Do you ever see Christians on TV praying eloquent prayers and think, “They’re perfect”? They serve the poor, dish soup in a shelter, collect shoes for the homeless. I try doing those things, but life gets in the way. Best-laid plans and all that.
Those perfect people sometimes make me feel defensive, and I resent instead of admiring them. God, in the Old Testament, and Jesus in the New, repeatedly used flawed people to carry out their work. Perfection is not required. A willing heart is.
Characters in my stories sometimes make wrong decisions. They’re selfish. They don’t turn to God right away when things go wrong. But they try. They call out to God eventually and learn through life experiences they can trust him.
I experienced this a while back. I sell my books in Kroger grocery stores. Passing shoppers stop at the table I set up and chat with me. This day, a youngish man walked directly to me (which was odd… most wander by with a cautious eye, unwilling to commit until they’re sure why I’m there). Nothing about my display makes it obvious I write Christian fiction, so I’m unsure what drove him to my table. Straight on he came, though.
During our conversation, I learned he was visiting Texas from his home state of Florida. He’d been here only three days and had been to four different churches. I asked if he came to speak at those churches, but he didn’t. Just attending. I was confused about his purpose, but he was so enthusiastic, I gave up making sense of it.
He asked if he could pray for me.
“Of course!”
He put one hand on my shoulder and gripped my hand in his other. He asked if I had any pain.
This threw me. I was unprepared. Surprised, I tossed out the first thing I thought of. “My hip flexor sometimes hurts.”
He began praying. Loudly. Using all the “Christian-ese” words like “hedge of protection” and “healed by Your stripes.” I flinched inside.
Stop.
You’re drawing attention to us.
People are probably staring.
Then I heard a whisper in my heart.
Listen to his words. Claim the promises he is calling down for you.
I listened. To the holy nudge and to the young man. A smile crossed my face as my new friend claimed healing for my body. He was so sure. Why couldn’t I be the same way? I was just like my characters. Stubborn. Unwilling. Unsure.
He finished his prayer, and I hugged him. Whew. Quite an experience. I wished for that faith.
Ten minutes later, a sparkling feeling—imagine what Tinkerbell’s wand might feel like if it touched you— fluttered through my hip joint. I kid you not.
I froze.
I was afraid to move. Movement would be a test to see if my hip really had been healed, revealing my doubt. And, if I doubted, would it cancel out the healing?
I so totally identify with the Roman soldier who told Jesus, “I believe.” Then, in the same breath, begged, “Help my unbelief.”
I believe Mark shared this story to tell us it’s okay if we sometimes waver. We see with this story we can ask Jesus for help.
Help me believe, Jesus. I want to believe.
And when we pray in his will, he answers that prayer.
Don’t worry if you’re not perfect. God doesn’t demand perfection. He asks for an open heart. That we can do.
My latest book, A Father’s Gift, is now available on Amazon. Book two in the San Antonio series, it continues the story of Abby and Manny who you first met in Protected. Originally published in the Christmas anthology, Christmas Love Through the Ages, it is now a stand-alone book published by Elk Lake Publishing, Inc.
If you missed book one, (Protected), for a limited time, you may download the eBook version for only $0.99. Check them out.
Hester lives a bland, dreary life as the daughter of a poor farmer. Her days consist of endless chores overseen by a particular mother and overbearing brothers. Despite the hopelessness of her future, she finds joy in the relationship she shares with Sabrina, the goddess of the river. Then she meets Aaron, the first person who seems to understand the pull Hester feels.
Aaron opens news doors for Hester, and she dives into his teaching with enthusiasm. Anything to take her mind off the lumpen fisherman her mother wants to marry her off to.
But Hester lives in a superstitious time ruled by men. And these men don’t take kindly to her independent ways.
You will cheer for Hester as she steps out in a bid for independence and the chance to plot the path of her life. Once you start reading, Burman’s detailed descriptions will pull you in. You’ll surface hours later wondering where your garden path and your river nymphs have disappeared to.
Get this book! But only if you have several hours to set aside. Enjoy!
Have you ever felt like a message was trying to break through the noise and clutter? Something you saw, heard about, read? And it appears, over and over?
Maybe the first two times, I can dismiss the signal as a coincidence. But when it keeps pinging, just keeps showing up, or, as Jim Rubart says, makes it past the Broca filter in my brain, I pay attention.
As writers, we know how hard it can be some days to sit down, get focused, and churn out words. Distractions pull us away far too easily. The latest-and-greatest shiny thing grabs all our attention. Meanwhile, our work in progress languishes.
So, how do we ignore the interruptions? Resist the diversions? Stay focused?
Two things (and yes, I get the irony) have recently popped onto my radar for the fourth and fifth times, respectively. When I get the same message, over and over, I pay attention. Both are books, and both deal with retraining our habits into productive lifestyles.
So, what are the two things, you ask? One is the book Atomic Habits, by James Clear. And one is Secrets of the Millionaire Mind, by T. Harv Eker. I’m not so concerned about becoming a millionaire. But to become one, I assume, a person has to do some things right. I am interested in learning how a successful person thinks.
Both of these books have shown up on my radar repeatedly, so I plan to listen to the message.
I’m starting with Atomic Habits. The idea of creating good habits appeals to me. I want to learn how to control my mind and focus. The book is on its way to my home. However, I know myself, and I’m easily distracted, so I need accountability to keep me on track. Is anyone interested in joining me, like a book club, to read through each chapter and then meet (virtually) to discuss? I’m envisioning reading three chapters a week. The book has twenty chapters, so that would be almost two months.
Want to join me? You don’t have to be an author to benefit from this. Envision having a daily routine that works smoothly and productively. See yourself setting goals and then meeting them. Luxuriate in the idea of completing a project. And then another.
Subscribe to my blog, and you’ll receive the updates when we get ready to start. Just let me know in the comment field that you’re interested in the book club. Let’s do this!
I served on a federal jury several years ago. I didn’t even mind because it got me out of my classroom for three weeks, and it was a particularly tough year. I wrote some musings about my experience once the trial was over. A friend reminded me of that collection of thoughts the other day. So, here is a resurrection of my memories of that good ol’ time. Enjoy.
Things I learned while on jury duty:
It is a long way to Dallas.
It pays to be nice and make friends. I left my purse at home one morning, and Pedro, the attendant of the lot I used each day, let me park my truck there for free until I could find someone to borrow the money from.
Women in Dallas have only one toe, and it is right in the middle of their feet. I know this to be true because of the pointy-toed, spike-heeled shoes they wear. There is not room in those shoes for more than one toe.
Reading glasses make a very effective crowd-control tool when used correctly. I learned from observing Judge Lynn if you perch them right on the end of your nose and glare menacingly over them, you don’t have to actually say anything. This maneuver is particularly effective on jurors who return late from lunch (not me!).
It is a very long way to Dallas.
You can ride the train to Dallas, but you must be at the Vickery Street station at 6:15 am to get to the courtroom on time.
If you walk around the Vickery Street train station at 3:30 pm to familiarize yourself with everything so you won’t miss the train the first time you ride it the next day, you’ll feel like you’ve just stumbled into the Stephen King book The Stand, because there will be no one around but you.
Walking around in a marble-floored, high-ceilinged, empty train station building in broad daylight is creepy.
If you pee against the protective shelter while waiting for the train (not me!), the train conductor, who spies you doing this while he waits for the scheduled time to head to DFW airport, will not be happy and he will call the Transit Police. The Transit Police will come and take you off the train while everyone else looks on, handcuff you, and take you away.
Riding the train was not as much fun as it was cracked up to be, despite it being a very, very long way to Dallas.
The Spanish word for before is antes (pronounced “awn-tez”).
The Spanish word for after is despues (pronounced “dez-pwez).
The Spanish word for tools is heramienta (pronounced “air-raw-may-en-ta”).
The Spanish word for cocaine is cocaine (pronounced “co-cah-een-ah”).
The Spanish word for heroin is chivas (pronounced “shee-vas”).
The Spanish word for well, as in, “Well, when you spoke to the FBI, you lied to them, didn’t you?” is bueno (pronounced “bway-no”).
The Spanish word for o.k., as in, “O.K., let’s look at your testimony again,” is bueno (pronounced “bway-no”).
The Spanish word for good, as in “Good, we’ve established that you lied to Mr. Delapaz,” is bueno (pronounced “bway-no”).
The Spanish word for no (duly reported and translated each and every time) is no, (pronounced “no”).
