Friday, December 31, 2021

His Way

 Happy last day of 2021!

This is late because we slept in. I'm still trying to get over this cold I got last week. I'm on the mend now, but sleep was so nice. :)

Hard to believe tomorrow is January 2022. I don't know how those who don't know that God is in control go into a new year. I'm excited to see what God has planned. I have my own plans and goals, but I'm learning to hold them with an open hand and let God guide my steps.

I'm going to keep this short today as it's already late and I need to do some other things. And you might have things to do this last day of 2021.


 His Way

    Barefooted, Lesley wandered down the beach away from the noisy party. Her head throbbed and she felt exhausted. As she walked, only the soft sound of waves washing gently up on the sandy broke the quiet and peace of the evening.
    Stopping, Lesley looked toward the west where the sun was sinking in yellow light into the clouds just above the horizon. The sky was a rosy gold with piles of fluffy clouds giving a slight purple look to the sky. As she looked, Lesley discovered one patch of blue and smiled as she looked beyond the clouds into the depth above.
    One lone palm tree, growing at a sloping angle stood, a lonely sentinel guarding the empty beach and the one single rowboat resting beneath it.
    As the throbbing of her head continued, Lesley’s face lost its smile and she sat down where she was feeling the longing to give way to the feelings of doubt, frustration, sorrow, and despair which seemed to stalk her footsteps these days.
    “There’s not much I can do,” she sighed. “My life is a mess and even though I’ve tried to fix it, I can’t.”
    Propping her elbow on her knee, she rested her head in her hand letting the quiet and peace surround her.
    “Less?”
    The soft voice made Lesley lift her head. Mary stood beside her.
    “Do you mind if I join you?”
    Wordlessly Lesley shook her head. It felt like too much trouble to say anything.
    Just as silently as she had come, Mary sat down in the sand, her arms clasped around her knees.
    For some time the two friends sat, watching the sun sink lower and lower. The sky darkened and deepened into velvety night.
    “What’s wrong, Less?”
    With a sigh, Lesley shook her head. “Everything.” Somehow she felt as though she could pour out all her troubles to Mary since it was dark. “I can’t get a job that pays well enough for me to work decent hours. Two of the people I thought were my friends aren’t talking to me now because I didn’t agree with something they thought was good. My parents’ health has declined so much in just the last month and I’ve worried about them until I’m almost sick. I hardly have time for anything fun and enjoyable. I thought tonight would be fun. But it’s not. The music is way too loud and people are acting silly, and. . . . Oh, I’m just . . . tired!”
    Mary reached over and gently began to massage her friend’s shoulders. “Oh, Lesley,” she began softly. “I’m sorry. I know things haven’t been easy for you lately. I didn’t realize they were this hard though. What do you need?”
    “I don’t know,” Lesley began, her voice breaking. “Why do I feel so empty, so frustrated and so helpless?”
    “I can’t say for sure, Less, but maybe, just maybe you are trying to take charge of your life in your own way, in your own time, and stay in charge of it. You can’t do it. You will only continue to make yourself miserable.”
    “But what am I supposed to do?” Lesley’s voice was rising. “I don’t have time to take care of my parents because the job is totally draining me, but if I quit how will I pay the bills? And what do I do about my friends?”
    “You pray, Lesley, and keep on praying. And you take time to be still and listen. Remember Elijah? God wasn’t in the fire, the wind or the earthquake. It was after those things that the still, small Voice spoke. Perhaps you need to live Psalm sixteen verse eleven. ‘Thou wilt show me the path of life: in Thy presence is fullness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.’ Have you been living that, Less? Have you been really and truly seeking the path of life? Have you been delighting in the Lord’s presence?”
    Lesley didn’t answer. She knew she hadn’t been, but she was so busy. Why didn’t God just point out the way so she could keep going?
    “Sometimes,” Mary said gently, as though she could read her thoughts, “we have to make the time to slow down and step out in faith not knowing where we are going next. It can be scary. I know. I’ve done it. But oh, Lesley, it is so worth it!”
    There were no words Lesley could speak. She knew she needed to take the time to really seek her Lord and His way, but choosing to set aside time she could be working or taking care of her parents to do so felt–wrong.
    Without another word, Mary rose and slipped away leaving Lesley alone. One bright star peeked through the opening in the clouds and seemed to blink a friendly message to the troubled girl on the sandy beach. She must have understood it, for Lesley, looking up into the place between the clouds, began to pray earnestly for wisdom and joy from the One who offered pleasures for evermore.

