Note to readers: Leave a comment(s) on my blog any time in May for a chance to win one of my books--details on side bar. I'm also giving away The Captain's Lady by Louise Gouge and Finding Jeena (sequel to The Other Daughter, contemporary women's fiction) by Miralee Ferrell (both authors featured in my March 25th blog).
The first mother's day without my mother has come and gone. I survived. I didn't flourish, but neither did I wither in grief. Just moments of tear-filled memories. At church we sang "Oh How He Loves You and Me"--the song I was singing when Mom died. Talk about tears! "What He did there brought hope from despair"--amen, Lord!
I am going to throw caution to the wind and put in a piece I wrote earlier, in honor of my three mothers. Share, if you wish, about multiple mothers in your own life.
I didn’t have just one mother. I had three.
Grandma moved in with Mom and me after Grandpa died and Mom divorced my father. Later, Aunt Violet needed a home and joined our all-female household. As the only child in the family, I was the focus of the mother love of all the others. Each one taught me something different.
Since Mom worked as a social worker for the state of Maine, Grandma was my primary care giver. Often the sizzling sweet smell of melting chocolate and peanut butter would greet me when I came home after school. She would allow me to add oats to the mixture and dip them onto waxed paper. We called the treat Poodles because of their bumpy surface, but they’re better known as No Bake cookies. I ate as many as I could before they cooled and hardened.
In spite of her physical limitations, Grandma chose life. By the time I reached junior high, she was largely homebound. But no four walls could contain her world and imagination.
I would sit on my bed in my spacious room and listen to her pumping the treadle of her sewing machine. Every year she made me a fashionable dress in a different color Easter. I wore my favorite red velvet Christmas dress year after year until I finally outgrew it.
Grandma’s love of needlework bypassed my mother and came straight to me. Grandma taught me how to knit my first stitches and crochet my first poncho. Every time I pick up a new cross stitch project, I have Grandma to thank for my love of color, needle and thread.
The greatest passion of my young life was music. I longed to play piano, and my dream came true shortly after my ninth birthday. By then Grandma was 69 years old. She practiced along with me, forcing her arthritic fingers through the exercises of John Thompson’s Teaching Little Fingers to Play. Perhaps she had dreamed of learning music for six decades longer than I had.
If Grandma taught me creativity and beauty, Aunt Violet taught me humor and a sense of adventure. Aunt Violet’s husband deserted her while she battled years of illness that kept her confined to a hospital, yet she never displayed any bitterness. Later in life, she advised me “I believe everyone should take responsibility for their lives and not look at the past.” She lived what she preached.
She also said I should never condemn something without trying it. That’s why she occasionally smoked—and later stopped. She had been a slender, stylish, working woman at a time when the ideal woman stayed at home. A graduate of secretarial school, she gave me my first typewriter that equipped me with the keyboarding skills that have kept me employed throughout my life.
Although Grandma did most of the cooking in the house, occasionally Aunt Violet and I attempted a meal together. She encouraged my sense of adventure when I decided lamb chops were the appropriate choice for a Good Friday meal. Since lamb wasn’t a common item on our menu, we looked for directions n a cookbook. It recommended broiling the meat. We bungled the project; one of dropped the broiling pan on the floor, and the chops flew in all four directions. Instead of getting upset, Aunt Violet laughed—and I chuckled with her.
When I went to college, I was jolted out of my insularity when I saw someone put catsup on eggs. She reminded me “Someone who salts ham shouldn’t make fun of someone else’s eating choices.” She always made her point with a dash of humor that I have carried with me throughout my life.
The day came between my junior and senior years of high school that Aunt Violet had moved to a place of her own and Grandma died of cancer. Mom and I were left as a family of two, a duet that felt unnatural to both of us.
We felt our way together, forming new routines. After a lifetime of supper at five, we ate later, after Mom made it home and we could fix a meal. “It’s the custom in Europe.” She made light of the extra work. Still a somewhat spoiled, disgruntled teen, I insisted that I wanted to eat at American meal times. We still laugh about it.