You can get a crick in your neck driving for 30 minutes along I-30, trying the whole while to position your head in just the right spot behind your rear-view mirror so you don’t have the sun glaring straight into your eyes. This, however, is an advantage when you walk around at lunch as it forces you to hold your head at a snooty, self-important angle, which lets you fit right in. It also helps if you’re wearing pointy-toed, spike-heeled shoes.
The Seinfeld “Soup Nazi” now lives in Dallas and owns a Greek restaurant two blocks from the courthouse. Be ready with your order when it is your turn and, whatever you do, do not ask a question about the menu.
Courtrooms are very cold.
Blankets, coats, and mittens are allowed in courtrooms.
Cell phones are not allowed in courtrooms.
You can sneak your cell phone past the security guard on the fifteenth floor if you keep it in your coat pocket (accidentally, of course) if you wait until there are several important attorneys all trying to get through at the same time you are.
It is a very, very, very long way to Dallas.
It is extremely hard to not watch the news, read the paper, or listen to NPR (even if you don’t normally do so) when someone tells you not to.
It is extremely hard not to talk about something that totally consumes your every waking moment for three weeks.
It is imperative to not wear pants that have become ever-so-slightly too small for you when you are forced to sit still for eight hours.
A certain lethargy steals over your body around 1:30 – 2:00, forcing your eyes to flutter as you valiantly fight to stay awake. This will happen every day, like clockwork, and will last approximately 20 minutes. It will also earn you a glare from over the reading glasses.
Vitamins, a Gingseng-Gotu Kola capsule, and an Arizona Energy tea at lunch will help combat the early afternoon nap syndrome but will not completely alleviate it.
Wiggling around a lot will help you stay awake.
Tapping your knuckles repeatedly—and hard—with your pen will help you stay awake, although it tends to annoy jurors sitting next to you.
Chewing the inside of your cheek will help you stay awake.
Taking a water bottle in with you and drinking from it will help you stay awake. Unfortunately, you only get one bathroom break after lunch, so this maneuver has its pitfalls.
Frowning with intense concentration and looking back and forth between witnesses, interpreters, and attorneys will help hide the fact that your eyes are fluttering.
Listening to a trial where you learn the names of a lot of Hispanic people—many of whom have the same first name; many of whom also have a nickname; many of whom have two last names, either of which might be used by any given witness at any given time—is sort of like reading a Tom Clancy novel.
Making a flow chart helps keep everyone straight. It can also be recopied each day from 1:30 – 2:00 to keep you awake.
Being a teacher gives one excellent practice at picking out when someone starts to lie.
Swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth (we don’t say, “so help you God” anymore) doesn’t have the effect one would expect on the veracity of testimony given.
Lawyers aren’t necessarily good at math. We waited a moment or two for our prosecuting attorney to do mental math and figure out what 30 kilos times $20,000/kilo is.
Jurors are not permitted to call out answers.
It’s an extremely long way to Dallas.
Restating a question five times by changing the first few words will not magically make a different answer come from the witness’s mouth. For example,
“Mr. S, you were afraid of R. A., weren’t you?”
“But isn’t it true, Mr. S, that when you found out E. A. and J. R. were going to set up R. A., you got scared?
“But in your grand jury testimony, Mr. S, when you said, ‘Are you crazy?’, it was because you were afraid of setting up R. A., a known drug dealer, wasn’t it?”
“But Mr. S, didn’t you walk out of J. R.’s apartment that night because you were afraid of R. A.?”
“You were frightened of setting up a known drug dealer, weren’t you, Mr. S.?”
Witnesses, even when they are self-confessed drug dealing, conspiring, scam artists, can be funny and smart-alec when they answer, “For the fifth time, dude, the answer is no.”
Jurors who snort with laughter at funny, smart-alec answers made by self-confessed drug dealing, conspiring, scam artist witnesses will earn themselves a glare over the reading glasses.
Jurors are not allowed to make objections, even when a question has been re-asked five times and answered the same way each and every time.
Jurors from Mississippi use the phrase, “He musta been fed with a sling-shot when he was a baby,” to describe very focused, intense, no-nonsense attorneys who repeat questions five different times in an effort to wring out a “yes” from the witness.