Do you ever feel overwhelmed & stressed?
What do you do about it?
Are you ready for 2022?

Friday, December 24, 2021

Behind Glory

 Merry Christmas!

Okay, Christmas Eve, but it's close enough. Besides, my brother and his family are coming over today to do Christmas with us, so it'll be Christmas. Of course the weather is not going to feel anything like Christmas is supposed to feel like as it's supposed to be 77ยบ today. What kind of Christmas weather is that?

It's been a busy first part of the week.

Saturday– I had play practice in the morning and because two people from one group of singers were sick, they'd had to pull a singer from the other group as well as the pastor's son from KC to fill in. And then when my group of singers was singing we realized we were going to need someone else so my sister was recruited.

Sunday– Music practice before Sunday School. Bell practice with the kids after church, and then practice with my sister and two little girls (I played piano for them). I worked on caroling stuff some in the afternoon and then we were off for the Christmas program. It wasn't nearly as stressful and crazy as when I'm directing the play, which was nice. The play went well, and then we had a fellowship meal afterwards and got to visit with different ones.

Monday– Worked on caroling stuff, my grandpa came down for a short visit, saw the house and ate lunch with us before he went to my brother's to see his place. The caroling group met at 4:30 instead of 5 which was wonderful because it meant we could leave at 5 since it took us 3 hours to go to 8 places. Yes, they were scattered all over! Twice we had to drive 20 minutes to the next place.

Tuesday– I put things away and relaxed! Read.

Wednesday– I made a graham cracker house and worked on a blog post and even wrote. I finished today's story

Thursday– My mom and I decided we wanted to do some paper craft things for decorating the table for today, so we tried one thing. Didn't work. Tried another, too small. So my mom created something and it worked! It's so cute! Sorry, I don't have a picture to show you.

 Today's story is one I've wanted to write since Angie Thompson wrote her "Glory" story for her Advent collection. It takes place the same day as "Glory" only in a different place and gives a little glimpse into some other people who were going to be affected by the decisions the characters in "Glory" made. Totally confused yet? :D I hope you enjoy it.

 

Behind Glory

 

    Georgie woke with the pain of his broken leg chasing the pain from his bruised hip up and down his whole body. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation. Trying to fight back the tears, he opened his eyes. As he sniffed back the sobs, his nose wrinkled. Why did hospitals have to smell so . . . so clean? He longed for the smell of burnt bacon and dirt.
    “Good morning, Georgie,” a cheerful voice greeted him. “How do you feel today?”
    Georgie turned his head. Nurse Maddie was standing beside his bed.
    “I don’t like being here at Christmas.”
    “I know. And I wish you could be at home right now.” She brushed his dark hair off his face. “But tonight we’re going to have some special visitors. Some carolers are going to come and sing Christmas songs to all the children here at the hospital. Won’t that be nice?”
    Staring at the light beginning to come in through the curtained windows, Georgie nodded slightly. He remembered a time when his dad used to sing Christmas carols all December. Mom had said he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, whatever that meant, but she had always laughed when she said it and smiled bigger. Dad hadn’t sung this year. Georgie wished he would. Maybe the carolers would be nice.

*


    It was late morning, the curtains were wide open and the children’s ward was bright with the winter sunshine. In the bed beside Georgie, a little fellow, only about six, lay with flushed face and red eyes. He’d been crying for some time and had only just calmed down enough for the nurse to slip away.
    “I want my mama . . . to sing . . . to me,” little Bobby hiccuped to no one in particular.
    “Bobby,” Georgie said, turning his head so he could see the little boy, “we’re going to have carolers come and sing to us tonight. Won’t that be nice?”
    Bobby hiccuped again. “Really?”
    “Uh huh. