in the open range of Central Oregon, Ms. Clare’s novel follows the story of Muri Pond, who has been called to settle some family business left behind when her father dies. A feud existed between her dad and Linc Jackson, the man who "owns" the town, with the ownership of land and a creek in question. It’s up to Muri to find the cause of the disagreement and try to right it. In the process, she discovers much about her own background and faith, and why it’s so important.

Ms. Clare draws from her own experience of discovering her Native American heritage. She brings to life eccentric characters whose lives present an interesting change from the norm. She did a great job capturing the ongoing clash between Muri and her teenage daughter. (I’m thinking the voice of experience here!) Ms. Clare deals with cultural relationships that are seldom explored in books, leading to thought-provoking moments for the reader.

The Fence My Father Built is a well-written novel that will leave you waiting impatiently for Ms. Clare’s next book. I gladly give it four stars.

What I Learned at the Knee of NaNo

2009-12-01T14:22:00.000-08:00

With a title like this, maybe you think I have a special nickname for my grandma, and I've been sitting at her feet gleaning great wisdom. (As my dad always said, "I learned it at my mother's knee, and certain other joints!")

No, my grandparents have all passed on, so I'm not talking about them. I'm referring to NaNoWriMo, which stands for National Novel Writing Month. It's actually a world-wide writing event, in which you sign up and strive to write 50,000 words during the month of November. My understanding is that 177,000 people signed up for it this year, and 30,000-something met their goal. I'm very happy to say I was one of them!

Fifty thousand words may not sound like a lot, but when I first sat down in front of my blank computer screen, it seemed nearly insurmountable. I only had the germ of an idea for a story. I knew who my main character was and one event that would happen to her, but that was it. Not much to go on, huh?

I decided to jump right in and have something happen to her on the first page. The story began to grow from there. The fun thing about NaNo is that the writer is not allowed to edit themselves as they write. When I've written in the past, I could get hung up for ten minutes looking through my thesaurus trying to find the exact word to express myself. But not during Nano. I had the freedom to throw words on the screen and keep typing. My story makes sense (I didn't repeat one sentence over and over) but it's certainly not good writing. I don't have the layers and subplots woven through like I will when it's polished. But I've got a great start.

For the past year or more I have just dinked around with my writing. I've had so many family situations I've been in the midst of that I felt it wasn't possible to write. And yet at the end of the day I would often think, "Just what have I accomplished today?"

During NaNo I found I could set daily word counts and meet them. Most days I did between 2,000 and 2,500 words, but one day I managed 4,300. I was able to take days off for family activities by going over my quota for several days in a row. I learned to have contests with myself. I wrote down how many words I wrote in a thirty minute time frame and tried to beat it in the next thirty minutes. And I always did.

I learned to say no to some invitations in order to keep writing. I learned that when family crises continued to hit and I didn't want to write I could still force myself to do so, regardless of my feelings.

I think my grandma would be proud.

Peace in the Pieces

2009-11-19T21:41:00.000-08:00

November—the month that makes us realize the year is nearly over. Nights are long and the rainy days seem to last forever. Children complain about sore throats and come home from school with hacking coughs. Christmas is just around the corner, bringing with it the panic of trying to fit in Christmas parties and programs, trips to the mall, cookie baking marathons, and sending out Christmas cards. This is a busy time of year, and we women can easily get overwhelmed. It feels like everyone wants a piece of us.

I believe that within our heart there is a desire to be calm and focused; not caught up in the whirlwind of busyness that surrounds us and threatens to suck us into the vortex of a life out of control. How do we find peace in the midst of chaos?

In John 16:33 Jesus says, "These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation, but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world."

Psalm 26:3,4 gives us a beautiful promise: "You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord is everlasting strength."

Another reminder of our source of peace is found in John 14:27 where Jesus tells us of a wonderful gift He is offering—"Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."

We have a choice to make. Will we let God control the events of the day, or try to manipulate them ourselves? It is so important to take/make time at some point each day to settle down in a comfy chair, maybe with a cup of coffee or tea nearby, and just cozy up in the Lord’s lap. Read a favorite passage in the Bible and meditate on the words. How do they apply to your life? What is God saying to you? Just sit and let your thoughts be open to soaking up the truth of God’s word. Then, after your soul has been refreshed, join in the activity around you with a thankful heart. One that knows the source of peace.

How Embarrassing!

2009-11-16T09:58:00.000-08:00

Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to say you have a blog, but you rarely post anything?

What does a non-blogger, who has a blog, look like? Their skin is creased and wrinkled from holding their head in their hands while moaning, "Alas, alas. What can I possibly write about that would be of interest to others?" A flabby stomach greets them when they finally rise from hours spent in front of a blank computer screen. Vericose veins march their way across the non-bloggers thighs in protest of too little walking. Eyes are dull, just like one's mind. It's a sad state of affairs, I tell you. Either that, or old age!

My postings have been so few, and so far apart, that I'm sure no one reads them but me. But I've found a new sense of discipline this month and I believe I can start posting a couple times a week. Even if I'm the only one who reads them, at least I can be consistent.

My new realization that I can be disciplined about my writing has come from participating in a world-wide event during the month of November. It's called National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo for short. Or NaNo for shorter. The goal is to write 50,000 words of a new novel during November. That's a lot of words for most of us to reach in that amount of time.

This came at the perfect time for me. I had just come up with the germ of an idea for a new story I wanted to write on my own. I had just become represented by a new agent who I know will require a lot from me. So I signed up. At this point, I've written 27,549 words. I think I'm going to make it!

And as I go through the rest of the month, I'll also blog. They may not be deep and insightful, but as I've found by NaNoing, they just need to be written.

Review of A Slow Burn, by Mary DeMuth

2009-10-15T15:53:00.000-07:00

What would you do if you were called to the morgue to identify the body of your thirteen-year-old daughter? What emotions would course through your soul as you were hit with the realization your drug and alcohol abuse may have played a part in the loss of your only child? What guilt might you attribute to her young friend, Jed, who was the last person to see her alive?

Emory Chance is a mother living through such an unthinkable situation. She seeks to find out who murdered her daughter, and why. Things like this just don't happen in their small Texas town. Others deal with problems of their own: Hixon, a man who believes God has told him to marry Emory, though they have little in common, and Jed, the boy reeling under the regret of not walking his friend home after they had last played together. The lives of these three characters intersect in unusual ways, up to the last pages of the book.

A Slow Burn is the sequel to Mary DeMuth's novel, Daisy Chain. It's important to read them in the correct order. Ms. DeMuth's writing is stellar--deep and flowing. The characters come alive and may remind you of people you've known in your past. Huge topics of forgiveness, regret, guilt, and blame are dealt with. This book will grab your emotions and give them a hard twist before leaving you with a satisfying ending. The two books would make a wonderful Christmas present. I give A Slow Burn one of my rare five-star ratings!

Expect the Unexpected

2009-09-15T11:43:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note today before flying out to the national American Christian Writers Conference, held this year in beautiful Denver, CO. I always have these grand plans of being prepared a day ahead of time, just needing to put my toiletries in at the last minute. But, as usual, I was up late last night finishing my to-do list.

One of the necessary things before taking off on a trip is to make sure the bills are all paid. Because John is a school teacher and just gets paid during the school year, summer is a lo-o-o-ng stretch with little income. By the time September rolls around we're counting the days until the end of the month and a pay check. But there was no getting around it on Saturday--I had to pay those pesky bills.

I wondered aloud, "Lord, how are we going to do this?" I closed the checkbook and walked away, still stymied. A few minutes later Christina brought my mail and placed it on the counter. What did I find tucked between various junk mail and fliers? A check from the school district John had tuned for several weeks ago--to the "tune" of $1,000. Thank you Lord!

On Monday I happened to stick my hand in the back pocket of a pair of capris and felt a hard lump. (No, it wasn't me!) I dug a little deeper and pulled out a folded roll of $14. I realized it was left over from going to the State Fair and not wanting to carry a purse. What's funny is that those pants had gone through the wash probably four or five times since then, and the money was still perfect. It wasn't enough to do much on the bills, but it was there. Thank you, Lord!

God gives us unexpected blessings more than we realize. It may be a $14 blessing--an easy-to-find-parking space, a new checkout line opening up at the grocery store when we're in a rush, or a phone call from a friend--these small things we blithely accept, then move on. It's the $1,000 blessings that garner our attention--healing from a disease, a restored relationship, a job after being out of work for months. But I say blessings are blessings are blessings! Keep your eyes open today for what the Lord is doing in your life. I'd love for you to leave a comment and let me know what you see!

The Great Cover Up

2009-09-09T23:14:00.000-07:00

I don’t know about you, but there are times when I’m a messy cook. People always say, “The proof’s in the pudding,” but for me, the proof’s in the cookbook. Just thumbing through my cookbooks can prove my claim, as pages are glued together by an errant drop of batter or boldly decorated with oil splatters.

Not only are my recipe pages victims of unplanned food fights, but my clothes become part of the fray. Homemade barbecue sauce accidentally dribbles down a white blouse, or chocolate pudding on my jeans. Sometimes, if I put my clothes in the washer with hot water and no soap, I could end up with a unique soup!

Because of my propensity to wear ingredients instead of mixing them, I rely on a relic from the past—an apron. I’ve had a lot of different kinds of aprons throughout my decades as a wife, but my favorite is the one my parents got me for my birthday last year. It’s an old-fashioned cobbler apron in a pattern that appears to have come from the 1950s—drawings of dishes, stoves, mixers, and tea kettles, all colored in red and green. Every time I look at it, a gentle breeze of nostalgia caresses my mind.

Now you may not be a woman who must cover up with an apron, but there’s a cover up that we all need to use much more than we do. I Peter 4:8 says, “Above all things have fervent love for one another, for love will cover a multitude of sins.” Yep, what the world needs now is love, sweet love. It’s what our church needs, as well as our friends and members of our families.

I’m not talking about a kind of love that glosses over the seriousness of others’ sins. Not a love that turns its head the other way when wrongs are committed, or a love that refuses to take a stand when injustice is involved. None of those are really love, but an easy way out of confrontation or accountability. There are times love has to be tough.

The verse in I Peter is a reference to Proverbs 10:12, which says, “Hatred stirs up strife, but love covers all sins.” When we make a conscious choice to overlook an offense against us, we are taking away the power of strife and adding a huge measurement of love. When someone hurts us, either intentionally or without meaning to, we have the option of tamping our resentment down into the crevices of our heart, where it hardens, or of letting it go. If we cherish resentment, instead of the relationship with the person involved, we are the one to lose.

So the next time you don an apron, or look down at your messy clothes and think, “I should have worn an apron,” remember the greatest cover up of all—love.

Interview With My Daughter, Author Christina Berry--The Familiar Stranger

2009-09-04T15:50:00.000-07:00

There are days in the life of a mother when her heart nearly bursts with pride at the accomplishment of her daughter. Maybe it's the first time she uses the potty, or her high school graduation. (Hopefully there's a long time between the two!) Perhaps it's her wedding day, or the birth of her first child.

I've watched my daughter, Christina Berry, follow her dream for the past ten years--her dream of writing a book and having it published. I've seen her persevere through the times when it seemed like it may never happen, and I've been there to jump and squeal with excitement when it did. She's got a two-month blog tour going on with the release of her debut novel, The Familiar Stranger. It's my joy and privilege to introduce you to a side of Christina maybe you don't know.

Welcome to The Mother Blog, Christina. It's great to have you here. I hope you'll feel at ease as we spend a few minutes getting to know each other better.

I know you were born in NV, (I remember it well) but where else have you lived? What was your favorite place and why?

From NV to Georgia for the language school before you guys were sent to Nigeria, West Africa. Then stateside to recup in South Lake Tahoe, CA, one year in Reno, NV, most of my growing up in Fallon, high school in Pendleton, OR, college in Forest Grove and now settled in the metropolis of Gaston,OR. (625 people)

My favorite place would have to be ... your womb. I had no worries, was always well-fed and warm enough, and my skin was baby soft!

What was your family like?

Crazy! If I were to tell you some of the stories ... man, especially about my mother! She threw shoes before it was even Middle-eastern-cool to throw them. :-) Really, I had a fantastically close family growing up. Friends used to say that our house was better than Disneyland because they could feel the love. My parents taught me God's way not only with words, but with actions.

What was the best advice your parents ever gave you?

That life wasn't fair. I actually don't remember hearing this often, but you claim to have said it often, and I trust you, so I'll believe it. Here's the thing: you were right. This last year has proven beyond a doubt that life is not fair ... and that our God is!

How did you come to know the Lord?

My daddy was a pastor. Not even four years old, sitting in church, I heard Dad preach about heaven and hell, and thought, "I want to be with God in heaven." A very simple choice, which many could say didn't mean anything because of my depth, or lack thereof, of understanding and my young age. To that I say, like a marriage vow, a promise can be made for a lifetime with no real comprehension of what the commitment entails, but it's no less a promise.

Long about 9th grade, I went through a time of questioning: do I really believe this for myself, or am I leaning on my parents' faith? It didn’t take long to figure out that nothing in this world makes sense if God didn't make it, if He doesn't control it and redeem it, and nothing is worth living for if Jesus isn't coming back. Since then, I’ve never doubted, though I have wrestled.

Your book is entitled The Familiar Stranger. How did you feel about strangers when you were young? Has your perspective changed?

I'm pretty sure I was shy and ran from strangers. Now, I'm much more extroverted. I'll talk to inanimate objects if no one is around! Plus, listening to strangers' conversations or watching gestures is fascinating as book research.

Is there anything you've never confessed to me that you'd like to right here in front of millions of readers?

Once--unbeknownst to me--a chocolate chip got stuck in my belly button, melted, and I thought I was bleeding. Oh, wait, you already know that ...

I snuck out of the house one time in high school to walk the loop with some friends. Terrified of something tragic befalling me and you never knowing what happened, I left an apologetic note on my pillow in case you checked on me. Uh ... you already knew that too. Guess I have no secrets from you, Mom!

Your birthday is the last day of this month. What was your most unusual birthday celebration? The time you packed a picnic for us to take up on the huge stone hill in Nigeria. Once we spread out our food and began to eat, the witch doctor woman came out and yelled and cursed us and ran us off the mountain.

I thought that would be the one you picked! I remember being emotionally wrung out from that experience and we came home and I spent the rest of the day on the couch. You made your own birthday cake, using a little "play" mix someone had sent you for Christmas. I felt like I'd win the award for the International Worst Mother of the Year! But it didn't seem to scar you for life, and you've never held it against me.

Christina is a single mom and foster parent who carves time to write from her busy schedule because she must tell the stories that haunt her every waking moment. (Such is the overly dramatic description of an author's life!) She holds a BA in Literature, yet loves a good Calculus problem, as well. Her debut novel, The Familiar Stranger, releases from Moody in September and deals with lies, secrets, and themes of forgiveness in a troubled marriage. A moving speaker and dynamic teacher, Christina strives to Live Transparently--Forgive Extravagantly!Her work has also appeared in The Secret Place, The Oregonian, and Daily Devotions for Writers. Find her at http://www.christinaberry.net and http://www.authorchristinaberry.blogspot.com/.

Christina, it's been fun to sit down and visit with you about your life and your book. We don't want to leave without inviting people to sign up for our infrequent, humorous newletter. There's a great contest going on at the Ashberry Lane newsletter, so everyone needs to stop by www.ashberrylane.net/update.aspx and sign up. Is there anything else you'd like to say in closing?

I just want to thank you for being the best mom in the whole world.

(So, okay, I didn't ask Christina that last question, but I'm sure that's what she'd say!!)

If you leave a comment on this blog, you'll automatically be entered to win an autographed copy of The Familiar Stranger.

Look for Christina's next interview tomorrow with Edwina Cowgill at http://musingsofedwinacowgill.blogspot.com

Back to Reality

2009-06-07T22:50:00.000-07:00

I had a great time last week when I got away for several days with my parents. It's so neat that Mom (age 79) and Dad (age 81) are still able to travel and have fun. Their best friends came from California and met us in southern Oregon at a little town called Shady Cove. I'd never heard of it, but since mentioning the name to people, I've had numerous responses of, "Oh, I love Shady Cove!" I guess it was a well-kept secret that I'm now in on! And I'm sharing it with you!

We spent four nights at the Edgewater Motel, set on the banks of the beautiful Rogue River. When we arrived on Sunday and opened the French doors on the river side, we saw rafts and boats floating past our doorway. It looked like a lot of fun. I've never gone rafting, but maybe it's something I should try.

During our time there, Dad and Dick went fishing every day at a nearby reservoir while we women stayed at the motel and played umpteen games of cards and went out to eat. Seems to me that we got the better end of the deal. The best part was that I got to celebrate my 57th birthday while we were there. Mom and Joanne made the day special by taking me out to lunch in the old gold rush town of Jacksonville. The richness of the decor and the ambiance of the Jacksonville Inn stirred my imagination as a writer. The trolley car tour we later took of the town only added to my vivid pictures of life in the 1800's.

So where does reality fit in with this, you ask? How can "real life" break through amidst dining out, living in the past, and maid service? Well, it happened when I returned home to find a $1200 bill (not covered by insurance) for blood tests I had done in the process of trying to find out what's wrong with my feet. (Talk about having to foot the bill!) And if that weren't bad enough, the next day I got notice that I've been summoned to appear for grand jury selection next month!

I've decided my best bet is to not open any more mail!

OCW Weekend

2009-05-18T09:32:00.000-07:00

This will be a quick post this morning, as I'm heading to the beach in just a few minutes. I know ... it's a rough life! I get to go back to the beach house where John took me on our Mystery Weekend last month. My parents were planning on going with us, but they've both been sick with colds and won't be able to make it, We'll have to try to get them over there at a later time.

Friday afternoon Christina and I, along with our dear friend and fellow critique group member, Miriam, drove down to Eugene to be ready to attend the OCW (Oregon Christian Writers) conference the following day. What made this day especially fun was that we were slated for a tour of Harvest House Publishers, given by our own Kim Moore. (We call her our own, because we don't want to share her! What's really funny is that she's turned us down three or four times, and yet continues to believe in us and care about us. Just a really special person in our lives.) Another member of our critique group, Kristen, met us there.

Harvest House is an amazing place. Huge--with lots of offices, a distribution warehouse that looks larger than a Costco, and books everywhere you look. It's like letting a drug addict loose in an opium field! Kim must have seen how badly we needed a fix after spending an hour there, as she graciously invited us to each pick out a book to take home. Thanks, Kim!

We didn't want the good times to stop, so took Kim out to dinner at a cool barbecue place called The Hole in the Wall. We'd eaten there last year and really enjoyed it, so now it's a tradition. Kim was an entertaining dinner guest, full of stories and insights about the writing world. After dinner she invited us over to her house to meet her well-loved cats.

We spent the night at Kristen's grandma's house. Rita capped our evening with pie and tea. Of course we stayed up talking 'til nearly midnight. Do women ever run out of things to talk about?

Saturday morning, after many wrong turns, (none of us had brought directions along) we finally arrived at Northwest Christian University for the conference. It always feels like walking into a family reunion when we attend these events, as we only get to see most of these people at the conferences, which are months apart from each other. Cindy Martinusen Coloma was the keynoter and did a remarkable job. She spoke on "The Call of a Writer" and "The Fictive Life." She had very interesting presentations and I took lots of notes.

Mid-afternoon, Christina and I had the privilege of teaching a class called "Writing in Tandem." We had a good-sized group, with lots of interaction and participation. (I think the candy we brought helped!) It was fun to present things we've learned through our years of writing together.

I realized when I got home that evening that I wasn't tired out. Usually a busy weekend will make me feel draggy, but I think the teaching energized me. But in spite of that, I'm anxious to get to the beach and relax!

Beware of Dogs with Zits!

2009-05-12T10:59:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago my eight-year-old grandson, Joshua, came downstairs to see what I was doing. It was a little after 5 pm and I had the TV news on in the background as I was working on dinner. For some reason the news appeals to Josh, and he sat down to watch it.

"Grandma, they're looking for a pimple."

"What do you mean?" I asked as I continued to chop onions.

"The news says that people in the neighborhood are looking for a big pimple."

Intrigued, I rinsed my hands and joined him on the couch, hoping to figure out what this breaking news was all about. I listened to the newscaster as she said, "Neighbors are on the alert for a large pit bull roaming the neighborhood."

(Say it out loud to yourself--pit bull and pimple sound a lot alike!)

Getting to First Base

2009-05-04T16:06:00.000-07:00

It’s that wonderful time of year in Oregon, when we parents and grandparents get to sit in biting wind and pouring rain to watch our children play baseball or softball. Our umbrellas may be up, their edges dripping water onto the knees of the person sitting behind us on the bleachers, and our blankets tightly wrapped around us, but those little players in the field don’t seem to be bothered much by the weather. Their attention is on the game. They are glad simply to be part of the team.

As I’ve been watching the games this year, I’ve been impressed by how much the young players have to learn. It’s not natural for most of them to have the correct stance, their hands positioned correctly on the bat. Nor is it easy to keep their eyes on the ball and swing at precisely the right second to ensure the bat connects with a resounding thwack! Then there’s the whole matter of making it to base before the ball does. One little girl on the team gently lays the bat on the ground before heading off for first base, as if she’s lovingly placing a doll on her bed before going out to play! It’s hard for her to beat the ball, except for the fact that that it’s usually overthrown, giving her a chance to make it in time.

My granddaughter is fortunate to have our pastor as her coach. This is her first year to play, and his encouragement helps her enjoy the experience. “Good try, Andrea. You’ll get it on this next pitch.” And when she hits it I can hear him say, “I knew you could do it!”

I think it may be like that in our Christian life too. When we first become believers, there are a lot of new things to learn. We’re glad to be part of the team, and we have a general idea of what we’re supposed to do, but are maybe not sure how or why. We need someone who can explain the importance of prayer and Bible reading. The importance of attending church and giving. The importance of serving in some capacity.

Will we always get it right? No, there will be times we strike out. But that doesn’t mean we’re eliminated from the game. As long as we get out on the field, no matter the weather, and listen to the directions of our coach, we’ll find ourselves becoming more proficient in our Christian walk. We’ll find our rhythm and it will become more natural, in a supernatural way, to live the life Christ has for us.

Batter up!

An Evening of Gentility

2009-04-26T15:40:00.000-07:00

Last weekend John and I were part of something that is quite unusual in our modern culture--an evening of gentility. He teaches at Veritas School, which provides a classical education for kindergarten through twelfth grade. Yes, they even learn Latin!

The biggest social event of their year is Protocol. This is something that all high schoolers can attend, but is in honor of the seniors. Seating is limited, so not all staff are invited. But John and I received an invitation this year, and it was a joy to participate.

It was held at the country club in Wilsonville. All the girls wore floor-length gowns in spring colors. No blacks. We women could wear knee-length dresses, which was a blessing for me since I'm so tall it would be nearly impossible to find a long gown. The boys and men all wore suits and ties.

Round tables for eight were covered with crisp white tablecloths, a beautiful arrangement of flowers gracing the center. Each table was hosted by a senior student, who was responsible to see that the conversation didn't lag. We had no problem with that at our table! John and I were the only adults and really enjoyed the students we shared the four-course meal with.

So what made this evening so genteel? The gorgeous setting certainly helped. The teens were polite and showed wonderful manners. The males at each table rose whenever a woman stood to leave or return to the table. I've never seen that happen any place but in books! Toasts were made to each senior, often by a younger brother or sister. The sentiments were heartfelt, often resulting in tears by the honoree, and sometimes by the person offering the toast. And the dancing--it was like nothing I've seen outside of movies. The young ladies stood on one side of the room, the young men on the other. They would approach the women and ask for the "pleasure of this dance" then escort them to that side of the room when the dance was through, and tell them thank you.

The dancing itself was very unusual, in a good way. It began with the Grand March, which was like something out of Jane Austen. There was a grand promenade, with weaving back and forth, in and out, between the other couples. They did the Virginia Reel, an Irish dance, and a waltz. No bodies pressed closely together, feet barely moving. Nothing like the sensual atmosphere that permeates most dances nowadays. The whole event was done so well--everyone had fun and it honored Christ. I hope we get an invitation again next year!

Mystery Weekend Revealed

2009-04-13T09:47:00.000-07:00

More than two months ago, before all the upheaval in our lives, John called me from school to ask if I would like to get away for a few days. I'm always up for that! After looking through our calendars, we realized that Easter weekend would be our best opportunity. He didn't tell me where we were going, but that's okay--I like surprises!

A few days later the breakup of Christina's marriage occurred, as well as the ensuing concentrated work of getting the house up on the market. I've worked extremely hard for many weeks, and have felt on the brink of exhaustion. Knowing I had a "mystery date" coming up was one of the things that kept me going.

John and I left mid-afternoon on Thursday and he started driving toward the coast. That's one of my favorite places to go, so I already knew his weekend plans were a success! As we drove through Lincoln City we passed several motels where we've stayed in the past, so I continued to be mystified. Imagine my surprise when he turned off Highway 101 into a gated community at Salishan. What? We didn't know anyone there! He slowly drove down the winding streets (at the posted speed limit of 18 mph it took seven minutes to arrive) and pulled in at a weather-glazed condo on the edge of the beach.

He unlocked the door and we entered a snug 2-story, 3-bedroom, 2-bath condo, decorated in the calming blues of the sea. The west side of the house was a wall of windows overlooking the beach, which was just over a hillock covered with beach grass. Turns out that a couple who are connected with the school John teaches at own the vacation house, and are extremely gracious about inviting friends to go enjoy it. I was nearly moved to tears by their generosity. On the table a bottle of sparkling cider waited for us, along with a gift certificate to a nice restaurant down the road. We felt as if God's blessings were pouring over our heads.

That night we used the gift certificate and ate a wonderful dinner at Tidal Raves in Depoe Bay. The sun was setting and John went outside to capture the beautiful evening.

Friday morning we awoke to sunny skies, which is not a given on the Oregon coast. We went for a long walk on the beach. (Kind of sounds like a singles ad, doesn't it?)

Late that morning I called Christina to tell her where we were and what we were doing. I said I hoped that sometime we'd get invited to come to the house again and maybe we could bring her and the kids with us. That it would give her some healing to her soul.

Around 7 p.m. John and I were preparing dinner together (an activity in The Love Dare book where we'd been held up for weeks) when there was a knock on the door. I asked him to answer it, but stuck my head around the kitchen corner to see who it was. Talk about a surprise! There stood Christina and the children!! They had been in on it from the beginning of the planning all those weeks ago! My joy was complete. John and I had had a wonderful time together as just a couple, and now we got to share it with some of the most special people in our lives. Andrea and Joshua could hardly wait to get down to the beach, and Christina's 2-year-old foster daughter (code name, Angel) was just as excited, though she had no idea what they were talking about since she'd never been to the ocean. (I wish I could share pictures of the kids, but we're not allowed to post photos of Angel.)

In spite of the windy evening, we all donned jackets and went out to introduce little Angel to her new surroundings. She was exuberant about it all. Every time one of us would talk about the waves, Angel would wave her hand. She wasn't afraid when she and Christina were surprised by a sneaker wave (or "sneaky wave," as Angel calls it) and were thoroughly doused by the freezing Pacific.

That night when we were all safely inside the warm house, Angel looked out the window and said, "Where the ocean go?" I explained that it was still out there but that we couldn't see it in the dark. Saturday morning she woke up, ran to the window and exclaimed, "The ocean comed back!"

Saturday was spent relaxing, playing games, and Christina and the kids and I going to the new Hannah Montana movie while John stayed home and practiced violin for his upcoming concert. We all went out for Chinese food that night, then watched a movie when we came home. The word for the day was "relax" and I learned it well.

The kiddos discovered Easter baskets waiting for them Sunday morning, which kept them busy while we packed up. We headed home through the rain, stopping at Church on the Hill in McMinnville to attend one of their four Easter services. (We weren't able to get back to our home church in time for their service.) It was a joyous time of celebrating the resurrection of our Lord and meditating on His goodness to us. I realized that He had prepared this special weekend away even before I knew I had need of it. The depth of His caring is unfathomable.

Squeaky Clean

2009-03-25T09:24:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's officially Spring, and you know what that means, of course. No, I'm not thinking of baseball, birds in their nests, or warm weather right around the corner. I'm talkin' about Spring Cleaning! That's when we knot a kerchief around our hair, tie an apron around our waist, and carry the a feather duster like a torch in our right hand. Wait ... that's a past generation I'm thinking of. Lucille Ball, June Cleaver, and their friends.

But that's the kind of deep-cleaning I need to do this year, sans the kerchief and apron. We want to get the house on the market by the end of this month. Time is scampering away from us like a two-year-old trying to escape their mother's clutch at bedtime.

Yesterday I spent most of my energy whipping the house into shape. With just John and me living in it, it really doesn't get too out-of-control. But I'd been sick over the weekend and a few things needed my attention. Plus, I don't usually clean with Q-tips. A feather duster, maybe, but not their Mini Me cousin, the Q-tip.

I know those cute little things were designed to clean the outer aspects of my ear, but I must confess I love to dig a little deeper. There's something so satisfying about being able to reach an itch that's just beyond where the tip of my pinkie will reach. Those swabs got a big workout yesterday, as I used them to clean the tracks in our sliding windows, reach into small corners and dig out accumulated dirt, as well as to scratch inside my ear. I even dug out the putty knife to remove extra caulk and plaster around some of the windows. Things I should have done three years ago when we passed our final inspection.

Why is it I've waited until some stranger is going to buy the house before tending to the little details that make it perfect? When we moved here, I told myself I would always keep it in ready-to-sell condition. But my human-ness crept in and here I am doing the nitty-gritty cleaning for someone else to enjoy. I'm sure there's more I could say about this phenomenon, but if you'll excuse me, I've got an itchy ear to attend to!

When the Roof Caves In

2009-03-07T20:06:00.000-08:00

Have you ever been through a major building project or remodel at your home? You know, it always takes longer than estimated and something unexpected is sure to happen along the way. One wrong move and the whole structure of the house is changed, leading to cracked walls and a falling ceiling. The same thing can happen in our personal lives. So, what do you do when life as you know it takes a U-turn? When you’re hit in the gut with devastating news that impacts every aspect of your existence?

During the past month I’ve had to deal with these questions. I’ve gone to places and feelings that I never dreamed would be part of my life.

My initial reaction was to cling. To cling to the Loving Heavenly Father with Whom I’ve developed a relationship and deep trust through the past decades. It’s been a time of realizing that though the circumstances of life are changing in ways I wouldn’t have chosen, the Giver of Life remains the same. God is good all the time. All the time, God is good. I remembered that this incident didn’t take Him by surprise. That there are lessons He desires me to learn as I walk through it, and character traits He wants to develop. The worst thing I can do is to waste this experience—to be the same a year from now as I was before the roof caved in.

I don’t know what challenge you’re facing right now, but know that you don’t have to go through it alone. Cling to the Lord and remember His promises. Turn to Christian friends for prayer and support. Be honest about how you feel. Expect to hurt, but also expect to grow. Accept the peace God offers. And remember He is the one who can put your house back together, even when shingles blow off and beams collapse.

“God will strengthen you with His own great power so that you will not give up when troubles come, but you will be patient.” Colossians 1:11

The Gales of Change

2009-02-25T18:14:00.001-08:00

Now that Christina has posted about her situation, I'm free to write about it also. If you read her blog (http://authorchristinaberry.blogspot.com) you know that her marriage of thirteen years is over. This came as a complete surprise to her, as well as us, and the shock of that cannot fully be conveyed. There was no time to prepare for the bad news and its ensuing pain.

It feels like an unexpected death in the family. It creates that "I'm on the verge of throwing up" feeling in the pit of my stomach. It takes me to a place I never thought I'd be.

I realize that many parents have to watch their children go through the devastation of divorce and that it's never easy. But John and I are in a different situation than most. For the past four years we have shared a multi-generational home with Christina and her family. John built the lower story into our dream home, where we planned on living until we died. Instead, it's the kids' marriage that has died.

Because of the change in her financial situation, Christina will no longer be able to afford to live upstairs. And we certainly don't want to live here without her. Ashberry Lane is more about the people than the locale. Our piece of Eden has been changed by the fall.

So not only do John and I have to watch our daughter and her kids go through this change in every part of their lives, but our future is drastically changed too. We will be putting Ashberry Lane on the market and looking for new housing in whatever nearby community Christina moves to. We won't share a house, as we'll never again find a place like this, but will live close by.

My friends have gathered around to lend support as I walk through this painful time. Everyone is so shocked by what has happened to Christina and how it is going to impact our lives. I have held on to the fact that God has not been surprised by this. He is still in charge, still in control. He will bring beauty from ashes and restore our joy. He has lessons to teach us, character to build. I want to accept this with an open heart and not waste the suffering.

Out of the Mouths of ...

2009-02-15T15:37:00.000-08:00

Last night a friend of mine came up and said, "I just have to tell you what one of your AWANA kids did today." As she started her story, I soon realized she was talking about her seven-year old son. She had walked out to the living room and been shocked to find three-inch high letters scratched into the beautiful finish of her piano bench. A lone pair of scissors lay in guilty silence nearby. "Elijah, what did you do?!!" He admitted to the crime, though he didn't seem to understand the seriousness of it right away. So his mother spent some time talking with him about his transgression and of how he could never do something like that again. He asked her to put the scissors up high where he wouldn't be able to reach them, but she said she wouldn't do that, as he needed to learn self-control. She went on to say that he would need to be punished, but stipulated that the punishment would be determined by him. "Elijah, I want you to think about the seriousness of what you've done, and then you tell me what you think you should take for doing that." He thought for a bit, then seriously replied, "Mom, I think I'll take mercy!"

The IDAhope Writer's Conference

2009-02-06T10:14:00.001-08:00

Christina and I had a wonderful time this past weekend when we flew to Boise, Idaho, for the first-ever IDAhope Writer's Conference. It was hosted by the local ACFW chapter, headed by Angela Meuser. She and her fellow officers did a phenomenal job putting everything together.

What was especially exciting for us was that Christina and I were invited to be presenters, for the first time in our writing career. We had a blast planning our two sessions. We taught one class together, called "Writing in Tandem: How to Maximize Your Writing Relationships." That covered dealing with editors, agents, critique partners, readers, mentors and mentorees, and of course, co-authors. It was very practical, as we shared things we've learned in our years of writing together.

Christina taught a class on her own (we're not really joined at the hip!) entitled "Five Best Tips for a New Writer." It was fun for me to sit back and watch her do her thing. She has developed into a good public speaker and people came up to me afterward to say how much they had enjoyed both classes. Christina, as a contracted author, was able to sit down with some of the conferees and help them make their writing better. One of the ladies she worked with approached me later and said, "Your daughter is so sweet. She's able to be positive and yet show me what I need to work on. She really knows how to work with a middle-aged woman." I said, "That's because she lives with one!"

What seemed surreal to us was that we were on the author panel Friday evening along with Robin Lee Hatcher. We first read her books years ago, and in all our time with OCW and ACFW had never had a chance to meet her. She lives in the Boise area and taught a couple of classes for the weekend, as well as did a key note speech. She's written over 60 books now, and she's not even that old! I mean, how can a person write more books than their age??!! We got to spend some one-on-one (I guess it would really be two-on-one) time with her Saturday afternoon. What a friendly, down-to-earth woman she is.

We flew back to Portland on Sunday morning and were home in time to prepare for hosting a Super Bowl party and leading at Awana. By the time Sunday night arrived we were both pretty tired and glad for the chance to sit down and relax before starting a busy week by showing up in court Monday morning for a foster care case.

It seems the Lord has suddenly opened up speaking/teaching opportunities for us over the past few months, and in to the coming months. We hope that keeps happening. And we'd love to get invited back to the IDAhope conference!

The Responsible One

2009-01-27T21:58:00.000-08:00

In my family I was always known as "the responsible one." I'm the oldest of five children, so I guess I came by the nickname naturally. (I'm also known as Bubbles and Moochie, but explanations for those terms of endearment are not for this post.)

Because of the experience I had today, I think one of my siblings is going to have to take the title away from me, as I am no longer deserving of such an accolade. I hang my head in shame to admit to the following story, but those of you who follow my blogs understand that I am entirely capable of doing this brainless thing.

It all started very innocently. Christina was accompanying her second grader on a field trip today, so she asked me to take her foster daughter, "Angel", to her visit with her mother. No problem--I've done it before, I could certainly do it again. The one-hour visit went well and Angel and I returned to my car. I unlocked the passenger side of my two-door T-bird, threw my keys and purse onto the console, and securely fastened Angel into her car seat in the back. I slammed the door and went around to the driver's side to get in. Lifted the door handle, but nothing happened. I figured I hadn't hit the button from the other side that would unlatch both doors, so went back to the passenger side to do so. Lifted the handle--nothing happened. Yep, right there in the parking lot of DHS I had managed to lock a 2-year-old foster child in my car!

What's a grandma to do?? Angel smiled at me from the back seat, enjoying the yummy treat Mommy had given her during their visit. I yelled through the window that I would be right back, and ran through the icy rain to the back door of DHS and rang the button that would let them buzz me in. When a man answered and said I could enter, I opened the door and said to the faceless voice on the intercom, "I need some help!" He came out and I explained the situation, feeling like a complete idiot. (I kept an eye on my car this whole time, though the chances of someone being able to drive off with Angel in my locked car were pretty slim!)

Long story shorter, the case worker came out and stood in the rain while I went in and called AAA. I couldn't give them much info, as my AAA card was locked in the car, but as soon as they heard I had a two-year-old in a locked car in wintry conditions, and eating a snack that she might choke on, they said they'd make it a high priority call and get someone there as soon as possible. I went back to the car and spent the next fifteen minutes making faces through the window and singing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star to an adorable little girl who stayed happy and didn't choke. (The case worker and I decided we'd break a window if necessary.)

Finally a tow truck pulled up and a big old guy got out, hitching up his pants as he made his way to my car. He worked and worked, putting wedges in the door, snaking a wire in to try to lift the door lock. (Every time he moved, his pants slipped down, his shirt slithered up and showed off an over-indulged stomach, but he was still a hero to me!) He tried for nearly 20 minutes, but wasn't having a lot of luck.