Our common love of story kept us occupied through many difficult nights and gave us common ground. The first time we watched A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, we laughed from the first scene to the end. (When we saw it again years later, neither one of us could figure out what seemed so funny.) Masterpiece Theater made Sunday nights “must see TV.” as we watched The Six Wives of Henry VIII, The Forsyth Saga and The First Churchills. We even settled down with popcorn and iced tea to watch foreign films. I felt so adult. I saw The Seven Samurai long before I ever saw The Magnificent Seven.
In addition to her love of story, Mom passed her love of learning and faith on to me. In the years when the rest of America was discovering colored television, we didn’t even have a T.V. set for several months. We spent our evenings reading through the Bible, putting together puzzles, playing games. Of course we read classic books, from the time I first discovered The Cat in the Hat as a child through A Christmas Carol and beyond.
The mother of my childhood seems like an aloof figure, not nearly as present in my life as Grandma and prone to disappoint my expectations of perfection. Did I ever thank her for arranging for piano lessons and making sure I made it there, even when we no longer had a car? No, I blamed her for missing my last football game, where I played in the band. Did I thank her for giving of herself, so that I got to paint my bedroom my favorite color, lavender? No, I blamed her for making me “work” on my birthday.
In other words, I was a typical child and didn’t recognize how good I had it. I didn’t treasure the sacrifices Mom made for me. She always worked, even if it meant scrubbing toilets or working as dispatcher for a cab company, so that I would have a roof over my head and food to eat. The hand she was dealt wasn’t the one she expected or wanted, but she lived with strength and courage. I never heard her complain, even when it meant inviting her mother to live with her or sending me to spend a summer with my father.
Mom was the driving force behind girl scouts and music lessons, summer camp and new bikes. I never lacked anything materially that children around me had. She supported my dreams. When I reached college age, she never hinted that her lack of job or college fund should hold me back. She gave me the wings I needed to reach for my dreams.
After her first stroke, Mom came to live with me. We had a six wonderful years together, rediscovering each other and I came to adore Mom once again.
When Mom died this past February, I lost my best friend.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
THE DANGER OF ASSUMPTIONS
FYI: Amy Deardon and Carla Gade are the winners of any of my books that she chooses for the month of April. Leave a comment today for your chance for a book in May. If I receive more than 15 comments, 2 people will win a book! 18 people commented last month.
This past year I have lived completely by myself for one of the rare times in my life. The solitude seldom worries me; but after new neighbors moved in overhead, I began to wonder. People seemed to come and go at all hours of the day and night. Were they the ones who occasionally stop by my door and throw something at it? Were they part of the rumored gang activity in this part of the city? Worst of all, they played music--loud--with their windows wide open. I decided that at best, they were inconsiderate; and at worst, they could perhaps be dangerous.
The other day, I walked from the parking lot to my front door. A nicely-dressed young man stood in the yard with something furry at his feet. A second and third glance told me he had a rabbit. Being an animal person (and never having encountered a rabbit at an apartment before), I started talking with him.
The baby rabbit nibbled on the green grass as if starved. He was an Easter gift. I considered the juxtaposition of the man, rabbit, and apartment, and asked, "Do you live upstairs?"
"Yes."
The neighbor I was afraid of had a pet rabbit?
He continued. "Does my music bother you?"
At least he asked. I said, "Well, yes, it is loud, but I notice you only do that during the day time. So I haven't complained."
"I knew it." He frowned. "I'll turn it down. You see, I'm a musician with a recording contract and I have to practice."
Musician under contract--author under contract. Both of us with similar job problems (and joys!) And maybe he performs at night clubs, which explains his odd hours.
My scary gang member neighbor turned into a rabbit-loving fellow artist.
Be careful of assumptions.