Never, ever, ever take your car to an auto repair shop that has any of the following characteristics:
It is made of corrugated tin.
It consists mostly of a field, a fence, and a shed.
It looks like it has been repainted several times with very brightly colored paint.
There aren’t many cars sitting around waiting to be fixed or cleaned, and the people running it don’t look very busy.
There is a pick-up truck parked anywhere across the street with a person using binoculars sitting in it, watching.
In fact, never, ever, ever take your car to be fixed anywhere besides Christian Brothers Automotive or Pep Boys, just to be on the safe side.
When people get busted in a drug raid, everyone there gets busted, so don’t ever, ever, ever take your car anywhere to be fixed other than Christian Brothers Automotive or Pep Boys.
It’s okay to use the f- word in a courtroom, and it won’t even earn a glare over the reading glasses.
It’s sort of creepy to sit five feet away from a drug dealer and watch him get mad and start using the f-word when the defense attorney hammers away at his testimony.
One thing the Bible teaches us is God made us to live in community. The writing community is no different. We have author friends who have already walked the path we’re now on ourselves, and they are more than willing to lend a helping hand. That support is both crucial and encouraging.
Toni Shiloh is one such author. She speaks to writing groups to help bring along new and learning authors. She spoke to our DFW chapter this month about writing with diversity. Her topic is something we all need to learn and honor.
Toni also posts each Friday on her blog, Toni Shiloh – Soulfully Romantic, where she promotes new publications. She included both of my Christmas anthologies on this week’s post, along with others. You can read it here. https://tonishiloh.com/2021/10/15/friday-reads-10-15-21/
Feel free to browse! There are several to choose from. You may find something that piques your interest, and may also find some Christmas gifts. Enjoy. And, thanks, Toni!
I am planning a launch party for my second Christmas anthology book (available October 12 on Amazon). I was invited to take part in the collection with Texas authors Jessica White and Sara Meg Seese. We titled the book Texas Heirloom Ornament, and it chronicles the stories of three generations of Texas women. Each story takes place around Christmas.
The first one, In Small Things Liberty, is set in 1923. Following is In Large Things Unity, which takes place in 1972. The collection wraps up with the third novella, In All Things Charity, in 2015. An heirloom Christmas ornament connects the three women in the stories as they pass it down from generation to generation. There is also just the slightest thread of feminism as each heroine deals with challenges from her particular era.
We are organizing a Painting With a Twist party, but they offer several options. Please tell me your top three choices of the following paintings. Also, let me know if you’d be interested in an invitation!
Thank you for your help, and I hope to see you there!
Option 1 – Bulbs of the SeasonOption 2 – Christmas LoveOption 3 – Christmas Once MoreOption 4 – Christmas TreeOption 5 – Enchanted Christmas Tree
Option 6 – Holiday Shine
Option 7 – It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like ChristmasOption 8 – Rustic Merry and BrightOption 9 – Simple ChristmasOption 10 – Snow Bird
I have a lot of new friends, now that I’m a writer. And those friends come with benefits.
Books.
Lots and lots of books. Books of all shapes and sizes, all genres. And my new friends want me to read their books. Because authors need reviews, and most people won’t take the time to leave them.
But because we, as fellow writers, know how important they are, we do it for each other. And the nice thing for you? You get to hear about books! Lots and lots of them.
So, we start with my good Twitter friend, Cheryl Burman, who wrote Keepers. Such a beautiful story. I highly recommend you take a trip to Australia and fall in love. With Teddy? Or Alph? Hmm. Choices.
Gorgeous prose, heart-rending love story, keeps you guessing till the end. This book tells the story of Raine and her brave struggle to survive … survive the war, survive her father’s illness, survive when her husband leaves. She has two wildly different men who love her, one she can depend on, one who at one time made her heart soar. Burman keeps you guessing till the very last chapter what Raine does for herself. It is a lovely story of courage, perseverance, and filled with beautiful descriptions of Australia.
How to describe the feelings when something unexpected but wonderful happens?
Shock. Disbelief. Excitement. Gratitude.
On Father’s Day Sunday, June 20, 2021, I opened my spam email folder, checking one last time for a missing notification from a businessperson who wasn’t doing his job to suit me. I was preparing to make a phone call in which I had rehearsed my indignant argument. No, scratch that. I’ll be honest. I was preparing to bite someone’s head off. But before I did that, I wanted to be sure the “missing” email wasn’t in my spam folder.