Another tow truck pulled up then, dispatched by the local police department. The guy got out and brought his tools around to the driver's side and started working. I've heard of dueling banjos, but dueling locksmiths? Forty-five minutes after trapping my keys, purse, and ... oh, yeah, a child in the car, I was rescued. The first man was able to get a wire to grab hold of my bunch of keys and bring them out through the wedge in the door.I was chilled to the bone from having stood in a big puddle all that time, and was ready for lunch, but oh, so glad that Angel had found the whole episode hugely entertaining and hadn't fussed at all.

Yes, I will be exceedingly careful to keep my keys in my hands or pockets at all times when I'm putting Angel in the car (if Christina ever trusts me with her again,) but the bigger lesson in all of this was for Angel. It was a day of teaching her opposites: warm--cold; dry--wet; full--hungry;
responsible--not so much!

Around the Bend

2009-01-17T20:18:00.000-08:00

I awoke to beautiful sunshine Friday morning. Such a nice change from the arctic blast and snow of last month. When I opened the blinds and took a closer look outside, I saw the trees and driveway were covered with frost.

A little later I jumped in the car and headed to town to do my Curves workout. As I pulled onto the highway I noted the countryside was covered with white, but it wasn't snow. It's what we call pogonip, which I think is a Native American word for the icy fog that sometimes forms and encases the trees and each individual blade of grass with a frozen grip. Two curves later I entered a fog bank. Where was the sun? It had been streaming in my eyes just moments before.

For the next 16 miles I drove through the thick cloud, unable to see more than a few yards ahead of me. I got to Curves, did my my exercise routine, and headed to the grocery store. About two blocks from the store the weather changed yet again, and snow covered the ground. It fell against my face as I walked into the store, covered my windshield by the time I returned to my car. I retraced my way home, my headlights straining against the dense fog. Suddenly I burst out into sunshine and blue sky, but with the pogonip still painting the countryside ice-crystal white. The contrast of the icy trees against the azure sky was phenomenal. If I'd had a camera with me, you'd be looking at that beautiful winter scene right now.

My simple journey made me think of my life. I wake up in the morning having no clue (no, don't stop the sentence there!) of what will happen that day. Of what will be around the next bend in my life. I may be walking in sunshine one moment, then suddenly halted by dark circumstances that surround me, making it hard to see more than a few steps ahead. And when I think it can't get any worse, it does! Then there are those times when the pogonip and blue skies come together, the harsh realities of life mixed with the hope of more luminous days ahead.

I'm reminded of the verses from Isaiah 42 where the Lord says,"I will lead the blind along a way they never knew; I will guide them along paths they have not known. I will make the darkness become light for them, and the rough ground smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not leave my people." What a great promise to hold on to, no matter what the weather in your life.

I've Been Taking a Pounding!

2009-01-10T18:08:00.000-08:00

I've got a few snippets of things to share with you this time, but hopefully you'll see the common thread. (I must confess, however, that I'm not a very good seamstress!)

Fifteen pounds: When I got home from the ACFW conference in September and stepped on the scale, I was appalled. Then when I saw pictures taken of me there I felt even worse. Where had this overweight woman come from? I used to be way too thin and found it impossible to gain. I would read magazine articles having to do with weight loss and do the opposite of what they said, trying to put a few ounces on my tall frame. Way back in high school I'd been so thin that a doctor had put me on pills that he gave to football players to make them gain weight. While I took those, I gained 1/2 pound a day, but as soon as I was off them, the weight slithered off. Decades had passed and trying to gain weight was no longer a problem. Now the opposite was an unwanted part of my life.

I had been a member of Curves for over a year by the time I returned from ACFW, but hadn't taken it seriously. I would go when I could fit it into my schedule (it's 25 minutes away), or when I didn't have anything better to do. Needless to say, that meant I rarely showed up. But after seeing those pictures ... well, enough was enough! Since the first week of October I have worked out at Curves three times a week, with the only exception being when we were snowed in for two weeks at Christmas. I've been more aware of the size of my portions and have lost 15 pounds. That's a great way to start the year!

Four pounds: When I walked into Curves today, the staff person told me she needed to take my picture. Usually I have other places to go after working out, and have my hair and makeup done. But today I'd basically rolled out of bed, pulled my hair back, and only put mascara on before heading out the door. Certainly not at my most glamorous. When I asked why she needed a photo, she said I had been the woman to lose the most weight over the holiday season! It was only four pounds, but hey, it was a loss and I had worked hard for it. Another great way to start the year! (And I convinced her to wait until Monday to snap the picture!)

Seven pounds: John and I rarely have a date to the movies because we have a wonderful home theater and wait to see videos there. But last night was an exception. Christina, Kevin, and the kids were gone for the weekend. Instead of enjoying the unusually empty house, we heated up leftovers, gobbled them down, and headed off to the movies. And you probably know what we saw, if you're picking up on the theme of this post. Yes, Will Smith's latest--Seven Pounds. I'm not going to say what it's about, as it's so much more fun to discover it for yourself. As a writer, I was taken with how the information was given to the viewers in a way that we had to piece it together. It certainly wasn't spelled out, and we weren't told what to think about it. It was a very thought-provoking movie and one we discussed on the way home. Go see it for yourself and let me know what you think.

A Light Look at the New Year

2009-01-05T11:04:00.000-08:00

So here it is, the beginning of a new year. The busyness of the Christmas season is over, the kids are back in school (finally!), and it’s time to take a few minutes to think through what we’d like to see happen in 2009. Maybe you’re the kind of person who sits down on New Year’s Eve and writes out your resolutions for the year. Or perhaps you’ve learned from experience that there’s no sense to bother doing that, as you never keep them anyway!

In an attempt to make your transition into the new year a little easier, I offer you these resolutions that you can tweak and make your own:

1. Do not, under any circumstance, forget to remove all the tags from new clothes you purchase. It is extremely embarrassing to find out at the end of the day, after traipsing all over town, that you are wearing a sweater that still has the clear plastic strip stuck across your chest, with the letter “L” running its length. (Not that I would know this from personal experience!)

2. Make this the year that you care more about the environment. Do your part to conserve energy. Do not put the detergent, bleach, and fabric softener in your washing machine, start the load of laundry, and later discover that you forgot to put the clothes in the washer. Especially do not allow your son-in-law to be nearby when you discover your mistake. (Not that I would know this from personal experience!)

3. When you’re eating a plate of spaghetti on the couch in front of the TV and the doorbell rings and you put the plate down on the cushion while you answer the door, do not forget that the plate is there when you go back and sit down. (Not that I would know this from personal experience!)

4. Do not attempt a gymnast-only type move atop a big exercise ball, even in the privacy of your own home, when you are a woman of age. This can result in a scraped nose that takes two weeks to heal, as well as a sprained wrist. (Not that I would know this from personal experience!)

5. Finally, lighten up. Whether that means losing weight, getting rid of “stuff” around the house, or taking yourself less seriously, do something to get rid of the thoughts and habits that keep you from living an abundant life. Look at the funny side, even when you make mistakes. (I know this from personal experience!)

Wrapping Up Last Year

2009-01-02T19:47:00.000-08:00

As a new year dawns I always get a rush of organization that comes over me. I go through closets and cupboards, tossing out things I no longer use, or use so infrequently that it's not worth the space they fill. This year I need to do that with my blog too. Thus, a brief synopsis of my Christmas.

Here in western Oregon we were hit with a big snow storm that started on December 14th and lasted for two weeks. Our house is atop a very steep driveway and we ended up being snowed in most of that time. The guys were unable to get vehicles up and down except for the four-wheeler, and that soon became an impossibility also. Kevin (Christina's husband) would stop at the store as needed after work, then carry heavy grocery bags home through the snow from the bottom of our hill where he'd leave his truck. My parents, who only live 18 miles away, were to be with us for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but there was no way to get them up to the house. So near, and yet so far!

Our plans for a calm, cozy Christmas began to evaporate. The morning of the 24th, our power went off. Living out in the country, we have a generator for such emergencies, though we've only had to use it for a few hours in the past. It certainly paid for itself this time, as we were without power for 2-1/2 days. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are not the two days I would have chosen, but we managed. Christina's family packed up and came downstairs to stay with us, as our heater can run off the generator, but their heat pumps can't. Joshua (age 7) was running a fever and spent most of his time on the couch while the rest of us idled away the hours playing Pinochle, Hand and Foot, and a few other games.

After a nice dinner prepared by Christina in my kitchen, we gathered around to open our gifts as we traditionally do on Christmas Eve. The only trouble was the Christmas tree, surrounded by presents, was upstairs in the Berry's living room. John and I didn't have a tree since we were going to be celebrating with them. It was way too cold to be in the unheated upstairs house, so Santa's elves whisked the gifts down to our bare living room. You just do what you have to do!

John left on a piano tuning trip to Nevada on the 26th. On Saturday the 27th the roads were passable enough that Kevin was able to ferry the rest of the family down on the four-wheeler in three different runs. We crammed into the pickup and made the trek to my parents' house to have a late celebration with them. It was a very special family time and I only regret that John wasn't there to enjoy it.

The weatherman said this was the biggest snowstorm to hit Portland in 40 years, and I believe him! Chances are we won't run into the same problems next year, but I think we'll be prepared, just in case!

A Family Heirloom

2008-12-09T16:23:00.000-08:00

If you're still looking for something very special to give a certain someone for Christmas, have I got a deal for you! Last year my brother and sister-in-law gave my parents this beautiful throw, which has a photo of the whole family woven into it. The picture was taken at a family reunion at our house (Ashberry Lane) the previous summer.

I just Googled "blanket made with photo on it" and found a list of companies offering this product. The best part is, they say they can still deliver it by Christmas. My parents liked it so much they had it made into a wall hanging, which now graces their entry way. (In case it's too small for you to read, the writing at the top says "All because two people fell in love ...")

A Car, a Restroom, and an Attitude

2008-12-01T13:49:00.000-08:00

About three weeks ago I had an unusual problem with my '95 Thunderbird. It's a pretty cool car for a grandma--even my teen grandkids think so! I had to make a stop on my way to town that day, (25 minutes from our house) but when I took the key out of the ignition, the car kept running! I tried it several times, but no matter what I did with the key, the car kept doing its own thing. I called my husband, who said to bring it back home. John, who is known for his ability to fix things, met his match with this challenge. He disconnected the battery, but the car kept purring along. It was like the Energizer Bunny on Viagra! Unstoppable!!

I had 3/4 of a tank of gas in it, so I was very thankful John was able to finally do something to make it quit before going through the whole tank while just sitting in our driveway. He's been working on repairing it as he's found time over these past few weeks. (He had to take the steering wheel column apart and find a missing bolt or something--don't ask me to explain it all.)

Today I wait for 40 minutes while he finishes putting in all the bolts before I'm able to leave to do some errands in town. I get a bit frustrated at having to cool my heels while he finishes up, but try to handle it gracefully. He finally gives me the go-ahead and I take off. I have actually managed to smuggle something out of the house right under John's nose to get worked on as a Christmas gift for him. (I can't say what, just in case he reads this.) Halfway to town I notice that my signal lights aren't working. If there's one thing I hate about other drivers it's when they don't signal their intentions. I call John to tell him that he hasn't fixed everything right. He apologizes for not checking that out, then says, "I've taken note of your complaint and I'll fix it this afternoon. Just use hand signals."

But it's cold and looks like rain is imminent. I don't want to use hand signals! I give a curt goodbye and hang up. After all, I need to keep my hand free to stick out the window and make signals! I flop into a bad mood. Even talk loudly to a driver who pulls in front of me and doesn't speed up. I go to the shop where I need to take the gift for John to get fixed, and they're closed on Mondays. But of course! Stop at the Dollar Store and look for Christmas decorations, but because of my mood can't find anything I like. So it's off to Wal-Mart--surely they will rescue me. As I get out of my car and walk across the parking lot I notice I'm about the youngest person around. Oh, no, it's Old People Day! The first business day of the month. Now don't get me wrong; I have nothing against old people. Some of my best friends are old people! I just don't like to shop when every aisle is full of them.

When I get into the store I head straight to the bathroom. Maybe an empty bladder will improve my snotty mood. As I sit there I realize I have a choice to make. I can either dig myself deeper in a hole of discontent, or I can choose to let the Lord change my outlook. I pray and confess my negativity and ask for joy.

Do my circumstances change? No, the toilet won't flush and the soap dispenser doesn't dispense. I grab a shopping cart whose left front wheel roves as much as the eye of a guy on the prowl. The white-haired crowds in the aisles don't part like the Red Sea at my approach. But it's okay. I'm able to smile and interact with the people around me, sharing a bit of the joy God's given me. There's plenty to go around.

Don't Take a Peek!

2008-11-25T11:47:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I posted about a blog Christina and I had written for author Jennifer AlLee to put on her blog. It was entitled Take a Peek! and was based on a talk Christina and I had given recently at a women's breakfast, having to do with pursuing the dreams God gives us. I had a link to Jennifer's blog, and this morning a lady named Karen wrote me here at The Mother Blog to say she had followed that link and it took her to a naughty site!! Obviously, that's not where I want my readers to end up! I'm so glad Karen told me about the problem. So I'm removing that post until I can get my daughter to help me figure out a solution. "Take a Peek" was definitely an appropriate title for where the link led, but today I say "Don't Take a Peek!"

Ever Feel Like An Idiot?

2008-11-16T20:38:00.000-08:00

It's been one of those days!!

I decided to do a load of laundry this afternoon. Stripped our bed and took the sheets into the laundry room. I have the convenience of having my dryer stacked on top of the washer, making the most of the available space. I stuck the sheets in the machine and closed the door, then added laundry detergent, bleach, and fabric softener in the little receptacles in the washer, and started the wash cycle.

About 35 minutes later I heard the buzzer that signifies the washer is through with the load. I went in and opened the dryer door, only to be amazed that the sheets were already in there! "That's funny," I thought. "I don't even remember putting them there! More time must have passed than I realized." I reached for the sheets, but they were cool to the touch. Hmm, they should be warm! I brought them to my nose to inhale the fresh scent of bleach and fabric softener, only to get a whiff of sleeping bodies.

Yep, you guessed it! I had put the dirty sheets in the dryer, closed the door and hadn't started the cycle. But I added all the cleaning necessities to the washer, and put it through an entire cleaning cycle with nothing in it! (Kinda like my brain, I'm thinking!!)

I exited the room and said out loud, "What an idiot!!" And there was my son-in-law, standing there at the perfect time to have his suspicions confirmed. "What happened, Mom?"

"You don't want to know, " I said, hoping to keep a modicum of dignity intact.

"Oh, but I'm sure I do," he replied.

So, I told him the whole painful story. (The reason it's painful is because he laughed so hard I think he got a stitch in his side.) He asked, "So if you do stuff like this now, what are you going to save for when you're senile?"

"I'm doing it now, while I can still get a good laugh out of it too!"

Now wouldn't you feel like an idiot if you'd done that? Well, I have no shame and love a good laugh, so at AWANA tonight I was telling one of the ladies about this stupid thing I'd done this afternoon. As we were both laughing about it, I looked down at the new cardigan I was wearing, and noticed it still had one of those 6-inch long clear tags running down my bosom, with the size "Large" clearly marked on it. And I've worn it around town all week!

There's nothing wrong with me that half a brain wouldn't cure!

Happy Is The Bride The Rain Falls On

2008-11-10T22:34:00.000-08:00

An outdoor wedding in November is pretty iffy. An outdoor wedding in November in Oregon is nigh impossible, as we proved this past Saturday.

My nephew and his fiancee honored us by choosing to get married at Ashberry Lane, the combined home of the Ashcraft and Berry families. A week before the wedding the bride and groom came to choose which part of the house they wanted to use. After scouting out the different locations, they selected the upper level, which is the Berrys' part. The covered deck off the family room would be ideal, they decided. That way if it were raining, the guests and wedding party would still be protected from the elements, though it might be a tad on the cool side. But the beauty of the forest would make up for that, and people could gather inside for the reception and thaw out as necessary.

Saturday morning we awoke to the sound of rain pelting against the windows. Vertical rain, we could handle. But horizontal precipitation brought with it problems we couldn't overcome. The outer half of the deck was soaked, which cut seating for the guests in half. Unless the bride decided to wear a raincoat over her wedding gown, she was going to be wet, cold, and uncomfortable. We don't usually get wind around here, but it was blowing about 20 mph, which would make it hard to keep candles lit along the railing. (Besides, the rain would put them out.)

So when the bride, Stephanie, arrived nearly three hours before the ceremony, we showed her the situation. Any other bride I've ever met would have been near tears and pouted. But not Stephanie. She just laughed, said, "I really wish we could get married outdoors, but obviously that's not going to work," and then got started getting herself ready for her big day.

Thus began Plan B. Most of the furniture was removed from Christina's living room, a focal point was created and decorated, and candles found new homes along window ledges. Guests began to arrive--fifty of us in total. An intimate, simple wedding ceremony, performed by my husband (a former pastor) united Gabriel and Stephanie in holy matrimony. Her face glowed as she looked up (he's 6' 7") into the face of her husband and he choked up as he repeated his vows. It was all very sweet and meaningful.

In thinking about it, I realized it's pretty appropriate for some rain to fall and wind to blow on a wedding day. It's a realistic picture of what the bridal couple will face in real life. Things don't always go according to plan. People lose their job, money gets tight, or illness strikes. Rain and wind sweep in under the guise of the newlyweds' unmet expectations of each other, or their disappointment that the work of marriage isn't as easy as they'd been led to believe. But if Gabriel and Stephanie can hold tight to the attitude she exhibited on Saturday, they will be well on their way to a successful marriage.

You CAN Have It All

2008-11-05T22:01:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you, but one of the high points of my day is to get the mail. The excitement of unlocking that little cubicle at the post office and withdrawing who-knows-what is almost intoxicating! What treasures lie inside? Yes, it may just be a bill for weed killer we purchased last month, or a brochure from a political candidate begging for my vote. (Oh, wait--that's over for now!) But it could be ... a new magazine to read, or even better, a book I ordered. Yesterday I actually got a hand written thank-you note from a friend I'd invited over for dinner a week ago. In this day and age, that personal touch from her was very meaningful. In my heart of hearts, when I open our mailbox I think there's always the chance that there's a multi-million dollar book contract offer that somehow bypassed my agent and came straight to me. Okay, so I'm delusional, but it's a great way to live!

I had to laugh the other day when I extracted the envelope pictured above. It was addressed to my mother-in-law, and was from a credit card company. It promised great rewards and a low rate. Not to mention the freedom to overspend, incur debt, and worry about how to pay it off in this slow economy.

But the part that made me laugh was that their enticement of "You CAN Have It All" fit my mother-in-law much better than most people they sent this invitation to. You see, her address is no longer the same as ours. In January of this year she moved to heaven. She is enjoying her great rewards, accruing lots of frequent-flyer miles in a place of supreme love and peace, praising God continually.

She DOES have it all.