This past year I have lived completely by myself for one of the rare times in my life. The solitude seldom worries me; but after new neighbors moved in overhead, I began to wonder. People seemed to come and go at all hours of the day and night. Were they the ones who occasionally stop by my door and throw something at it? Were they part of the rumored gang activity in this part of the city? Worst of all, they played music--loud--with their windows wide open. I decided that at best, they were inconsiderate; and at worst, they could perhaps be dangerous.
The other day, I walked from the parking lot to my front door. A nicely-dressed young man stood in the yard with something furry at his feet. A second and third glance told me he had a rabbit. Being an animal person (and never having encountered a rabbit at an apartment before), I started talking with him.
The baby rabbit nibbled on the green grass as if starved. He was an Easter gift. I considered the juxtaposition of the man, rabbit, and apartment, and asked, "Do you live upstairs?"
"Yes."
The neighbor I was afraid of had a pet rabbit?
He continued. "Does my music bother you?"
At least he asked. I said, "Well, yes, it is loud, but I notice you only do that during the day time. So I haven't complained."
"I knew it." He frowned. "I'll turn it down. You see, I'm a musician with a recording contract and I have to practice."
Musician under contract--author under contract. Both of us with similar job problems (and joys!) And maybe he performs at night clubs, which explains his odd hours.
My scary gang member neighbor turned into a rabbit-loving fellow artist.
Be careful of assumptions.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Mail Order Brides Under Review
If you’re a fan of “mail order bride” stories, 2010 is a banner year. Recently I’ve read a trio of historical romances using the “mail order bride” gambit and I heartily recommend all three of them.
In The Substitute Bride (Janet Dean, Love Inspired Historical), Elizabeth Manning takes the place of a mail order bride who has changed her mind. She offers herself as a substitute to widowed rancher Ted Logan—a marriage of convenience that suits both of them. Only Elizabeth falls in love with Ted before she learns a secret past that holds the very thing she left home to escape.
The Anonymous Bride (Vickie McDonough, Barbour) features not one, but three, mail order brides—none of the requested by the man they are promised to marry. Luke Davis’s cousins thought he needed help in choosing a bride. The three enter a series of contests to win the heart of the marshal—and discover there is a fourth, anonymous, contender for his heart. The first book in the Texas Boardinghouse Brides series introduces us to an engaging group of characters who will soon fill the town of Lookout, Texas, with newly married couples.
Orphaned Madeleine Mercer finds herself being ramrodded into marriage with her father’s shady business partner. She heads from Boston to Golden, New Mexico, to answer Philip Smith’s ad for a mail order bride. Honor, integrity, forgiveness, faith—issues of many kinds stand between Madeline and the man God has for her in Love Finds You in Golden, New Mexico (Lena Nelson Dooley, Summerside)
In addition to the three books I’ve mentioned above, two of my favorite authors, Susan Page Davis and Vickie McDonough (author of The Anonymous Bride), have teamed up with Carrie Turansky and Therese Stenzel for Christmas Mail-Order Brides, due out from Barbour in September.
In The Substitute Bride (Janet Dean, Love Inspired Historical), Elizabeth Manning takes the place of a mail order bride who has changed her mind. She offers herself as a substitute to widowed rancher Ted Logan—a marriage of convenience that suits both of them. Only Elizabeth falls in love with Ted before she learns a secret past that holds the very thing she left home to escape.
The Anonymous Bride (Vickie McDonough, Barbour) features not one, but three, mail order brides—none of the requested by the man they are promised to marry. Luke Davis’s cousins thought he needed help in choosing a bride. The three enter a series of contests to win the heart of the marshal—and discover there is a fourth, anonymous, contender for his heart. The first book in the Texas Boardinghouse Brides series introduces us to an engaging group of characters who will soon fill the town of Lookout, Texas, with newly married couples.