It wasn’t. But something else was!
It was an invitation to join the Elk Lake Publishing, Inc. family. I had a contract hiding in my junk file.
My annoyance vanished without a second thought. I was home alone and had no one to share my news with. I pummeled my feet on the ground and shouted. Both dogs came running, ears perked, tails wagging uncertainly. Were we under attack?
I started writing Protected six years ago. I did everything wrong that was conceivable to do. My Christian fiction, historical romance topped off at 145,000 words. I later learned industry average is 75,000 – 85,000. Oops.
I had point of view issues. My characters’ thoughts head-hopped. I misused dialogue tags. Had no idea what an action beat was. Dangling participles, echos, passive writing, over-explaining. My novel was a train wreck.
But God directed me to ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers) through a contact on Twitter (a mostly God-less place, so that was a minor miracle in itself). At an ACFW meeting, I met Lena Nelson Dooley and invited myself to her weekly critique group meeting, which she graciously allowed.
The patient ladies at Lena’s – Nancy Lavo, Sara Meg Seese, Rachael Acree, Lisa Crane, Kelly Daniels – slowly and gently guided me through my first foray into editing. Each week, they showed me a different mistake I had made. Each week, they helped me learn how to write better.
I attended several online workshops, events I wouldn’t have known about or been able to attend if not for Covid forcing us all to learn to use Zoom. I read book after book on the craft of writing. Other books in my genre piled up on my nightstand, so I could learn what the market wanted.
I turned again and again to my sounding boards, who helped me formulate better ideas for my stories. Ronda Elston, John Peckham, Kathy Severe. They got me over many a hump when the idea pipeline clogged up.
Nineteen months and several rejection letters later, I found myself in a Zoom meeting at the Mt. Zion Ridge conference, in a breakout room I hadn’t signed up for and wasn’t supposed to be in, but somehow was, talking with Deb Haggerty, owner and editor-in-chief of Elk Lake Publishing.
And that, as they say, was all it took.
That’s all. Six years of writing. Nineteen months of revising. Several attempts to make contact with someone in the publishing industry. And week after week of meeting with friends who wanted nothing but to help me as we all worked together to improve our skills.
And now, I have a contract with a publishing house to send my book out into the world. I feel validated. Seen. Valued.
Was I all those things before Father’s Day? Yes. God sees me. He values me. He validates me. And as I move forward down this new and exciting path, I pray thanks to God, gracias a Dios, and I ask for his guidance to help me produce work that glorifies him.
Thank you all for your support through the years. I hope you enjoy what comes from this effort as much as I have enjoyed producing it.
We receive messages throughout our lives, messages that tell us what to believe. About ourselves. Our lives.
Maybe those messages are genuine. Maybe not.
This weekend, I got two different messages from two different people, but they both pointed the same direction.
The first happened by accident (or was it?). I attended the Mt. Zion Writer’s conference via Zoom. It started Friday at 10:00 am and finished Saturday at 6:00 pm. We had the option to sign up for a 15-minute session with an agent or an editor and pitch our books. I signed up. My appointment is on Monday. Friday afternoon, I slipped away from the conference to take a friend to the airport. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to get back into the Zoom link if I closed it, so I left it open and blanked my camera. (Learned some tricks this year from students doing school online.) I figured I’d make it back in time to catch the last hour.
When I returned home, much later than I expected (because there were wrecks like every five minutes on the highway between my house and DFW airport), my screen had a message on it, inviting me to a breakout room. The conference was over for the evening, but the agent/editor appointments were happening.
The invitation confused me because I was positive my appointment was Monday, but I followed the link, thinking it must be something else. It took me to a breakout room with three other people. Two were talking, one had her camera blacked out. No one said anything to me when I popped in, but continued their conversation, so I lurked, listening. Turns out, the one talking was pitching her book to the other, who I assumed was an agent or an editor. Since no one yelled at me to leave when I appeared so unexpectedly, I sat there and listened, thinking I’d take notes on how to best pitch a book.
When they finished and the author left the room, the agent/editor person spoke to me. She asked me to tell about my book. I confessed I probably wasn’t supposed to be there, but that I had an invitation waiting for me on my computer when I stepped back to my computer, so I clicked it. She invited me to pitch my book, anyway. As we talked, I realized I knew who she was.