A Trip Down Memory Highway

2008-10-31T13:05:00.000-07:00

Last week was absolutely gorgeous here in the Pacific Northwest. My parents and I decided to take advantage of the weather before the notorious rainy days would overtake us, so we set off on an overnight mini-vacation.

We left Thursday morning and headed south to the Eugene area before taking Highway 126 along the McKenzie River. Jack Frost had danced through the region, leaving wide swaths of his footprints behind. I imagine the colors weren't as intense as those on the East Coast this time of year, but they were more than enough for this Oregon girl! Our hearts kept praising God around each new turn in the road.

Back in the 1950s my grandparents had built their house, along with four cottages, at the river's edge. They called them Woodland Cottages and rented them out like motel rooms. We were able to find the obscure sign along the highway and turned in to look over the old homestead. Like many things, it has decayed over the past five decades, but we were able to meet the current owner and share some family stories with her.

We continued climbing higher, driving through the lava fields over McKenzie Pass. United States astronauts trained there in preparation for walking on the moon. There is a desolate beauty to the jagged rocks, punctuated by scattered juniper trees, and encompassed by some of the most beautiful snow-capped mountains in Oregon.

We spent the night smack-dab in the middle of Oregon in the town of Prineville, which is where I was born. The next morning we drove the seventy miles out to Rager Ranger Station, which I believe is the most remote Forest Service station in the US. There were only three families and some single men on the crew that lived there in the 1950s. That lonely outpost held many memories, as that's where my parents lived when they became Christians, where I lived for the first six years of my life, where my brother was born at home (in 1953) in the middle of a December blizzard with the help of my McKenzie River grandma, and where I accepted Christ when I was five. The trip from Prineville, which now takes a little over an hour, used to take two-and-a-half hours on a rutted, unpaved road. We had a great visit with several women foresters who work there, identified my bedroom window in the last house we lived in while there, and pumped water from from a pump at a nearby campground, where I remember my dad holding me up so I'd be tall enough to reach the handle.

I'm sure I'm not the only one with fond memories of a childhood locale. What's your favorite one?

Review of MY SISTER DILLY, by Maureen Lang

2008-10-29T07:54:00.000-07:00

This book by Maureen Lang grabbed me from the start. It's about two sister, both women in their own right, but coming at life from two different perspectives. Hannah, who could hardly wait to leave the hog farm and move to California, has returned to help her sister Dilly reintegrate into society upon her release from prison. It reminded me of the story of the prodigal son, or in this case, the prodigal daughter. One daughter who has lived by the rules, and the other who has done the unthinkable and chosen an act that sent her to prison.

Dilly has changed while incarcerated, which is hard for Hannah to understand. As the women rebuild their relationship, several issues arise. Hannah is living in a prison of her own making, tied down by the chains of responsibility and false guilt. Unless she realizes this, and makes some changes, she may miss out on the love of a good man and end up living in an emotional solitary confinement.

I have read several Maureen Lang books, but this is my favorite. The storyline is unique and thought-provoking, with characters who reach out to the reader from the pages of the book. In my rating system of one to five mochas, I give My Sister Dilly a four-and-a-half. Pick up a mug of your own mocha and settle in for a great read.

The Dog Days of Summer

2008-09-14T21:14:00.000-07:00

My husband met me at the garage, machete in hand. Was he protecting me from a home invasion? Or perhaps Bruce Willis was filming his latest action movie in our house and John was making an appearance as a movie extra.

My dream of being the wife of the newest cinema heartthrob was dashed when John answered my unasked question. "Shadow's stuck in the blackberry bushes by the orchard."

Shadow and her sister Jasmine are three-year-old purebred black labs that belong to my daughter's family. Their whole lives, the dogs have had to stay inside a nice kennel my son-in-law built for them, as they were always running off our property (fifteen acres isn't big enough?) and bothering our neighbors. Just the past few weeks they have started sticking close to home when let out of their enclosure.

I asked John how he knew Shadow was stuck. "Jasmine came up to me while I was working in the garage, and told me 'Timmy fell in the well.' She led me through the forest, toward the neighbor's cherry orchard. I could hear her whining up in the blackberry bushes, so I came back to get something to chop my way to her, as the bushes are really overgrown in that area."

I'm not a great dog lover, but even I was moved by Shadow's plight. I followed John into the forest so I could watch my man at work. He started at the foot of the slope, hacking his way toward the yelping dog, but after fifteen minutes became stymied by growth so thick he couldn't penetrate it.

Back through the woods to put on clothing that would be better protection from the thorns--his thick coveralls and a hat-- and find better tools in the garage. He decided that between two machetes, hedge clippers, and the lopping shears, he should be able to rescue the dog. He used a different approach this time, taking the high ground along the fence line. I stayed down on the pathway, content to call out sweet nothings to Shadow while I tried to keep an eye on John's progress. That word, progress, may not be the right one to use, as it was extremely slow-going on John's part. I soon lost sight of him in the jungle of the Oregon forest, though I could hear his thwacking and every now and then see a bush quiver in fear as this armed man neared it.

After nearly an hour of arm-numbing work, John was able to spy Shadow under some bushes, with her sister Jasmine keeping her company. Turns out she wasn't trapped by the blackberry bush, but had caught the clasp of her collar chain on the wire fence of the orchard, and was unable to move. If no one had been home to hear her pathetic yelps and reach her in time, she could have faced a dire (or should I say die-er) situation.

John finally unhooked her from the fence and both dogs followed us home, eager to lap up two bowls of water, lie down in the shade, and fall into an exhausted nap. But first they had to listen to a lecture on how bad it was of them to run off, that Shadow had a natural consequence for what she had done, and that we never wanted them to do it again!

That experience got me to thinking about how we humans put ourselves in the same kind of situations. God gives us directives about how we should live our lives.("Stay home. Everything is provided for you here.") But we decide that the orchard on the other side of the fence looks like a much more exciting place to be. And the sin that so easily besets us hooks us around the neck, immobilizing our lives, choking off the purpose of our life. It is only when One comes to seek us, clearing away the brambles and reaching down to loose us from our entrapment, that we are able to see that if we follow Him, we are able to lie down and rest.

Book review of Long Journey Home, by Sharlene MacLaren

2008-09-05T17:27:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't already know her, I'd like to introduce my friend, Sharlene MacLaren. As you can see from her photo, she is a beautiful woman with a bubbly personality and zest for life. I met her last fall at the American Christian Fiction Writers conference and have kept in touch with her throughout this past year.

Shar has written several novels and her newest one just came out in stores this week. Whereas her other books I've read have been set in a historical time period, Long Journey Home is a contemporary book dealing with issues rampant in our society.

A young pastor whose beliefs are failing the test of tragedy. A young woman who has dissolved her relationship with an abusive, cheating husband. These two characters, Dan and Callie, are brought together as neighbors, but their proximity leads to a tenuous friendship. Dan battles his anger, guilt, and addictive habit, while Callie is forced to face her lack of trust, which affects her life on many levels. Will these two hurting people be able to overcome the pain in their past? Is it possible to rebuild their lives and walk with the Lord, as well as each other?

This was my favorite Sharlene MacLaren book to date. She captures Dan's and Callie's characters and makes them believable. Throughout the book, the reader is aware something bad is headed down the pike, but never sure of when it will hit. One yearns for Dan to realize how little control he has over life, and for Callie to let down her defenses to the right man.

I give this book a four-mocha rating. It kept my interest and captured my emotions. Pick up a copy at your nearest bookstore and settle in for an enjoyable read.

Men Are From Cyberspace, Women Are From Venus

2008-08-31T14:13:00.000-07:00

I've been married for nearly 38 years. You'd think I'd have it down by now. Be aware of the differences between men and women. Able to correctly interpret the secret language that men sometimes speak. But no, not me!

The other morning my husband walked into our bathroom as I was applying my makeup. We hadn't said much more than "good morning" so far that day, so I was surprised when he started a conversation that sounded like it could be pretty serious. He said, "You know, sometimes when we don't seem to be able to connect very well ..." My mind immediately turned to issues that seem to make us out of sync. Those problem areas where it seems we may never completely agree. I was impressed that he would be doing such deep thinking so early in the morning, and even more, that he would want to share his feelings with me.

I listened intently, wanting to savor his openness. "...when we don't seem to be able to connect very well, it's usually because the router isn't going to the computer the right way."

So much for my vision of a heartfelt disclosure. Yep, men are from cyberspace, women are from Venus!

Wisdom From the Back Seat

2008-08-24T14:42:00.000-07:00

The other day my 9-year-old granddaughter, Andrea, and I went to pick up her friend and bring her to our house. I had thought her younger brother and sister would be joining us on the play date, but when I arrived, the mother said the two younger ones wouldn't be able to come.

As soon as Andrea and Annika got settled in the back seat, their conversation began:

(Annika) It's really too bad my brother and sister couldn't come, but they weren't acting very nice.

(Andrea) My foster brother will be sad, because I told him we were bringing your brother.

(Annika) But Mom and Dad couldn't let them come, because we have a new rule that if we can't treat each other nice and be friends, then we can't go to a friend's house.

(Andrea) That's a good rule.

(Annika) Yes it is. My brother is usually the one that starts the problem, but then my sister makes it worse. She has the choice of whether she will do the right thing or not, and lots of times she chooses the wrong thing.

(Andrea) That's really too bad. We always have a choice to make.

(Annika) Yes, and that's something I'm really trying to work on. I used to make the wrong choice a lot. But one day at church as I was listening to my dad preach, he said that we all need to learn self-control. And that we can ask God to help us learn that. I've been doing that ever since then, and it has completely changed my life! (Yes, those were the words she used!)

(Andrea) That's great, Annika!

Their conversation segued into who would play with which Barbie, but I was lost in the simple honesty of what I'd just heard. These girls have been best friends their whole lives. There's a trust between them so they're able to share areas they're struggling with and testify to the Lord's power to "completely change" their weaknesses. Maybe we adults should be more like them.

I Knew It Had Been A While, But This is Ridiculous!

2008-08-18T21:29:00.000-07:00

Most mornings when I get up, I think, "Yes, this will be it. This will be the day I blog again. After all, it's probably been several weeks since I last wrote. Maybe a month. Possibly two?" Imagine my chagrin (I feel like the Veggie Tale characters that are "shocked and slightly embarrassed" in the Hairbrush song) to find that it's been nearly three months since my last post.

But I have a good excuse! I've been frantically puttering in my laboratory, trying to discover the cure for cancer as well as find a solution to global warming. I'm close, but not quite there.

The reality is, I've spent the summer goofing off. Having fun. Enjoying family. Traveling. Camping. Seeing my best friend from high school. Working on the staff of Oregon Christian Writers Summer Conference. Being a grandparent to my daughter's foster children. Babysitting my five-year-old twin grandkids in Eastern Oregon. Planning and executing a surprise birthday party for my dad's 80th birthday. Celebrating my own. (No, not 80th!)

So that's why you haven't heard from me in days ... weeks ... months. I know if I were more committed, I'd write in the midst of my busyness. That's an area in which I need to become more disciplined. Help keep me accountable!

Slug Vision

2008-05-26T16:30:00.000-07:00

While this term isn't something you'd probably be diagnosed with by your friendly neighborhood ophthalmologist, I'm here to tell you it's a very real concept. I should know, because my seven-year-old grandson, Joshua, told me.

This afternoon he was on my porch and came running in to ask for some salt. "Grandma, you have a whole bunch of slugs out there!" I was afraid he'd dump the entire salt box on the critters, so I went outside with him. The slugs on the porch and walkway were easy for me to see, but Joshua explained that there were some hiding in amongst my flowers. I could see their slimy trails, but not the dreaded bodies themselves. He tried his best to point them out to me. "Up there, Grandma, between those two flowers. More to the right." Most times I'd eventually see what he was talking about, but I think there were a few that got away because I couldn't see them. "Joshua, you're really good at spotting those," I said. He replied, "That's because I've got slug vision!"

His response has stuck with me all afternoon. Our sin can be like a slug. It's small, ugly, and out to ruin the growth taking place in our lives. If we ignore it, it will only get bigger and cause more damage. But in all honesty, sometimes we're not able to see it ourselves--it takes someone else to point it out to us.

Jesus said we're the salt of the earth. I've always heard that salt helps to preserve and give flavor, but I think there's another benefit of it too. Just as a light sprinkling of salt will eradicate the slug, so our lives should help eliminate the sin around us.

May we all have someone in our lives with the gift of slug vision!

My Apple Pie in the Sky Guy

2008-05-23T05:48:00.000-07:00

Have you ever seen a better looking apple pie? Me neither! John, my husband of thirty-seven years, has become famous for his homemade apple pies, lattice crusts and all.

It's not that I can't bake one myself, but why should I when he does such an outstanding job? I'll continue to cook meals, clean house, and do the gardening, as long as he makes those pies! (This man can do just about anything. Years ago, with no experience, he made a prom dress for our daughter Christina's junior year. She was so pleased with the result that she had him make her a new dress the next year! He's a former pastor and electronics engineer. He built our house, plays in a local symphony with a violin he built, and rides a motorcycle. Oh yes, and he loves to play golf. Quite the well-rounded guy. He can figure out a way to fix nearly anything that breaks. I think I'll keep him for at least another thirty-seven years!)

Last week he did something special for the seniors he teaches at a nearby Christian school. In addition to showing them fabulous pictures of different galaxies and nebulae and presenting his insights on how God created the world out of nothing, he baked a couple of apple pies for them to enjoy during his presentation of "Apple Pie and the Universe."

I'm not sure how much those teens understood concerning the dancing quarks, parity, and creation rings, but I know the apple pie message came through loud and clear. I wish my high school teachers had thought of bringing me a piece of apple pie, rather than expecting me to bring them an apple!

Interview with author Camy Tang

2008-03-24T09:22:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my first-ever interview! I'm delighted to be able to spend a few
minutes with my friend, Camy Tang. I first met this woman at the Oregon Christian
Writers Conference last summer. She refers to herself as "that loud Asian chick"
and while that is true, I found her to be a warm, gracious lady.

Her second book,Only Uni, was recently released. I had the pleasure of reading it
last week. You have to realize that I'm a generation removed from Camy's target
audience, and yet I was still drawn into the story. The issues her main chaaracter
deals with are very real and gritty. And like any good book, the tension builds
as the story unfolds, leading to a satisfying ending.

If your name couldn't be Camy, what would you want it to be and why?

Confession time: when I was young, fanciful, and reading lots of
Sci-Fi/Fantasy novels, I wanted my name to be Silver. I really don't
know why except for the fact I liked have a V in my name and I like
the color silver, although I hated how it tarnishes.


How do you see your characters when you write? Do you find pictures
in magazines of what you want them to look like or do you see them
walking around in your head?

I don't actually visualize them, I usually see them as a certain
personality or even as a certain song. For example, for my character
Trish, I don't think of her as a visual picture--instead I see her
dancing around to the song, "Brave" by Nichole Nordeman.



I love the way you can write a humorous, chik-lit book and yet address
deep issues. Do you know what issue(s) you're dealing with before you
start writing, or do they just develop on their own?

The issues come out of the characters themselves, and I developed all
the characters before the first book in the series was even written.
The only issues that are more personal are probably Trish's issues
with liking herself and reclaiming who she is. Lex and Venus's issues
aren't really from my personal experience--they're more from what each
character is like and what their fears and weaknesses are.

Where's your favorite place to go or thing to do to relax?
My bed. When I got married, we got this nice futon bed with cherrywood
frame and a luscious down comforter. We also have an electric blanket
with dual control, and my side usually gets turned on more often than
my husband's. LOL. I love sitting in bed to read or write on my
computer.


If you were stranded on a deserted island, who would you want with
you--me or Christina? (Captain Caffeine is not an option!)

Hmmm, tough choice! I'd probably live longer if you were with me, but
Christina and I would giggle a lot together. No, but Christina's prone
to ACL injuries like I am, so if we both tore our ACLs, we'd
definitely die--so I'll choose Sherrie!

Good answer! Good answer! You should be on Family Feud. Thanks for
stopping by, Camy. It's always good to talk to you.

Readers, go out and buy a copy of Only Uni then settle in for a
good read.

The Lonely Walk

2008-03-18T09:53:00.000-07:00

"No matter how many good friends I had, there were aspects of my life I needed to deal with alone - heart issues and attitudes that could not be wrestled with in a Bible study...They had to be confronted by the Holy Spirit in the privacy of my own soul."

~ "A Glimpse of Grace" by Mary Forsythe (with Beth Clark)~

I appreciated this quote I read the other morning on ShoutLife friend Bonnie Winter's site. It instantly brought to remembrance the months of soul darkness I experienced about ten years ago.

I had it all--a loving husband, grown children who were happily married, a job, an active role in the church where my husband pastored, a beautiful home. But something was missing. Something gnawed at me from the inside out, and the dark pit of depression swallowed me up.

I began to doubt the existence of God (and remember, I was a pastor's wife) and His work in my life. I lost joy in my family, job, church, and life in general. Desolation overwhelmed me. My husband gave up his pastorate, telling me I was his main ministry. But even that was not enough. I quit my job, thinking the stress of managing an Alzheimer's unit was the cause of my despair. If anything, things just got worse.

My turnaround came when I spent time by myself. We were empty-nester's by then, so I made one bedroom into my sanctuary. Only I was allowed in there. I wasn't interested in reading the Bible at the beginning of my journey, but spent hours reading through a book my Christian counselor recommended, journaling, and crying. Lots of crying. It was during those weeks of finding out who I really was on the inside, rather than what I portrayed to others, that the hard work of the soul was accomplished. I began to see that my Christian life was tied up with trying to earn approval from God and other people, rather than just resting in the mercy and grace of Christ.

Once I got that figured out the depression lifted. I now try to not accept responsibilities simply to please others, but to do ministry if I believe that is what the Lord is asking me to do. I'm living in freedom.

But as the opening paragraph stated, there was work that had to be done in private in order to have an authentic life to be lived in public. How thankful I am that the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus provides all I need to live in security rather than scrambling to earn God's favor.

Stick It To Me!

2008-03-13T22:09:00.000-07:00

Those of you who were readers of my blogspot postings before I joined ShoutLife know that in October I started acupuncture treatments. I won't post the picture again of a foot being invaded by needles, as it made some people a wee bit queasy!

I sought out this alternative medicine due to decades of insomnia and Restless Leg Syndrome, as well as developing peripheral neuropathy in my feet a few years ago. Medication helped with the first two conditions, but was very expensive as our insurance doesn't cover them.

Acupuncture treatments became part of my schedule once a week for the first couple of months, but then I was able to lengthen it to two weeks between sessions. I'm here to say I've had fantastic results with the insomnia and restless legs and rarely have to use any medication. The neuropathy has been more resistent, but at least it hasn't got any worse.

I was very sad when my acupuncturist left her practice in January. But her replacement, Dr. Lise Harrington, has been awesome. Not only does she load me up with needles, but also does chiropractic adjustments and massage! It's like a one-stop, full-service office visit. When she's through working on me I feel like I'm just a melted mass of relaxation and can hardly slip off the treatment table and drive home!

Who me? Housebroken?

2008-03-04T14:59:00.000-08:00

This past weekend I had the privilege of being the retreat speaker for the women of my church. We journeyed over to a beautiful beach house on the Oregon coast. The view was spectacular, with nothing but a little sand between us and the ocean. Thirty of us gathered together as we learned more about how to tame our emotions. Have you ever wondered if that's even possible?

As women, we have a myriad of emotions to deal with, including those brought on by PMS or peri-menopause. The dictionary defines tame as "reduced from a state of native wildness especially so as to be useful to man." And don't our emotions sometimes make us feel like we're in a state of native wildness? Where we have this primal urge to go running through the jungle (or down your block) screaming at the top of your lungs?

The thesaurus gives other word possibilities such as subdued, submissive, harmless, civilized, and housebroken. Housebroken? That's really not such a bad idea. When you have a puppy or kitten that's not housebroken, what do you end up with? Yep, and we can do the same thing when we're not housebreaking our emotions. We can leave stinky, messy piles of anger or discontent or worry in the corners of our house. Other people may not even be aware of them, but if they spend much time with us, the stench will show up.

We spent time looking at the topics of fear, worry, depression, disappointment, and anger. These all interact and often one leads to the other and we end up in a vicious cycle. It was exciting to remind these women that we always have a choice to make--either going by our feelings or by the truth of God's word.

Wacky, Wonderful, Writer's Weekend

2008-02-12T09:14:00.007-08:00

What a fun weekend we had when multi-published author Donna Fleisher (middle of back row) put together a writer's weekend for a small group of us. In the back row, left to right, you see me, Donna, and Miriam Cheney. Across the front row is Kristen Johnson, my daughter Christina Berry, and Judy Gann. We stayed in a lovely suite at the Sandcastle Beachfront Motel in Lincoln City, OR, about ninety minutes from where Christina and I live. Poor Donna lives right across the street from the motel, with the boring view of crashing ocean waves always available from her living room window! It's a shame the way some people have to suffer!

Our weekend consisted of talking about the various aspects of writing, eating, talking about how we'd eaten too much, critiquing some chapters, eating, complaining about how full we were, sharing life stories, seeing anew God's presence in the whole writing process, eating...

There is something special that happens when a group of authors get together. It must be that quirkiness gene one needs as a writer, and non-writers just don't quite understand us. They don't get what makes us tick and why we're so driven to pursue this life. (Sometimes I wonder myself!)

It was an invigorating weekend, while at the same time, relaxing. You don't often get that combination. Here's to many more such occasions.

The Final Goodbye

2008-02-01T14:53:00.001-08:00

My heartfelt thanks to those of you who have expressed sympathy at the loss of my dear mother-in-law two weeks ago. Your email notes, cards, and prayers have meant a lot.

Mom would have been pleased with her going away party. She had lived most of her life in Phoenix, AZ, until we brought her to Oregon three years ago when her Alzheimer's became so bad. She was laid to rest back in AZ beside her first husband, John's dad.

We were surprised at how many elderly friends of hers came out to the viewing that Monday evening. Most of them were from her old church, which has now disbanded because they had no young blood to carry on. They said the only time they get together now is at funerals. Sad.

I was moved watching my grandkids walk through the whole ritual of death. Both Andrea and Joshua were able to be in Mom's room and watch the proceedings when the mortuary came to remove her body. Not many American children are able to experience the reality of death at that level. They were in Phoenix for the viewing and then the graveside service the following day, sorrow evident in their tears and demeanor. This is something they will not forget.

John was strong as he arranged flights for the extended family to get to Phoenix, rented a house that all fifteen of us could stay at, and officiated at his mother's service. But I was glad to see him be emotional at times, not trapped in his role as her pastor, but able to experience it as her son.

This past Sunday we led a memorial service for her at the care facility here in Oregon. We were touched by the number of staff who came in on their day off to participate in honoring her life, who shared memories of their time with her. They don't often get a chance to say a final goodbye to residents they lose, so we were blessed to provide that opportunity to them.

This has been my first experience with the loss of someone so close to me. I know I've been fortunate in that respect. It has given me an even greater appreciation for salvation, family, and faith. That's a good thing.

Safe in the Arms of Jesus

2008-01-18T18:07:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, January 15--The call comes during breakfast. John answers it, only to find his mother is non-responsive. They think we'd better come. The day is spent at her bedside, watching for any signs of improvement, but seeing none.

And the morning and the evening were the first day.

Wednesday, January 16th--Her frail shoulders rise in quick, shallow jerks with each gurgly breath. Her ninety-one-year-old cheeks glow a soft pink, the color naturally applied by the brush stroke of fever. Her eyes are closed, always closed.

"Mom, we're here. John and I are here." Our kisses elicit no response. I stroke her hand, the skin on the back of it tissue-thin, barely protecting the veins that form the relief map of the life she's lived.

Thus begins Day 2.

Thursday, January 17th--It's 2 AM and the vigil continues. She's working hard for each breath as she enters her third day of actively dying. Each exhalation sounds frothy--like a child blowing milk bubbles through a straw. Her lower cheeks are sunken around her mouth, giving her the high cheekbones of a model.

And that's what she is. The model of a godly Christian woman walking the final steps down the runway of this disease called Alzheimer's. She has walked it with grace, never losing her trust in God, love of family, or sweetness of character.

Sweet. That's the refrain that has run through each story the caregivers and hospice nurses have shared with me these past two days. "She is the sweetest lady I've ever known." "She's always so sweet. Not a mean bone in her body."

They are all shocked by the sudden change in her health. One by one, or sometimes in groups of three, they come to love on her. They gently bathe her, carefully reposition her arms and legs, and cover her face with kisses. "I love you, Marjory," I hear them whisper before they leave.

Hours pass. A thin hint of daylight sneaks through the fog outside as the thin hint of her spirit lingers in the room. When will it happen--that nanosecond when she leaves our presence and is immediately in His?

She tip-toes through yet another day, her footsteps so light they can hardly be heard, her spirit poised on the edge of eternity, patiently waiting for her body to catch up.

Family has once again been in to tell her goodbye; to spend precious hours with her. They reluctantly leave for home. I alone am left to stay at her side throughout the night. Her breathing, though still rapid, quiets. I scoot the chair as close to her bed as possible, place my head on a pillow next to hers, my hand resting on her shoulder. Surely I will feel if there's a change. Thirty minutes later I awake with a start, realizing the noise in the hall is louder than any Mom is making. I go around to the other side of the bed to make certain my suspicion is valid. Only her shell remains.

I tell her once again what a precious woman she is to me; what a wonderful mother-in-law she has been. I make phone calls to family before leaving the room to inform the staff of her passing. I listen to Beethoven for the next hour as I sit beside her, my palm resting on her cooling forehead. I hold myself together. It's not until an hour later, at 1:08 AM, that the tears come, brought on by the simple action of me removing a pillow from under her legs.

I place a praise CD in the player and cry through every song, the words impacting me in a different way than ever before. When I think of Mom standing in the very presence of God, gazing into the eyes of Jesus, it's almost more than I can bear. There's such an intensity to my sense of awe at what she is experiencing.

I sit beside her for eight hours, continually resting my hand on her forehead. Through the tears I talk to her as I have for the past three days. My pain is outweighed by joy, but nevertheless, very real. I will miss her. I already do.

Through the window I see the rest of the family pulling into the parking lot, ready for one last visit before her body is removed. As I leave her room to meet them I turn to say, "Now you're the 'you' you've never been, but were always created to be."

Her life has been a gift to me and all who knew her.

In loving memory of
Marjory Ashcraft Peterson
October 25, 1916--January 18, 2008

Ring Out the Old

2007-12-31T20:59:00.000-08:00

When I was a teenager living in California, our church would have a Watch Night Service beginning about 8 pm on December 31st. All ages of people, from little kids to the elderly, would show up for this event. We'd have a potluck of desserts, play games, and visit. If I remember right, those with really young children would leave by ten, but the rest of us would stay the course. Around 11:30 we'd gather in the sanctuary for a time of worship. We'd keep one eye on the back of the room, where the big clock hung on the wall. The clock that was supposed to guide the pastor's sermons on Sunday mornings. Our voices would join together in singing the old hymns like "I Surrender All" or "I'll Go Where You Want Me To Go." On the tick of midnight we'd take turns praying out loud, committing our lives to the Lord's service in the new year.

As a Christian teen, I loved that special night. I always felt a sense of excitement about the coming year, and yearned to grow closer to God as I went through it. I wanted my life to count for something and to be a witness to others. I was willing for God to mold me however He best saw fit.

And you know what? He answered all those prayers. I stayed close to the Lord and went on to become a pastor's wife as well as a missionary. I continue to yearn to grow closer to God with each passing year. I carry with me an awareness that I'm a witness as I'm out and about in my community. Pastor Brown is in glory now, but I hope he knows how much I looked forward to ending the old year with my church family.

Do churches even have Watch Night Services anymore? I haven't been involved in one for decades. But I just talked to my husband, who is on a piano tuning trip to Nevada, and he was going to a Watch Night Service in a little Baptist church in Hawthorne. So obviously some places are keeping the tradition alive. It might be a good thing to reinstate here in Oregon. Who knows? There might be a young person (or old) who could really benefit from that yearly recommittment to their faith.

An-ti-ci-pa-tion!

2007-12-13T07:01:00.000-08:00

With a title like that, you probably think I'm writing about Christmas. Wrong!

When I joined ShoutLife about three weeks ago, an evil virus took over my computer and then wiggled its way into my heart. It was so stealthy, that for a week or so I didn't even realize I'd been attacked. I went through my daily routine without a problem. As soon as I woke up each morning, I would hurry to turn my computer on and see which new people were reaching out to me, asking me to be their friends and share in their lives. Each day was met with a sense of anticipation as I wondered what the words on the screen would say to me.

Last week, the insidious virus reached my heart and stopped me cold. There was no cure for it. No cure other than repentance. You see, I had allowed the excitement about these strangers reaching out to me to be the most important thing of my morning. There was a sense of approval and worth brought about by seeing how many people had contacted me.

And that's when God spoke. The Great Physician pointed out that I had let this cut in to my daily appointment with Him. Instead of anticipating my time with Him each morning, reading His prescription for my life and getting my approval and feelings of worth from Him, I was pushing Him aside, anxious to get my fix from the computer.

I listened when He spoke. I read directives He'd given me in the past: Seek first the kingdom of God; I will fill you with My love every morning.

That's when I made the committment to meet with the Lord each day before turning on my computer. Nothing is more important than spending quality time aligning myself with His words that bring life and hope. Words that tell me I am loved. That tell me I'm worth more than I'll ever know.

His mercies are new every morning. Now that's something to anticipate!

Stop Yelling at Me!

2007-12-01T15:17:00.000-08:00

I must have been born with a sensitive spirit, even though I'm the oldest of five. I always hated to be yelled at. Now, you have to understand that I really wasn't yelled at. My parents could simply raise their voice to get my attention, and I would feel they were yelling. A loud snap of their fingers had the same effect--instant obedience. When I got engaged to John, we came to an agreement that we would never yell at each other. We even go so far as to try to be in the same room when we talk to each other, so that there's no sound of discord in the house.

So, what's a nice girl like me doing on a place called ShoutLife?! I resisted it for months, this Christian version of MySpace. But Christina kept telling me I needed to power up and join this awesome group of people. She also warned me to wait until a week when I had few commitments, as it would be very time-consuming when I first joined.

She was so right! I don't have it within me to push one little button and "accept all" the people who have written asking to be my friend. No, I have to respond personally to each one. I go to their profile page and see what we have in common before writing to them. That helps me see each of them as an individual, rather than just a name. I like doing it this way and have met some great people, but it's taking more hours than I dreamed possible.

In closing, I want to give a big shoutout to all my friends, both old and new. Shoutout? Did I really say that?

HUGE Fiction Giveaway

2007-11-26T09:45:00.000-08:00

My daughter Christina and I cowrite books about relationships. We are a relationship. We want to dominate the relationship brand. And we want to have at least 500 subscribers to the Ashberry Lane Newsletter by the first of the year. Should we expect you to sign up and work hard at strong-arming your friends to sign up while you get nothing out of the deal? No way!

Compassionate as we are, we've worked up a HUGE new incentive. How better to promote our relational fiction than featuring other fiction that focuses on different types of relationship? Why don't we give our supporters a chance to win EIGHT autographed books? What a great Christmas present that would be! Or what a lot of Christmas shopping done for you!
Without further ado, we present, with a booming voice,

ASHBERRY LANE'S BOOK GIVEAWAY

For the Friend Relationship: Roxanne Henke's After Anne

One of our absolute favorite books. As you watch Olivia and Anne struggle through a difficult challenge, you'll want to be a better friend.

For the Prodigal Relationship: Robin Lee Hatcher's Return to Me

How many of us have walked away from what our father wanted for us? Or away from our Father? This story will remind you that the you can go home again.

For the Marriage Relationship: Robin Jones Gunn's Wildflowers Wildflowers

Married Genevieve falls in love with the man she least expected could win her heart. It's not who you might think ....

For the Sibling Relationship: Lauraine Snelling's Ruby (Dakotah Treasures #1)

In the first of this frontier series, Ruby must deal with her new "inheritance" while protecting her sister from its influences.

For the Man's Perspective on Relationships: James Scott Bell's Breach of Promise

A heart-rending story of a man trying to keep his family together.

For the Supernatural Relationship: Tosca Lee's Demon: A Memoir

Don't let the title of this book scare you away. There is no glorification of the demonic, but an enlightened fresh look at what History means.

For the Relationships Gone Bad: Bette Nordberg's Serenity Bay

A truly terrifying story of woman who married Prince Charming and discovered he wasn't.

For the Single Among the Marriage-Minded: Camy Tang's Sushi for One? (The Sushi Series, Book 1)

You'll laugh. You'll relate. You'll be impressed with this debut novel from up-and-coming author Camy Tang.

EIGHT books. ONE winner. Here are the ways to win:

Current subscriber and previous referrals are already in the hat. Any new subscriber or referral will gain another entry.

Publicize this to your homeys through newsletters: one entry.

Blog about the contest: one entry. (Email us if you need what to post.)

Include it in your Christmas cards: two entries.

Tuck it in the gift bag with the fruitcake you'll be leaving on random doorsteps: five entries.

Subscribe! Spread the word! Flood the blogosphere! Take over the world!

Last Update About the Fire

2007-11-19T08:41:00.000-08:00

This picture of my precious Ashcraft grandchildren was taken just hours before the fire last Sunday.Every thing in the photo was lost, but every body was saved. We are so blessed.

The Red Cross put the family up in a motel for four nights before they were able to move into a small rental house. When I talked to Johnathan on the phone his first night there, he sounded very excited. "Grandma, at my new house I have windows AND curtains AND walls!" Nothing like losing all those things to make one appreciate what we take for granted. The community has rallied around them, providing the family with basic necessities and lots of love.

Speaking of community, that is about to change. Several weeks before the fire, Mark had been approached by the Athena Police Department, asking him to apply for an opening they had. Athena is a small town NE of Pendleton, heading toward Walla Walla, WA. Mark had the interview on November 1st and knew he wouldn't find out the results until the 16th. Meanwhile, the fire occured on the 11th. As Mark and I stood before his burning house he quietly said, "I've been asking God for a sign." I replied, "I think this is about as close to a lightening bolt as you're going to get!" He was informed on Friday that Athena wanted him, and he accepted.

No one in Pilot Rock, including his kids, knew of this possibility. The girls (Brenna 15, Cassie 13) have grown up there. They were devestated when told that they'd be moving. In the span of 5 days they lost their house, their church, and now their school and friends. I would really appreciate your prayers for them as they work through all the emotions pounding through them. (And we're talking teenage girls, here!)

Holly's parents spent the weekend with them, helping sort through the few things they were able to salvage from the house. Strange things made it through, like Holly's spider plant she's had for years and the collection of crosses she had in her basement bedroom. Probably the strangest thing was the survival of the unity candle from their wedding. You just don't expect a candle to make it through a fire!

The four kids came back to Salem with Holly's parents yesterday, and will be spending the week with them. That will give Mark and Holly time together as a couple to deal with the changes and challenges ahead of them. A job change is a big enough stress, but to have all the rest of this going on at the same time...

The upside is that we'll get to have the kids with us on Thanksgiving Day. There'll be cousins here, as well as great grandparents and aunts and uncles. At this fragile time in their life, they'll be surrounded with family.

I pray you'll have that same blessing this Thanksgiving.

Newspaper Article with Pictures

2007-11-15T09:12:00.000-08:00

This is a really good article about the fire. Our son, Mark, is featured in it. When the reporter mentions that Mark chuckles, just be aware that he is famous for his chuckle--a deep bass going ha-ha-ha, with pauses between each one! Follow this link to the article: East Oregonian.

Fire Update

2007-11-13T17:55:00.000-08:00

My heartfelt thanks to the many of you who have contacted me directly or left a comment here in response to my blog about the fire early Sunday morning. (If you haven't read that particular blog, scroll down and read it now before continuing with this one.)

I've called Mark and Holly on a daily basis and they are coping well and sounding strong. The family has spent the two nights since the fire at the Best Western Motel in Pendleton, as there are no motels in the small town of Pilot Rock. A member of their church has a vacant rental and will let them have temporary shelter there. It will be a tight fit for their family of six, but as Holly says, "At least it will be a roof over our heads, which is more than we have now!" The insurance adjuster toured their former house yesterday and declared it a total loss. The foundation is all that might possibly be useable.

Here are pictures taken by a neighbor that morning. I don't know if anyone got photos of the house with flames, but the ones of the burning church next door are pretty powerful. The outside walls of the house are still standing, but the inside is gutted. In fact, fire reignited in Cassie's bedroom yesterday, more than 24 hours after it started.

(I don't know why the pictures and text look just fine when I preview this blog, and are messed up when I do the actual post. And Christina's not able to help me figure it out, as she can't navigate the stairs with her bum knee!)

Where There's Smoke...

2007-11-11T21:14:00.000-08:00

I sat in front of my computer last night, wanting to share about my experiences of the day, but having no idea where to start. So I didn't.

This morning I woke up at 5:02. The quiet and darkness were as comforting as the blanket that hugged my shoulders. A stark contrast to 24 hours earlier, when the waning hours of night were broken by shouts, flames, and cold.

John and I had gone to eastern Oregon for the weekend. We'd spent Friday night with an older couple in Condon. I got to visit my heart out while John tuned pianos at their church and the Elks lodge. We left Friday morning and headed to Pendleton. John tuned four pianos there while I spent time in the local Christian bookstore, library, and went to lunch with a friend. My daughter-in-law, Holly, works at Walmart, so I spent some time (and money) there while waiting for her to get off work at 3:30. I rode out to Pilot Rock with her and was greeted with delicious hugs by our four grandkids. (These are the ones we took to Disneyland in August.) John arrived in time for dinner and we had a great time as a family that evening. Cassie is turning 13 next Sunday, and I had bought 7 books for her at the Oregon Christian Writer's Conference last summer, and had them autographed. She is a voracious reader and writer and I was sure she'd be thrilled with autographed books. We celebrated her birthday that night and she was overjoyed with her gift. I done good!