Orphaned Madeleine Mercer finds herself being ramrodded into marriage with her father’s shady business partner. She heads from Boston to Golden, New Mexico, to answer Philip Smith’s ad for a mail order bride. Honor, integrity, forgiveness, faith—issues of many kinds stand between Madeline and the man God has for her in Love Finds You in Golden, New Mexico (Lena Nelson Dooley, Summerside)
In addition to the three books I’ve mentioned above, two of my favorite authors, Susan Page Davis and Vickie McDonough (author of The Anonymous Bride), have teamed up with Carrie Turansky and Therese Stenzel for Christmas Mail-Order Brides, due out from Barbour in September.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Review: Blood Ransom
Blood Ransom by Lisa Harris. Zondervan ISBN 978-0-310-31905-4
Summary: Two American volunteers, Natalie Sinclair and Dr. Chad Talcott, stay busy treating the diseases that ravage entire villages in the country of Dhambizao, Africa. With the country on the eve of a national election, they don't need any additional drama in their lives.
However, when one of Natalie's village helpers comes to her with proof of slave trafficking and a plot to overturn the upcoming election, they feel compelled to act. The enemy chases them from the jungle down the river to the capitol, leaving a string of deaths behind. Will it take a Blood Ransom to prevent terrorists from taking over their adopted homeland?
Lisa lives in Mozambique, where she and her husband serve as church-planting missionaries. Her love and knowledge of the land and its people shines on every page. She has woven a story that leaves the identity of the hero and the villain in doubt until the final chapter. Natalie and Chad's struggle with "why does God allow bad things to happen to His people" reaches new depths in their struggle with an enemy with no regard for human life.
In general, I don't find thrillers by Christian authors as compelling as those by secular authors. Blood Ransom is a welcome exception. Pick it up today.
Summary: Two American volunteers, Natalie Sinclair and Dr. Chad Talcott, stay busy treating the diseases that ravage entire villages in the country of Dhambizao, Africa. With the country on the eve of a national election, they don't need any additional drama in their lives.
However, when one of Natalie's village helpers comes to her with proof of slave trafficking and a plot to overturn the upcoming election, they feel compelled to act. The enemy chases them from the jungle down the river to the capitol, leaving a string of deaths behind. Will it take a Blood Ransom to prevent terrorists from taking over their adopted homeland?
Lisa lives in Mozambique, where she and her husband serve as church-planting missionaries. Her love and knowledge of the land and its people shines on every page. She has woven a story that leaves the identity of the hero and the villain in doubt until the final chapter. Natalie and Chad's struggle with "why does God allow bad things to happen to His people" reaches new depths in their struggle with an enemy with no regard for human life.
In general, I don't find thrillers by Christian authors as compelling as those by secular authors. Blood Ransom is a welcome exception. Pick it up today.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
House Hunting
Reminder: April Book Drawing! See the side bar for more information.
A week ago I received a phone call from my son the realtor that has sent me scurrying.
"Mom, if you're serious about looking for a house, you can get a tax rebate if you sign the contract by the end of April."
The very thought terrifies me--the last time I tried buying a house, I lost my good-paying job, was out of work, and then returned to work for half the salary. No, I didn't keep the house.
But if ever I'm going to do it, now, with my mother's life insurance policy in my bank account, is the time to do it.
For all of you home owners out there, you know the investment of time and emotion in looking. That's been my week. After we looked at a few places on Monday, I woke up the next morning thinking, "What have I done! I don't know if I want to buy a house. I don't want to move again. I don't want all that responsibility." Then I took all those fears to the Lord. I asked Him that I wouldn't make a foolhardy decision or one based on fear; a friend said also not to make a decision based on selfishness.
The Lord gave me peace. It would be wrong not to pursue buying a house because of a fear based on past experiences. He also reminded me of my "larger than life" wish from last year's ACFW conference to not only provide for my own needs but to leave a financial legacy for my children. Not to build up equity in a house would ultimately be selfish.
Foolhardy? No. My monthly payments will be less than the cost of rent, so even with additional expenses, I should be even.
Some time this week I'll be putting an offer in on a house. I'll keep you informed!
A week ago I received a phone call from my son the realtor that has sent me scurrying.
"Mom, if you're serious about looking for a house, you can get a tax rebate if you sign the contract by the end of April."