I heard her speak last year on a different online conference hosted by Kentucky Christian Writers. Her name is Deb Haggerty, and she presented a class titled Publishing 101: How the Publishing Process Works. She has a very interesting background. She is a published author, a blogger, and speaker, but at age 68, she bought a publishing company called Elk Lake Publishing, Inc. She is now the Editor-in-Chief of an independent, royalty-paying Christian publisher.
Deb Haggerty, Owner and Editor-in-Chief of Elk Lake Publishing
I was invited to pitch my book to a publisher. By a woman who re-invented her life at 68 to become something new, something that interested her, something she felt God led her to be.
I told her I remembered hearing her speak, and how impressed I was to learn her story. She encouraged me it is never too late to do what you want to do.
Even if you don’t know what you’re doing.
If you don’t know, learn. Dig in your heels, buy a comfortable office chair, park yourself in front of a computer, and learn.
A reinforced fact for my life—it’s good to get the perspective of experienced people who have lived through things you haven’t.
The second message came from the polar opposite end of the universe. Our eight-year-old granddaughter, Emma, spent the night. She came home with us after my husband’s birthday dinner at my mom’s. By the time we got home, it was almost 10:00.
We packed a lot of adventure into the few hours we had.
We read four books before bed. She wanted to help me choose books for an article I write each month, recommending books for various age groups. Emma looked at some of her favorites, then we read some she’d not seen.
She noticed things I might not have, like the colorful artwork in one book (When God Made You, by Matthew Paul Turner) which she thought was beautiful, and the expressions on the mouse’s face in Frederick, by Leo Lionni. Emma wondered why he looked sad.
Both available on Amazon.com
When we woke around 7:45 the next morning, she asked Papa to teach her how to make pancakes. Not the mixing part. That part is boring. The flipping part. She wanted to learn how to flip them. So we made a few disasters, then a couple of “taco” pancakes, and finally, we had success. She practiced until we used all the batter. Mission accomplished. She felt good about herself. Anyone want a pancake?
Success!
Next, I asked her to color the picture she drew for me the night before while we were at Granny’s. She had drawn an elephant, which reminded me of the hippo her father had drawn for me while he was in art class in high school.
Hippo, by Zach Fort, Elephant, by Emma Fort
She was conscientious about the colors she chose and took her time coloring so the shading came out even.
Her next project (it was maybe 9:00 by now) was a tug-of-war toy for her dogs, Jenny and Shug. She asked Papa if he had any material she could cut into strips, then braid. He brought her a pair of old blue jeans, and she cut three pieces of fabric about two feet long. I suggested we sew or staple them together at the top so it would be easier to braid them. She chose to sew. I got a needle, some thread, and a thimble to help her force the needle through the dense layers of material. I showed her how to wrap the thread around her finger, then roll it off into a twist that she could scrape into a knot. It took several tries for her to get it, but she wasn’t interested in hurrying. She wanted to learn. She had the strips braided in a snap. Then she sewed the ends to keep the braid in place.
Emma loves her dogs, Jenny & Shug. Jenny is a German Shepherd. Shug is a Basset Hound.
With that project completed, she asked if I knew how to knit. I do not, but used to know how to crochet. We sat and watched a YouTube video (a quite good one titled How to Crochet for Absolute Beginners: Part 1, by simplydaisy). We decided we needed to watch it again, so we sat through the entire thing a second time. Feeling confident we could do it, we chose a color of yarn and sat down to attempt it on our own. Immediately, it became clear we didn’t remember what to do, so we watched the video for a third time.
Emma showed no frustration, no impatience, didn’t throw the yard and the crochet hook down to look for something easier to do. We just tried again.
And we got it. She crocheted a bracelet for herself. Then she crocheted one for her mom. We even added a button to the second one, now that we knew how it worked.
Fierce concentration
A new fact for my life—it’s good to get the perspective of an eight-year-old.
When I get the same message more than once, especially in the same weekend, I sit up and take notice. The septuagenarian and the eight-year-old both taught me to have patience when trying something new, to follow through, to push past the mistakes and figure it out.
To see more for yourself than you might have originally imagined.