Things quieted down in the house around 10:30. John and I got to sleep in 4-year-old Johnathan's room. That handsome little guy slept on the top bunk, John and I on the bottom. We put our ear plugs in and closed the bedroom door so the dogs wouldn't join us during the night. At 5 yesterday morning, I woke up and turned over in bed and one of my ear plugs fell out. I tucked it under my pillow and heard a man's voice yell, "If they're going, they need to go now!" Honestly, my very first thought was, "How rude! It's early Sunday morning. No one needs to go anywhere!" I had a second to wonder whose voice it was, as I knew it wasn't my son Mark's. They had another guest (also named Mark) spending the night, and he had bedded down on the couch in the living room. It didn't sound like his voice, either.

Our bedroom door burst open and Holly flipped the light switch. She swooped sleeping Johnathan off his bunk as she yelled, "Mom, Dad, get up! The church is on fire!" (Their house is next-door to a 95-year-old Presbyterian church.) I reached beside the bed for my glasses, slid my slippers on, and tore a blanket from the bed to wrap around me. John was scrambling beside me. As I left the room and headed for the front door I could feel intense heat on my face. A neighbor woman had Kaylee bundled in a blanket and was tearing through the living room. I follwed them out. Holly was right in front of me (I think--things are kind of a blur!) and she yelled that the two older kids, Cassie and Brenna, were already out. We all ran across the street, except for Mark, who was in his backyard, spraying the church-side of the house with the garden hose, trying to keep the fire from spreading to the house. But the heat was so intense, the water evaporated before it could do any good. Once her kids were safe Holly went to move her van from in front of the house. The plastic handle was already bubbling from the heat, and she singed her hand a bit, but was able to move the car to safety. Mark got his truck moved, a neighbor moved Mark's new motorcycle, and John had "happened" to pick up a pair of pants as he ran from the house, and his car keys were in the pocket, so he could move our car, too.

I cannot yet describe the sight that met my eyes as I looked across the street from my safe vantage point. The three-storied church was ablaze, flames leaping in the air. The sounds of wood crackling and windows exploding filled the air. I couldn't even pray. Couldn't form a coherent thought beyond, "Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord." The kids had been taken to a neighbor's house across the street and I knew they were all safe. I stood in the street with my arms around Holly. She was moaning and then exclaimed, "My house in on fire!" The heat from the conflagaration had started a fire in their attic. We'd been out of the house for ten minutes, if that.

The Pilot Rock volunteer fire department showed up with two pumpers, and finally a tower truck from Pendleton. For hours, literally hours, we stood and watched both structures burn. Soon into the process Holly asked a friend to take Cassie and the twins across town to a friend's, so they wouldn't be watching their house burn. Neighbors brought out blankets and coffee, gave hugs and condolences, and the classic offer of "If you need anything, let me know. We'll help however we can." Pilot Rock is a very small town and that community knows how to pull together. Not only had they lost their historic church, but also the house of their senior police officer. The house burned for hours. For some reason, the fire fighters were unable to get the blaze subdued.

But God is good. And may I say again, GOD IS GOOD! There were nine people sleeping in that house, on two levels. All of us got out safely, including three dogs. A neighbor across the street had been awakened by his dogs barking. He and his wife saw the engulfed church and ran over and saved our lives by pounding on the door and yelling. If that other Mark hadn't been sleeping on the couch in the living room and heard the pounding, it would have taken more time and effort to alert us to the danger, and who knows what might have happened. I think we were all out of the house within a minute's time.

We all scooted out with only the clothes on our back. John's and my carry-on bags that we travel with were in our room, along with our credit cards, my purse, medications, etc. We knew it would be a real bother to have to replace those things, but nothing compared to what Mark and Holly were facing. Four hours into the fire, Mark and Holly were allowed to make a trip into the section of the house that wasn't currently burning, and bring out a few things. I looked up to see Mark carrying our bags to us. I couldn't believe it, but my purse survived, as did all the contents of my wallet. Even my cell phone made it through and still works! Holly brought out her precious wedding gown that her mother had made for her years ago. It wasn't damaged. And Mark rescued the flag that had covered his grandfather's coffin years ago. Very fitting, as yesterday was Veteran's Day.

A friend drove Holly and me over to where the kids were. The twins ran to us, wanting held and hugged. Johnathan said, "Grandma, my house got break-ed." Kaylee told me her house was "fired." As I loved on those two little ones, that's when the tears welled. What if we had lost one of them? What if something had happened to the older girls? As the grandmother, I found myself dealing with the what-ifs. Poor Mark and Holly have to deal not only with the what-ifs, but also the what-is. The work ahead of them is staggering. Yes, the house was fully insured, but that doesn't make replacing everything an easy job. It's all going to take time. The kids have lost their house and their church, all at the same time. Life will be very different.

John and I left around noon, as there was nothing more we could do. I was so thankful we'd been there and able to be a support for our kids. John had only bedroom slippers to drive in.(Well, and his clothes!) A neighbor girl gave me a pair of socks and shoes, and over my pajama bottoms I wore a pair of pants Mark had found in his truck. I had sleep-top on, but no bra. (I finally joined the Women's Liberation Movement of the '70s and burned it! I did have a light-weight jacket that had been in our car overnight, and could wear that when needed so I didn't look indecent.) I had my glasses on, no makeup, and hadn't combed my hair since Saturday morning.) And that's what we looked like as we traveled home. As we stopped at McDonald's for something to eat. As we went into Fred Meyers to buy a new pillow for John. And you know what? I really didn't care. We had survived a near-tragedy. We might not have looked pretty or smelled very good, but our whole family was alive. Nothing else mattered.

Other people were taking pictures, and when those are sent to me I'll definitely post them. I think this particular blog is long enough. I don't even know if many people will read it, but I needed the cathartic release of getting some of my thoughts down on paper, so to speak. I'm so thankful for the prayers of those of you who knew what was going on. For those of you who hear about it this way, please pray for the Mark Ashcraft family as they go through this difficult time. I'm sure I'll need to write more about the experience, but this it for now. Go love on your family!

One Fine Day

2007-11-04T08:15:00.000-08:00

Friday was a glorious fall day here in the Pacific Northwest.The azure sky was punctuated by the orange, yellows, and reds of deciduous trees, and the air was fresh. It was the kind of day that screamed to be used in reckless abandon instead of wasted indoors. Luckily for me, the grandkids had no school due to teacher in-services. I wouldn't have to play by myself.

A few days earlier I had been walking the back part of our 15 acres and came across a couple of trees that took me back to memories of my childhood. My dad was with the Forest Service and there were times we lived in the mountains. As the oldest of five children, I took it upon myself to direct what and where we would play. One of our most favorite things was to find a place to build a fort. Sometimes we actually constructed a structure, but usually we would clear out an area under some trees and use it for a base. We played for hours in an innocent world of Cowboys and Indians, soldiers (I always got to be the nurse for the wounded ones) and just playing house.

I invited Andrea and Joshua to join me in fixing up a fort here on the Ashberry property. The forest floor was covered with windfall and tangles of blackberry vines. But we were the mighty conquerors and within an hour I had sawn off lower dead limbs, which the kids carried to a nearby area. I was able to make short work of the berry vines, too. As you can see in the picture, I left branches that they are able to climb up, swing from, and bounce on. They ate their sandwiches in their new fort, gathered leaves to use as money, and began playing Star Wars. A new generation, but with the age-old ability to use their imagination!!

A Novel Case of PMS

2007-10-31T07:50:00.003-07:00

I'm sure most of you don't look forward to a monthly dose of PMS. I had extensive surgery eight years ago and haven't been bothered by that problem since then. No, if I'm in a bad mood (which is very rare) I have nothing to blame it on but myself. I may try to say, "Oh, well, it's just that time of the decade," but no one seems to take me very seriously.

Yesterday, though, I was hit hard by PMS--Post Manuscript Syndrome. Christina and I met our goal of completing our deep edit of On The Threshold by the end of October. At 5:15 last night we emailed all 86,000 words to our agent, who was planning on sending it today to an editor who requested the book in its entirety. And now begins the hard work--waiting to hear something back. Our book is contemporary fiction, and we've been told that historical fiction is what many of the publishing houses are looking for now. So it's harder to sell our product to the marketing team. But I figure that it took us eight years to write this, so doesn't that make it historical?

By the way, I was wrong in my last post when I said we'd never gotten to this point before. Christina reminded me that we've had a full manuscript at two houses in the past. But this is a different book, in so many ways. Our writing has deepened and so have our characters. We weren't ready to be published before. Hopefully we are now.

I'm all for repeating this kind of PMS. The only type of cramps I had were writer's cramps. Sure, there was a headache sometimes, but usually just when searching for the perfect word. And the bloating? That was caused by a big story that needed to be told. Now that we've sent the manuscript off, there's a feeling of relief and accomplishment. And the next story is already percolating. Or is that just a bad case of indigestion?

A Veritable Smorgsboard

2007-10-27T07:55:00.000-07:00

It's been so long since I've blogged that it's hard to know what to say! (Who, me? At a loss for words?) So I'm just going to bring you up-to-date on a few different things.

Footing the Bill- My acupuncture treatments are continuing to go very well. One of the benefits of my weekly sessions is that I've learned how to spell "acupuncture!" (I had always thought it had two "c's" in it. I hope I get that word in the next spelling bee I'm in!) Dr. Deborah Nixdorf (www.fghealthandfitness.com) has spent hours of non-session time researching what could be causing my peripheral neuropathy and how to treat it. We've become friends in this journey together. My foot pain is definitely lessening and I'm sleeping much better at night.

Ninety-one and Still Counting- My sweet mother-in-law, who lives in a Memory Care facility about 25 minutes from us, turned 91 this week. For her big 9-0 last year, her daughter had flown in from Wyoming and her other son from Texas. We'd had a big family celebration in the conference room of her facility. Christina and I had brought a tasty, celebratory meal from home. The room was festively decorated and we had a wonderful time together. I think my favorite part was after dinner and presents when we all continued to sit around the table and sang songs off the top of our heads. Our repertoire included songs like "Someone's in the Kitchen with Dinah," to the old hymn "In the Garden" to lullabies Mother used to sing to her children. She joined right in with us and we had a precious time together. This year was different. She's still as sweet as ever, but the memory is no longer there. John and I brought in a little pastry for her to have after dinner, and we took her back to that same conference room and played part of the video tape we'd made last year. Showed her the section where we were all singing. There was no glimmer of recognition, no singing along. When I asked her who a certain person was on the tape, she thought it was her sister Ruth, when in actuality it was her daughter Judy. Her decline is very evident and we just treasure the remaining time we have with her, however long that is.

Writing Right- Christina and I have been working with great focus on the final edit of our coauthored book. For the past month we have spent hours a day going through it chapter by chapter. Editing is hard work, but fun as we do it together. By the time we quit yesterday, we had only 38 pages left to edit, and a new chapter to write. We hope to have that done by Tuesday. Then we'll spend a day or two going through and looking for words we've overused and replacing those. (Every author has pet words they rely on.) So by the end of the week we should be able to send it off to our agents, David and Sarah Van Diest, so they can send it to any editors that request the full manuscript. We've never been at that point before.

Poor Ziggy

2007-10-17T21:06:00.000-07:00

Today I had my second visit with Dr. Deborah Nixdorf, a naturopathic physician and licensed acupuncturist in nearby Forest Grove. (You can find out more about what she has to offer by going to www.fghealthandfitness.com.)

She spent a good deal of time going over recent lab results from blood work ordered by my primary physician. I'm a former nurse, so Ive been trained to look at lab work and if it falls in the normal range, consider it to be okay. But as Deborah was saying during my visit, there's a difference between acceptable and optimal. That made sense to me. So we're working together on some things that will bring me closer to that optimal level. Of course, when she talked about cuttingback on my carbohydrate consumption, the word "mutiny" did cross my mind!

Several people have said they want me to do updates as to how acupuncture is working for me. What I can tell you is that the week following my first treatment, I noticed a difference in two areas. One was that the sharp pains, the sensation of having a strip of hot tacks dragged across the top of my foot, has gone away. I still have a general numbness and tingling, but not the intermittent pain. Secondly, my insomnia has gotten much better. I'd been taking sleeping pills every night for months before my first session. Six out of the last seven nights, I've been able to get non-medicated sleep soon after turning off the light. Ever since I was a young teen, my mind has whirled at night, keeping me too busy to fall asleep. Deborah calls that "mind chatter."

One of the things I'm supposed to do is to take 100 deep breaths during the day. The kind of breaths where the air goes all the way down to your tummy. You can actually feel the abdomen rise and fall when done correctly. After she inserted the 15 needles and left the room, I closed my eyes and started doing my deep breathing exercise, slowly counting up to 44 by the time she came back. I said, "I made it to 44." She hesitated a moment, then said, "What?" I opened my eyes and looked over at her. "I took 44 deep breaths while you were out." She chuckled. "Oh, I thought you were saying you were 44 years old." We got to laughing about how busy she'd be if word got out that in 10 minutes of doing acupuncture she could remove 11 years from one's age!

So, I continue to view this as a journey the Lord has me on. Do I understand all of it? How acupuncture works? No way. But I know the Bible says I am "fearfully and wonderfully made." There is wisdom accrued through the ages that can strengthen my body and help me feel better. I'm all for that.

On Pins and Needles

2007-10-11T08:36:00.001-07:00

I tried something brand new yesterday. I guess it's been around for centuries, but it was certainly new to me. Acupuncture. Yep, that voodoo doll-like thing where you pay good money to have someone stick you full of needles. And then they have the nerve to tell you to relax!

For a number of years I've been plagued by peripheral neuropathy in my left foot (now invading my right one too) and Restless Leg Syndrome. And did I mention insomnia? The medication I'm taking for the neuropathy and RLS is something I will be on the rest of my life. I'm hoping for another 30 years or so, and hate the thought of having to take meds all that time. My husband, who is very traditional, suggested I look into acupuncture.

Yesterday was my first session. After an involved interview concerning my health history, the doctor had me lie on my back on the exam table. A wedge (not to be confused with a wedgie) was placed under my knees. I must confess I was a wee bit nervous. I do fine with blood draws and shots, but still....

She placed a total of 14 needles in my feet, around my knees, and in my hands. Lucky number 15 went between my eyes. And you know what? I can honestly say it didn't hurt. Most of the time I could just barely feel something going through my skin. She turned the lights down low and put quiet music in the player. Before she left me for about 10 minutes, she said my job was to just relax and breathe deeply. Breathe in whatever I wanted, whether it was energy, or love, or peace. And to breathe out any impurities. Then she closed the door behind her and left me on my own.

As a Christian, I wanted to be sure I wasn't falling into some mystic religious thing. I relaxed and thought, "Okay, God is the source of all energy and is constantly working. What I want to take in is Jesus and His power. So I just kept saying the name of Jesus with each inhalation. And exhaled anything God didn't want in my life. I pictured Jesus being the River of Life freely flowing through me from top to bottom.

It ended up being a spiritual exercise for me, in the best sense of the word. I felt very relaxed and rested when the doctor came back in, as though I'd just had a massage. She tweaked each needle and then removed them, and I set up another appointment for next week. I'll let you know if this works for me.

Photo courtesy of eganu rirrun

Texas Hospitality

2007-09-27T08:51:00.000-07:00

Last Wednesday through Sunday Christina and I were off in the big city of Dallas, Texas, to attend our first American Christian Fiction Writers Conference. We've been told (by a reliable source) that this is the largest Christian writers conference in the world. With over 500 people there, I believe it.

Our adventure began before we even left Gaston. A fellow ACFWer had contacted us after subscribing to our newsletter (http://www.ashberrylane.net/) and after some correspondence back and forth Rebecca Barlow of Poetry, TX (isn't that a neat name?) invited us to spend Wednesday night with her. Can you imagine inviting a complete stranger (or in our case, strangers) to come spend the night in your home with your family? I love that as Christian writers there really is a deep feeling of family and connectedness even with those we've not met face-to-face.

Wednesday night happened to be Rebecca's husband's birthday. So after she picked us up at Dallas Love Field Airport, she drove about 40 minutes to the Southern Junction restaurant where we met her husband and another couple. I'll tell you, we don't have places like the Southern Junction in Gaston, OR! We walked in to this huge room with a dance floor and a live Country Western band. It was fun to watch people dance the two-step, line dances, etc. Almost made me want to get out there and join them!

This steak house was phenomenal. You actually go to a refrigerated display case and choose your hunk of meat, take it over to a seasoning station and doctor it up however you want, and then over to a huge grill where you cook it to your own liking. And don't forget the two pieces of Texas Toast you grill along with the steak. Then over to a baked potato bar before making your way back to the table. I've never had such succulent meat before. Yummmm.

Rebecca's house was absolutely lovely, as was her family. It's so encouraging to see Christian families who are really making a difference in the world. Thanks, Barlow's, for a great start to our stay in Texas. You rock!

A Ticking Time Bomb

2007-09-16T08:25:00.001-07:00

Whew! And may I say it again? Whew!!

Time is moving so fast, I can hardly keep up with it. Seems there are only 30 seconds in a minute these days. Too much too do, too little time to do it. Last night I was on the verge of tears, feeling overwhelmed and undertimed. So what's causing this feeling?

John and I are Commanders for a brand-new Awana club starting today at our church. Neither of us has worked in an Awana club, let alone been the one overseeing all facets of it. And since it's a brand-new venture, no one has any idea how many kids will be showing up at 5 o'clock tonight. Could be 30, or maybe twice that much. We've been putting hours in on preparation for the last several weeks, but we were still up until 12:30 AM "last night." And hit it hard as soon as we woke up this morning.

Then there's the excitement and preparation that Christina and I have. We leave Wednesday morning to fly to Dallas, TX, for the American Christian Fiction Writers(ACFW) Conference. We'll have some of our work critiqued, meet with editors, attend classes, meet authors we've looked up to for years, and make lots of new friends. I'm sure it will be a glorious experience to share together, but I'd like to be more rested before I get there.

Oh, and did I mention I've got a Women's Ministry meeting to attend Tuesday night? At least my hair is already colored, and I guess my weight will just be what it is. I've been too busy to make it to Curves more than once this week. My wardrobe is basically selected, and my husband is sufficient enough to fend for himself, so I don't have to have meals prepared ahead of time for him.

I pray for strength and joy in all that I do. I got an email from ACFW this morning and the following verse was mentioned. I took it as God's word for me today. "May our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father encourage you and strengthen you in every good thing you do and say. God loves us, and through his grace he gave us a good hope and encouragement that continues forever." (2 Thessalonians 2:16,17)

With that, my tears are gone.

Here Comes the Bride!

2007-09-12T20:53:00.001-07:00

This past week John and I drove down to San Jose, California, to attend the wedding of my niece, Rachel Smith, to Daniel Forbes. John officiated at the ceremony, which he tends to do a lot for my family. Since he became a minister over 30 years ago, he's married his sister, my sister, my brother, a niece, a nephew, even his own daughter...! I smell a tabloid headline lurking in there someplace.

The wedding Saturday evening was outdoors in the backyard of the groom's family. Both families had worked hard to make this a magical night for the couple. The reception area was covered with ethereal billows of white netting, making a canopy between the tall oaks. Hundreds of white lights crept along the netting, turning the location into a fairyland after dark.