The very thought terrifies me--the last time I tried buying a house, I lost my good-paying job, was out of work, and then returned to work for half the salary. No, I didn't keep the house.
But if ever I'm going to do it, now, with my mother's life insurance policy in my bank account, is the time to do it.
For all of you home owners out there, you know the investment of time and emotion in looking. That's been my week. After we looked at a few places on Monday, I woke up the next morning thinking, "What have I done! I don't know if I want to buy a house. I don't want to move again. I don't want all that responsibility." Then I took all those fears to the Lord. I asked Him that I wouldn't make a foolhardy decision or one based on fear; a friend said also not to make a decision based on selfishness.
The Lord gave me peace. It would be wrong not to pursue buying a house because of a fear based on past experiences. He also reminded me of my "larger than life" wish from last year's ACFW conference to not only provide for my own needs but to leave a financial legacy for my children. Not to build up equity in a house would ultimately be selfish.
Foolhardy? No. My monthly payments will be less than the cost of rent, so even with additional expenses, I should be even.
Some time this week I'll be putting an offer in on a house. I'll keep you informed!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Jolene Speaks
I am looking through some of Jolene's writings and ran across this poem:
Paradise Dream
I stand by the bay and dream of a land
far away in a beautiful place.
My dream is so real it's like I'm in paradise.
I sit on a rock looking out over the sea.
The sun is going down but there
the sun always shines.
Over the sea a cold wind blows but there
a warm cool breeze floats across an island.
I wrap my arms around me.
I know that God is keeping me warm and safe.
Heaven will be like my paradise dream.
Oh, Jolene, it's all that, and more.
Paradise Dream
I stand by the bay and dream of a land
far away in a beautiful place.
My dream is so real it's like I'm in paradise.
I sit on a rock looking out over the sea.
The sun is going down but there
the sun always shines.
Over the sea a cold wind blows but there
a warm cool breeze floats across an island.
I wrap my arms around me.
I know that God is keeping me warm and safe.
Heaven will be like my paradise dream.
Oh, Jolene, it's all that, and more.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Resurrection Day
Reminder: Leave a comment on my blog any time in April (and you may comment multiple times) for an opportunity to win a copy of one of my books.
Yesterday I realized that it's been three years since I had a "family" Resurrection Day celebration (I refuse to call it "Easter.") Two years ago, I learned my daughter had died during Passion Week. Mom and I cried and held each other all through worship that Sunday. A year ago, Mom had already moved to Oklahoma while I was still in Colorado. Huh. My son, a Messianic who celebrates Jewish festivals, doesn't celebrate Resurrection Day.
Did I feel sad? Not at all. I joined with the host of people crowding our sanctuary and rejoiced in my living Savior.
And God gave our church something unique: a pair of nesting geese--with four eggs by the bushes right beside the front door! (I may to rethink my reaction to Easter eggs, since God sent us four real ones!) The poor Papa and Mama Geese were very stressed at having so many potential threats to their offspring milling around.
Eggs are about more than fertility. They celebrate the new life possible because He lives! Life eternal, different both in kind in duration, from the life we have at birth.
Amen!
Yesterday I realized that it's been three years since I had a "family" Resurrection Day celebration (I refuse to call it "Easter.") Two years ago, I learned my daughter had died during Passion Week. Mom and I cried and held each other all through worship that Sunday. A year ago, Mom had already moved to Oklahoma while I was still in Colorado. Huh. My son, a Messianic who celebrates Jewish festivals, doesn't celebrate Resurrection Day.
Did I feel sad? Not at all. I joined with the host of people crowding our sanctuary and rejoiced in my living Savior.
And God gave our church something unique: a pair of nesting geese--with four eggs by the bushes right beside the front door! (I may to rethink my reaction to Easter eggs, since God sent us four real ones!) The poor Papa and Mama Geese were very stressed at having so many potential threats to their offspring milling around.
Eggs are about more than fertility. They celebrate the new life possible because He lives! Life eternal, different both in kind in duration, from the life we have at birth.
Amen!
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