All of my siblings and most of their families were able to make it. Our family has the best time when we get together. We all have a quirky sense of humor, which I guess seems pretty normal to us. My youngest brother, Daniel, (yes, same name as the groom) was the emcee for the reception. He broke out some dance moves that totally embarrassed his teenage kids. Like he said later, "I don't have a shame gene in my body!"

We had to leave before Rachel and Danny took off on their honeymoon, as we had a 12-hour trip ahead of us the next day. But we took with us the joy of young love and fresh beginnings, the couple's gift to us.

The Next Leg of the Trip

2007-08-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

"She's unresponsive."

The nurse's voice on the other end of the phone broke through the simple plans I had for the day.

I was doing my weekly cleaning for a lady, so called John at home and told him that the Memory Care facility had just called to say his mother was unresponsive and they were shipping her out to the hospital. He took off to meet her there and I finished my work and joined them.

Mother will be 91 in October, and as I entered her ER cubicle I wondered if she would make it that long. "Deathly white" is an appropriate description. She was talking with John, though she had no idea who I was when I went up to place a kiss on her forehead. I told her I'd been married to her son for nearly 37 years. "Really?" she replied.

After 5-1/2 hours in the ER (our shortest visit so far!) it was determined that she has a GI bleed from an unknown cause. Of course they could do furthur tests or exploratory surgery, but we have long ago opted out of that line of attack. She is so ready to go to heaven and while we don't want to do anything to hasten that event, neither do we want to delay it. The doctor suggested it was time to get hospice involved, and we agreed.

The hospital social worker came in to talk to me (John had gone to work by then) and said she had arranged for hospice workers to meet us at Osprey Court as soon as Mother was transported back there. She left a couple of hospice brouchures for me to look at.

Mother must have been getting bored by then, as she reached out her hand and said she wanted "that piece of paper." So I handed her one of the brouchures and there she sat, reading outloud the following hospice guiding philosophy: "You matter because you are you. You matter to the last moment of life. And we will do all we can, not only to help you die peacefully, but also to live until you die." (by Dame Cicely Saunders)

It was poignant to see her sitting there reading about her upcoming journey. How long it will take, we have no idea. How rocky the road will be, we don't know. But the fact that our family can travel this together, assured that she will reach her final destination, is a source of peace and blessing.

Our California Adventure

2007-08-27T23:08:00.000-07:00

Brenna and Cassie

Kaylee and Johnathan

We did it. We did it and we survived.

Take two grandparents, blend four grandchildren (ages 15, 12, and 4-year-old twins), add two days in Disneyland/California Adventure, mix in one day at Sea World, and what do you get? A grand finale to the summer of 2007.

Those of you who read my last blog know that on a whim my husband and I decided to take our son's kids to Disneyland. Four days after our decision, we were on our way. The trip was full of firsts for these kids, as they had never flown before, been in a city bigger than Portland, or been to Southern California. "Look, Grandma! They have real palm trees here."

I got to sit between the twins on our flight down. As we were building up speed down the runway Kaylee said, "Grandma, I'm scared. I need your hand." And with her other hand, she covered her eyes. Johnathan loved the speed, but was quick to express his feelings when we reached cruising altitude above the clouds. With all the disgust he could manage (which was quite a bit) he exclaimed, "But God's not HERE!"

Johnathan and I had another adventure together. John was across the room at the Golden Horseshoe Saloon with Kaylee asleep on his lap, when Johnathan informed me his stomach hurt and he needed to go to the bathroom...NOW! So I hurried him to the nearest facility, only to find the usual line snaking outside from the women's restroom. I was afraid he wouldn't be able to wait so told him to go into the men's and I'd wait for him right outside the door. Wait, I did, for about 5 or 6 minutes.

Then a man came out of the bathroom and said to the women in general, "There's a young boy in here and he's complaining."

"He's probably mine," I replied. "What's he complaining about?"

"I think he's asking for his grandma."

"Yep, he's definitely mine."

At that moment the janitor I'd recently seen enter the restroom poked his head out the door. "There's a little boy in here and--."

"I'm his grandma," I said.

"You'd better come in. I think he needs you."

I explained I really didn't want to go into the men's room, but the janitor insisted the coast was clear. Trepidation oozed from my pores as I entered this hallowed place. As soon as I did, I saw a bunch of men lined up at the white porcelain altar. I cupped both hands around my eyes, creating a narrow tunnel by which I could navigate my way to the far stall. "I'm not looking! I'm not looking!" was my noisy mantra as I progressed, but it brought me no peace.

I joined Johnathan behind the closed door and helped him finish his business, trying hard not to listen to the sounds around me. When we were done I opened the door a crack and yelled, "Is it safe for a woman to walk through?" The only response I got was a flurry of flushes. Again I yelled, "Is it safe for a woman to walk through?" My dear friend the janitor replied, "Yes, it's clear." As I opened the door wider he continued, "Well, mostly clear." (He'd make a terrible weatherman.)

Johnathan and I finally made it back to the rest of our group. "From now on, you have to take him to the bathroom," I told my husband. But in all honesty, I have to admit that my foray into the men's room was my most exciting adventure in Disneyland. It was like mixing a little of the Peeter Pan ride with Splash Mountain, plus some spinning Peecups (oops, I mean Teacups) with It's A Small World.

Mr. Spontaneity

2007-08-18T23:49:00.000-07:00

My husband, John, is not known for making quick decisions. He usually mulls things over, looking at the pros and cons. So imagine my surprise the other day when he suddenly said, "I think we should take the Ashcraft grandkids to Disneyland next week." I about fell off my stump! (We were camping at the time.)

Today I made the 2 hour trip to The Dalles to meet our four grandkids who had been ferried there from 2-1/2 hours away in Pilot Rock. After having a not-so-bad meal at McDonald's I turned the car around and brought them back to Ashberry Lane to spend the night.

These are our son's children. Brenna is 15, Cassie 12, and Kaylee and Johnathan are 4-year-old twins. They have never been to Disneyland nor have they flown, so we're talking about some really exciting days ahead. We fly to Anaheim tomorrow, spend the next two days at Disneyland and California Adventure, go down to Sea World in San Diego for one day, and fly home the following day. So I won't be writing any blogs until the end of the week.

Actually, who knows if I'll have the strength to write then, as John and I are not spring chickens (we're more like sprung chickens!) and I'm sure I'll be worn out by the time we get back.

I don't know if we're brave or crazy to be doing this. Probably a little bit of both. All I know for sure is that we will be busy making wonderful memories with a clutch of priceless grandchildren. And isn't that what the Magic Kingdom is all about?

Tea For Two...Er, I Mean, Five

2007-08-18T11:30:00.000-07:00

(Disclaimer: I wanted to post a wonderful photo from yesterday, but I can't get it to work. So I decided to go ahead a post this message and add the photo later.)

Yesterday was my mother's 77th birthday. Used to be that anyone that age seemed old to me, but not anymore.

In her honor, four generations of us got together for tea at the Stratford House in Hillsboro. I had been there once before and knew Mom would appreciate the ambiance.

My sister, Jeanine, who lives in the Salem area, picked Mom up in McMinnville and then swung by Ashberry Lane to get Christina, 8-year-old Andrea, and me. Then it was off to the Stratford House for a lovely luncheon.

It's a wonderful gift to me to have my mother living so close after years of living 12 hours apart. And though it was her birthday, I thought of the many gifts she's given me.

There's life itself! I'm the firstborn of five children.

She's also the one that told me about new life and led me to a saving knowledge of Christ when I was just five years old.

Mom set a great example of what a Christian woman should look like on the inside. (And she's still beautiful on the outside.) I know she's not perfect, but the desire to closely follow the Lord has always been one of the key parts of her life and it helped me to yearn for that in my own life.

She's a dynamic Christian woman who still wakes up each morning with the longing to make her life count for the Lord. To see the people God brings into her path each day as Divine Appointments.

She and Dad continue to have a vibrant marriage after 58 years. Now that's a gift you don't get very often!

Then there's her outgoing personality and her ability to just be herself. A wonderful sense of humor and the ability to relate to people of all ages. She's just plain fun to be around!

So, Mom, thanks for all the gifts you've so abundantly given to all your children. I know I speak for all of us when I say, "We love you."

The Sky Is Falling!

2007-08-14T15:42:00.000-07:00

Did you happen to catch the Perseid meteor showers this past weekend?

Every year about this time the night sky is filled with falling stars. When our children were young, we woke them up at 4AM and went out on the patio to watch the stars make their arc across the sky. I served star-shaped sugar cookies and Coke and we made a party of it. Good memories!

Now that we live in a multi-generational house with young grandkids, the tradition has come down another generation. Because of Joshua's gluten allergies, the star-shaped cookies went by the wayside. But Sunday night, around 11 o'clock, the six of us gathered comforters and sleeping bags and lay back on the driveway to watch God's firework display. Joshua, who at six is a literalist, worried that we might get wet from the meteor shower! (Spoken like a true Oregonian.)

The day had been very cloudy, but a brief rain shower late in the afternoon cleared all that away, and we had an uncluttered view of the heavens. The night air was cool and we were grateful for the blankets covering us. Frogs croaked, their deep, harsh tones carrying across the darkness. The fir trees surrounding the house stood as sentries, keeping the distant yelps of coyotes from being too fearful.

The two kids loved not only seeing the meteors, but also various satellites that followed their preset march across the sky. By the end of the evening Joshua decided he wants to be an astronaut. Might as well dream big!

It was a great opportunity for Christina and Kevin to deepen their kids' understanding of the handiwork of God. And when Kevin said, "Okay, Lord, give us a grand finale," the brightest star of all flung itself like an acrobat across the midnight sky, a flaming tail marking its demise into the horizon. Our collective "Ooh," rose as praise to God.

More good memories.

Sisters

2007-08-11T07:46:00.000-07:00

Do you have a sister?

Mine lives about an hour away from me. We were able to spend the day together yesterday, and that was a lot of fun. Jeanine is six years younger than me. As children, we always shared a room. We both remember lying in our twin beds at night, holding hands across the gap between us and singing songs. (She went on to become a very good singer. Must be because of all the training I gave her!)

Another memory that stands out in my mind is of when Mom and Dad gave me a brand-new bedroom set for my birthday when I was 15 or 16. Imagine my shock when I walked into my shared bedroom one day and realized my dear sister had scratched a VERY naughty word into the front of my desk! To this day, she has no idea why she did it. Her woodworking ability stayed with me for years, even after I got married. There was always fear in my heart that when our pastor or Sunday School teacher would come over to visit, the sunlight would illumine that offending word!

Now Jeanine and I are both adults. Not only that, but we're both grandparents! (When did THAT happen?!) Our conversations are filled with cute stories about our grandkids, how things are going with our families, self-disclosure, and challenges we're facing. She's a big supporter of my writing life.

So today I wish for you a special time with your sister. Maybe through a phone call or email if she's not close enough to visit. Reminisce about your life together. Plan to build new memories in the future. If you don't have an actual blood sister, ask the Lord to bring someone into your life who can fill that void. My mother had no sisters, but about 20 years ago she met a woman who slipped into that niche as though she'd been designed for it. And she probably was!

As women, we need other women in our lives. Friends who will walk with us through the bad as well as the good. People to share our tears and our giggles.

Happy Sistering!

As Time Goes By

2007-08-05T20:05:00.000-07:00

It was only a week ago, though it seems much longer. I was an active participant in the Oregon Christian Writers Summer Conference Sunday through Thursday. My daughter, Christina, and I were the co-chairs of the hospitality committee. Usually the word "committee" leaves a bad taste in my mouth, but working with Christina was nothing short of joy. The theme for the conference was "Let Your Light Shine", so all the gifts we found for the editors and agents, as well as the centerpieces for the tables, were lighthouse-themed. I don't consider myself gifted in the area of creativity, but Christina and I managed to pull it off. We were also responsible for arranging transportation for people from the Portland Airport to Canby Conference Center. Then there were all the "angels" we had to find. I don't know about you, but I am not often aware of angels around me. But the summer conference was filled with angels--people who were willing to tape the coaching classes and workshops.

Christina and I were in editor/author Karen Ball's coaching class each morning, and what an amazing teacher she is. Karen is very open in sharing experiences in her life and how they effect her writing. I learned a lot from her and had fun in the process.

We had three editor appointments during the conference. These appointments last for 15 minutes and are an opportunity to present a proposal for a book and have the editor take a look at your writing. It's like a 15-minute job interview and can be very stressful. Christina and I have been at this business long enough to not dread them anymore. All three asked for us to send them more, so that was very encouraging.

We got back to Ashberry Lane late Thursday afternoon and our two families left Friday morning for a weekend at church family camp near Mount Hood. I did nothing but relax while I was there. Sat around and visited with many friends, watched other people play active games, read, and ate. It was just what I needed after the previous busy days.

Thought #25

2007-07-17T11:04:00.000-07:00

In a little flip-chart book of sayings that my mother gave me for my birthday, I opened to this one the other day. It's penned by that over-productive writer, Anonymous. I've read many things written by this author and while some of them have been very good, others have lacked meaning. There have been times I've read something they've written and thought to myself, "Wow, if I'd written that, I wouldn't want to claim it!"

But this was a worthwhile offering: If you don't get everything you want, think of the things you don't get that you don't want.

You may, like me, have to read that statement a couple of times before the truth of it starts to sink in. None of us get everything we want, but how fortunate we are that we aren't given all the things we don't want. Cancer, death of a spouse or child, a house fire. We can immediately think of those things we don't ever want to have to deal with, though we all know of people that have.

It also made me ponder all those things I thought I wanted, didn't get, and then in hindsight was so grateful that I didn't get them. That boy I had a crush on in high school that turned out to be of a faith that was totally incompatible with mine. I remember after a series of miscarriages telling the Lord, "I just want a baby. Any baby. I'll even take one with all kinds of problems." And then he gave me Christina, a healthy, bright child who brought me nothing but joy.

What about you? I'd love to hear about things you thought you wanted and didn't get, or what things you didn't want and didn't get. Drop me a line!

Did You Miss Me?

2007-06-09T09:17:00.000-07:00

I feel rather awkward starting this blog, as it's been a month since I last wrote one. Like anything else, it's difficult to get back into the routine.

I do have a good excuse for my silence, though. My mother-in-law, who has lived in a Memory Care facility just 16 miles from us, has required much of my attention these past four weeks.

On Mother's Day John and I took her out to lunch after the church service we hold at her facility. If you want people to clear a path for you, just take a 90-year old woman with a walker along with you! Everyone at the crowded restaurant moved aside to let her through, so of course I tagged along! Mother had a wonderful time. She smiled a lot, enjoying watching little girls in their crisp summer dresses. We knew she was tired when we took her back to her facility.

Several hours later, as we were getting ready to begin the service at our new church start, we received a phone call. Mother had fallen and was complaining of a lot of pain in her hip. So the facility called an ambulance and we were soon at the hospital with her. Thus began the saga.

Her hip was broken and she had sugery on it the following day. Her life, and ours, has not been the same since. Let me just say that 90 years, Alzheimer's, surgery, and narcotics do not make a good mix. For several days I was afraid we'd suddenly lost her, as far as her personality went. Mother was not there. She'd been replaced by some very frail woman who only spoke gibberish, no longer knew what to do with a spoon or a toothbrush, and couldn't chew her food. As a former nurse, I knew that the after effects of surgery can wreak havoc on the elderly, but it's different when it's your elderly!

Over the weeks she has improved some, but we know she will never be the same. She's been back and forth between the hospital and a skilled nursing facility. She had one very bright day last week when I walked in and hardly recognized her, as she was back to looking and acting like she had before the fall. But that improvement lasted only for a few hours. She's now pretty unresponsive to us. Seldom is there light in her eyes. There have been many times when we've thought the Lord was calling her to heaven.

And that's where she longs to go. Numerous times in this past month she has said, "I just want to go" or "Now when I'm gone, don't worry about me." We've told her she's free to leave us whenever God calls. We hope it will be soon and that she won't have to suffer more.

Even so, come Lord Jesus.

Conferences and Golf--Both Are Hard Work

2007-05-07T19:13:00.000-07:00

This past weekend my co-writer daughter Christina and I attended the Christian Writers Renewal held at Seattle Pacific University. I'm hoping the renewal part will hit in another day or two, as so far it's mostly been about feeling exhausted from being there! Simply said, it was a jam-packed weekend.

We talked our husbands into going along with us, as a sort of mini-vacation. "You guys can drop us off at the campus Friday at noon, and then spend the rest of the day golfing. We'll be back at the motel early enough to spend time in the hot tub before getting a good night's sleep. On Saturday you could go hang out at the Harley store and dream of screaminging down highways, the wind at your back."

They fell for our convincing spiel. (After all, we do write fiction.) Christina and Kevin took their two children to a friend's house late Thursday night so we could get an early start on Friday. By the time we got to Seattle around 11, the sky was beginning to clear and the guys were drooling at the thought of their upcoming golf game. We all ate an early lunch together, then they let us off on campus.

Christina and I were kept busy the rest of Friday and all day Saturday meeting with editors/authors and attending classes. We continued to learn more about the craft of writing and the book industry in general. Along the way we made some new friends and were able to spend quality time with people we've met at other writing conferences.

Turns out our experience was much better than the one our husbands had golfing. In fact, it was so bad that Christina's husband, Kevin, refuses to even acknowledge that they went golfing! And this from a man who loves to play. Turns out they went to a course that was right next to the airport and the jets were constantly flying overhead. It was so loud that John had to put earplugs in to protect his I-make-a-living-tuning-pianos ears. The greens were poorly maintained and nearly impossible to play. At least to play well. Kevin quit keeping score by the fourth hole. For some reason they opted out of going to the Harley store on Saturday, though I'm not sure why. The more I think about it, however, they probably couldn't bring themselves to brave the craziness of the Seattle traffic and streets. They kept telling us that "it's impossible to get there from here" no matter what "here" and "there" we were talking about!

Now we're back in our quiet little berg of Gaston. We're not sleeping next to the Space Needle at night, but I think the douglas firs crowning our hills are even more beautiful than that tourist attraction. And there's certainly no chance of getting lost on the way home.

Got Milk?

2007-04-28T20:45:00.000-07:00

"So how are the twins doing?" I asked my daughter-in-law, Holly, during a recent phone conversation.

Kaylee (see my blog entitled "Where'd The Stairs Go?") and Johnathan will be four in July. This is an age where they seem to think they're capable of doing more than they actually can.

"You should have seen them the other morning," Holly replied. "I didn't hear the alarm go off, and the older girls had already left for school. The twins decided they were hungry and could get their own breakfast."

She went on to say that because of their large family (four kids) they buy those giant bags of cereal and empty them into big plastic storage containers. The twins had managed to get the gallon jug of milk from the fridge, the cereal from the counter, and bowls from the cupboard. Then, instead of pouring cereal into their bowls and adding milk, they skipped the middleman and poured as much milk as they could directly into the plastic containers that held the cereal. Holly arrived in the kitchen to see them dipping their bowls into the wonderful mix of milk and cereal.

I laughed. "That's pretty funny from this distance."

"Actually, I thought it was funny, too," Holly said.

I thought of how our perspective can change as we mature. If that had happened years ago when Holly's oldest (now 15) was little, I think Holly would have found it a frustrating way to start her day. But she's now a pro at this mothering thing, and has learned to see the humor in childish attempts at independence.

But she hasn't slept through the alarm lately!

Forget Me Not

2007-04-07T07:19:00.000-07:00

She stared at the photograph, confusion clouding her eyes. "He told me to sit and wait on the cement," she said. "And then his wife died and we were . . . together."

My 90-year old mother-in-law, her mind riddled with Alzheimer's, brushed a finger across the glass covering the picture of her and her husband on their wedding day 22 years ago. They had both lost a spouse to death, and that April day was the beginning of a new life for the two of them.

Due to her illness, we moved her to Oregon two years ago so we could care for her better. Papa, as Leonard was called, stayed in Arizona so his daughter could tend to him. Separating the two of them had been a gut-wrenching decision, but had worked out well. They were able to have weekly phone calls to stay in touch, as well as exchange cards, letters and snapshots. Their love stayed strong, as well as their commitment to the Lord. Over the past two months, however, his deafness and her declining ability to string together a sentence that made sense had stolen their ability to converse over the phone. Because of Papa's advanced age (99) and Mother's frail mental and physical condition, they were unable to travel and see each other.

"I think I want to see him. Can I?" She looked questioningly at my husband as we sat beside her this week.

John reached for her hand. "You'd have to go to heaven to do that, Mom. He passed on yesterday."

I watched her face for a reaction. There was none.

"Oh." She folded the hand towel that was resting on her lap. "I've been busy today."

"Mom?" I said. Her wrinkled face looked up at me. "Mom, what John is saying is that Papa died yesterday. He had a heart attack, and now he's in heaven."

A quick sheen ran across her faded eyes. She turned toward John, as if needing him to confirm what I had said.

"Yes, he's in heaven now," John said. "Just think--he's not crippled or deaf anymore. And he'll be there waiting for you when you get promoted."

Her fingers stilled and she sat quietly, a far-away look residing in her eyes. "I might go soon."

The three of us reminisced, recounting the life they'd shared together; the many trips they'd taken throughout the States, the weekly luncheons with close friends, involvement in their church back in Arizona, and always, their daily prayers for their family.

"You had 22 years of marriage together," I reminded her.

"It wasn't long enough," came her instant reply.

The three of us joined hands and took turns praying. John led, thanking the Father for Papa's life as a godly man. I followed, asking the Lord to continue to take good care of Mother and to bring her comfort. Mother's prayer was filled with thankfulness that God was always with her.

We gave her tender kisses and left her alone with her thoughts, a CD of hymns playing through her earphones.

When I went back to see her the following day, she had no memory of our conversation from the night before. Even when I mentioned "your husband, Leonard," she did not respond. How thankful John and I were that for those brief moments her mind had cleared enough to understand at least a little of what had transpired. God had parted the clouds in her mind so she was able to honor her husband's life with her memories and a prayer.

Read My Lips

2007-03-19T17:22:00.000-07:00

I'm getting older, and not afraid to admit it. Fifty-five is staring me in the face, and that face sure shows a different reflection than it used to. When did that happen? and how?

John has pictures hanging in his office of me as a twenty-year-old. "You were such a sweet young thing," he says, with just a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Is it time to call the plastic surgeon, I wonder. No, that's nothing I would ever do, partly because of lack of money and bravery, but mostly because I'm perfectly happy (except for those ten extra pounds that seem to hang around. And I do mean hang around!) with the way I look. Am I a perfect 10? No way! Just an average-looking woman with a wonderful life.

But the other day, I looked like I'd had a run-in with a quack plastic surgeon. Do you remember Goldie Hawn's HUGE lips in the movie The First Wives Club? The collagen injections had gotten out of control and her augmented lips covered nearly half her face!

I got the same results, but in a much cheaper manner. Ten days ago, for only 20 minutes, I chewed a piece of gum that contained xylitol as one of the ingredients. Later that night, I noticed my lips were very tingly. The next day when I looked in the mirror, I saw my lips were at least twice their normal size, and I have big lips to start with. That's when my daughter, Christina, reminded me that I'd had the same reaction a year ago when I'd had gum with xylitol in it.

The extra fullness has slowly faded away, leaving in its place cracked lips that are peeling and gradually recuperating. I should be back to normal in a day or two.

But for those of you who suffer from the terrible plague of thin lips, I suggest you go out and buy a pack of Extra! gum and see if you get the same result I did. I could be saving you thousands in plastic surgeon fees!

Where'd The Stairs Go?

2007-03-12T20:19:00.000-07:00

The other day we had the joy of having three of our grandkids spend the weekend with us. They live over by Pendleton, OR, across the state from us. Before John and I moved to Gaston, the Ashcraft grandkids were only 12 miles away and we saw them several times a week. In fact, I took care of the twins every day until they were 18 months old and began ganging up on me. (There's a reason God doesn't make 50-year-old women bear children, especially when it's two against one!)

The twins, Kaylee and Johnathan, are now 3-1/2 years old. Their big sister, Brenna, who will be 15 next month, was here with them, and what a help she was! She's going to make a great momma someday.

As most of you know, we have two young grandkids who live upstairs, so the cousins were back and forth from one level to the other. Poor Kaylee had a difficult time finding her way back to the upper story. We have a long hallway with the stairwell near one end, and she would consistently head in the wrong direction down the hall when attempting to go upstairs. Then she'd stop, lift her hands in consternation and ask, "Where'd the stairs go?" Time after time I'd point her the right way, only to have to repeat myself the next time she came downstairs.

I realized there was a spiritual lesson in Kaylee's dilemma. Sometimes I wander around, knowing where I want to be, but unable to see how to get there. I throw up my hands in consternation and ask, "God, where'd the stairs go?" The path for my life and the answers to my questions may be right in front of me, yet I don't see them. And He patiently says, "This is the way, walk in it." (Isaiah 30:21)

How thankful I am for a God who cares about the details of my life. For a Saviour who longs to show me the direction I should go, and will whisper in my ear when I need to turn right or left.

Northern Exposure

2007-03-02T11:19:00.000-08:00

Last week John and I headed way up north to Vancouver, British Columbia. It was designed as a business trip, but ended up being a lot of pleasure, too. Other than an overnight camping trip last summer, it had been over a year since we'd been off together, just the two of us.

Oh, and 16 of our new best friends! We were all there for some intensive training on how to do church plants. No, it wasn't a horticultural forum, though there was a lot of talk about the importance of deep roots, core values, and a spreading outreach. Of vitality and growth.

The meeting focused on how to start a new church, from the tiny seed of an idea, to the mature growth that God brings about. Some of you may be thinking, "Aren't there enough churches around already? Why do we need another one?"

Good question! What I came to see more clearly than ever before is that each church has its own personality. Its own way of responding to the needs of the community around it. What you may like in a church may be unappealing to someone else. There is a need to have many visions of what the church can accomplish in our generation and culture. Some of these new churches will concentrate on how Christians can be involved in social issues. Others are reaching those with specific interests, such as the arts. Some are starting out as small study groups meeting over coffee at Starbucks. So many ways to reach so many people, while all are centered in the reality of the difference Jesus can make in one's life.

As John and I begin the new church plant, Master's Hands, in the small town of Dayton, OR, we are excited to be a part of a bigger picture. No two photos will look alike, nor are they intended to. The framing may be different, the focus varied, but the subject will be the same--Jesus Christ.

We're thankful for the exposure we received up north.

Pillow Talk

2007-02-19T20:37:00.000-08:00

My husband was out of town last week, tuning pianos in Pendleton. When he's away for the night, I let the grandkids (they live upstairs) take turns sleeping with me. It was eight-year-old Andrea's turn on Tuesday night. She came downstairs to my house and we got into our jammies, laid in bed and talked. And talked. She has a train of consciousness that speeds down the track like the out-of-control engine in The Polar Express. I just lie back and listen until she runs out of steam.

"Grandma, did you know that a girl in my class moved? I think maybe it was because she was mean and didn't have any friends. Her parents never taught her the difference between right and wrong. Mom says that some kids don't have parents that teach them the right things. But my mom and dad always try to teach me what God wants me to do. And Grandma, I can jump rope really fast now. And the dentist thought I was really brave when I got the shots for my cavity. And..." We ended up praying together for her former classmate.

The next night, five-year-old Joshua shared my bed and the deepest concerns of his heart.

Joshua: "Grandma, did you know that sometimes when I toot, I can make the toot go back inside me?"

Grandma: "Wow, that's really something!" (I was thankful it was dark so he couldn't see my face, and he didn't seem to feel the bed shaking with my contained laughter.)

Joshua: "I have growing pains in my leg right now."

Grandma: "Do you want me to rub your leg?"

Joshua:"No, I want to grow! Sometimes I can grow by just stretching and squeezing my ears and my nose and my neck without even using my hands. Did you know snot is the medicine that keeps my throat from hurting when I try to stretch it?"

Grandma: "Well, I always wondered what snot was for!"

I know the day will soon come when Andrea and Joshua no longer think it's a treat to sleep with Grandma, but for now, I'll continue to enjoy the insights they unveil as we share a pillow.

Valentine Thoughts

2007-02-14T13:23:00.000-08:00

Thirty-seven years ago, after a church Valentine banquet, my husband and I shared our first kiss. He was in graduate school and I was merely a high school senior. We had met the end of December at a Campus Crusade for Christ conference, not knowing at the time that our lives would soon merge and we would walk side by side for decades.

I was 18 when we married. A very innocent, naive girl, but sure that marriage to John was what the Lord had in mind for me. I still have love letters we wrote during our engagement, where I pictured the perfect marriage lived in a house surrounded by a white picket fence covered with climbing roses. You might have imagined the same house!

As you know, life doesn't turn out quite like that. We all experience times when marriage is not joy and bliss. When we either throw up our hands and give up, or determine to do the hard work necessary to see it through and build a vibrant, growing marriage.

If I had it to do over again, would I marry John? For sure, but I would make some different choices. I would find better ways to show him how much I respect him. How much I love him and need him. I would never cause him to doubt that he's the most important person in my life.

Luckily for me, I can do it all over again. Each day is a fresh start. Another chance to choose the right responses and to put him first. Another day to walk side by side till death do us part.

Point of View

2007-02-11T09:14:00.000-08:00

My husband and I were at a Valentine's Dessert at our church Friday night. Mixed among the chocolates, candlelight, love songs, and desserts was a wacky rendition of The Newlywed Game.
A part of me wanted to be one of the couples chosen to participate, while the other part thought John and I might not score very high. It would all depend on the questions asked.

We were not called up front, though I played a very important role as Quality Control, having to nix many of the responses that Kent Fordyce tried to pull over on the others as being correct answers. To say he has a tendency to stretch the truth is putting it mildly! I must admit that he and Kathy did win the game fairly, beating out those who had been married fewer years than they have.

One of the questions the men were supposed to answer about their wives was this: Which would your wife think was the most romantic--a dozen roses, a picnic on the beach, or a quiet table at a fancy restaurant?

Though John and I weren't officially playing, we kept comparing our answers throughout the game and were doing quite well. So I was surprised when he said he would have picked the fancy restaurant as my romantic selection. I informed him that the picnic at the beach was more romantic to me.

"You mean you would rather eat peanut butter sandwiches on a sandy beach that stinks like seaweed and has a strong, cold wind blowing in your face?" he asked.

"Oh, that's not what my beach looked like," I replied. "I saw it as a beautiful day with a warm sun shining through the blue sky, a barely perceptible breeze brushing our cheeks, and a picnic basket filled with goodies."

What was appealing to me was appalling to him, simply because of our points of view. Isn't that often the way it is in life? Let's give each other the opportunity to explain where we're coming from before we decide we disagree!

Care For a Sandwich?

2007-02-02T10:07:00.000-08:00

You've heard of the Sandwich Generation, haven't you? They are the baby boomers who are caught in the middle of life, caring for their elderly parents on one hand, while the other hand is still involved in their children's lives. These boomers are like the filling between two slices of bread.

For some, the tension is overwhelming, causing rifts in relationships. Parents demand more and more time, requiring help for the basic needs of life. Adult children ask for financial aid, or presume babysitting is always available. What's a boomer to do??

I feel like I'm living in the midst of this, but in a way most people don't get to experience. Both my husband's mother and my parents live only 25 minutes away. But that's not a negative thing at all.

My mother-in-law is 90 years old and lives in a memory care facility for Alzheimer's. Until we moved her here from Arizona a couple years ago, we only got to visit her once a year. Now we get to spend time with her at least a couple times a week There's a bond there, even with her dementia, that we've never had before. We lead a worship service at her facility every Sunday and have this wonderful little congregation of people in different stages of Alzheimer's. They have enriched our lives.

My parents moved from California just over a month ago. We've always been close and correspondended on a daily basis, but there's something so special about having them near and being able to drop in and see them any time I feel like it. They're only in their 70s, so they still are very involved in life around them and in reaching out to others. They have added a new depth to my life.

My husband and I share a house with our daughter and her family. She and Kevin and the kids have a complete house upstairs, while John and I have our own house downstairs. It has been an incredible time of sharing our lives with those two generations. Getting to watch the grandkids grow and get in on all their activities is just great. We have a connection with them that most grandparents miss out on. And since Christina and Kevin are some of our best friends, we've all found it easy to live together. Plus it's always so handy to have someone to borrow milk from!

So I guess what I'm saying is that being involved in multi-generations of family can be a very good thing. I'm finding that being the filling in the sandwich is very fulfilling!

I'm Really on the Ball

2007-01-23T18:48:00.000-08:00

You know those big exercise balls you can buy? The ones that promise a svelte, youthful figure with consistent use? Let me just say that they should come with a throbbing red sticker stating "Caution, if you are a woman over 50, this may be dangerous to your health!"

I've been using the ball for a couple of months, and while I can't claim to be svelte and youthful, I am definitely more flexible than I used to be. So flexible, that I decided to attempt a new move, which was my first mistake. The directions were pretty simple: lie with your upper thighs on the ball in a basic push-up position, then press your shins into the ball and draw them forward, bending your knees and bringing your legs and the ball under your torso. You end up kneeling on top of the ball, with your palms remaining on the floor. The woman (of indeterminate age) in the accompanying picture looked like there was nothing in the world she would rather be doing. I wanted to join her.

Usually I at least insert my contacts before putting myself through my paces, but this particular morning I'd decided to exercise as soon as I got out of bed. So there I am in front of the big sliding glass mirror in my room--hair sticking out every which way (it must not have been a restful night!), in my comfortable pjs, my thick glasses on my nose.

I assumed the position. Nothing to it. At least not until I did that part of bringing my legs and the ball under my torso. Everything happened at the speed of light and before I knew it I was moaning on the ground, my neck at an odd angle, my heavy glasses ground into the delicate skin on the bridge of my nose. A glance in the mirror revealed a large crescent of skin had been torn from my nose--the only weight loss I would experience that day.

It's been 10 days since my "incident" and I'm still recovering. Makeup is just now able to conceal my brush with death.There's a bold X across that exercise on the sheet of instructions. Even if that is the one exercise that would guarantee me the fountain of youth, I'm not tempted to take even a sip from it.

And now when people ask if I've done my exercises for the day, I just try to play it cool.

"Me? Exercise? Maybe, maybe not. After all, it's no skin off my nose!"

Time on my Hands

2007-01-15T18:28:00.000-08:00

It's a rare event. I'm home. Alone. Completely by myself. No one else here.

Most of you probably don't realize how unusual that is. But when you live in a three-generational house, and like spending time with each other, there's usually other people around. Not so tonight. John just left for his weekly symphony rehearsal and Christina, Kevin and kids are at Tae-Kwando. So there's nobody here but us chickens! (I mean, two rats, one cat, and two dogs.)

So what will I do with this gift of time? I could do some writing, as I need something to show for myself at critique in a couple of weeks. Or I could sit down with some writing that someone else has already done and got published. I could write emails. And there's always the daily crossword puzzle if I want a bit of a challenge.

What seems to be drawing me, however, is simply making a mug of mocha and reaching for my journal. In the busyness of everyday life, I've forgotten all about my mental resolution to write an account of myself at least a couple times a week. I'm not expecting any great thoughts or deep ponderings, but one never knows. Genius may strike when least expected!

Sock It To Me!

2007-01-08T21:58:00.000-08:00

Why is it that little things can get me down while getting my dander up?

A major illness--I think I could deal with. Financial difficulties? Car problems? Frustrating, but do-able.

But when my husband presented me with several pairs of his socks that had holes in the toes, and asked me to repair them, I dug in my heels.

"John, nobody darns socks anymore. That's why God created Wal-Mart!"

My dear husband shook his head and replied that Wal-Mart was for when there were holes in the heels, not just small ones in the toes. That's what a needle and thread were created for, he maintained.

So for the past two weeks, a small pile of white athletic socks has languished atop our dresser. Maybe I thought if I ignored them long enough, they'd simply give up the ghost and disappear. Or perhaps I should have run them through the washer again in the hopes they'd join their distant cousins who have been eaten by the invisible Laundry Monster, never to be seen again.

Yesterday, as John sat on the edge of the bed and sewed a sock before finishing getting dressed, he told me how dishonored he felt that I hadn't done anything about them yet. That wasn't the message I had wanted to send, but it's the one he received. I simply wanted to procrastinate and simmer about how unfair it was, in this day and age, to expect me to darn his socks.

But tonight, while he was at his symphony rehearsal, I sat down with my sewing kit beside me, John's socks in my lap, and reading glasses perched on my nose, hoping to find that pesky little eye of the needle. And you know what? It really wasn't such a terrible job after all. I didn't even have to mutter under my breath!

In a small but tangible way, I've now shown my husband that, darn it all, he's worth it.

Choices

2007-01-01T20:15:00.000-08:00

I just hung my 2007 calendar up on the wall here in my office, reveling in the 365 blank squares staring back at me. Okay, there's a few that are filled in with important things like my mammogram later this month, my husband's 60th in March, and a Family Reunion we're hosting at Ashberry in June. But for the most part, it's a wide-open future pregnant with possibilities. Will this be the Year of the Book? (It's a little-known item on the Chinese calendar. All we need is for one publisher to say yes.) Will this be the year the new church my husband and I are working with will take off and run? Will this be a year full of goodness and blessing, overflowing with joy and wonder? Or will it be colored with disappointment; shadowed with saddness?

I know what version of the year I would choose--The New International All Is Right With My World 2007 edition. Fortunately, I don't get to make that choice. As inviting as it sounds, a life of ease is not what causes me to grow. I'm reminded of the hymn "Day by Day" which says:

Day by day and with each passing moment,
Strength I find to meet my trials here;
Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment,
I've no cause for worry or for fear.
He whose heart is kind beyond all measure
Gives unto each day what he deems best--
Lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure,
Mingling toil with peace and rest.

So as I start this year, I do so with the confidence that I only need to make the daily choice to follow my Father, knowing he will fill my days with the appointments he has for me.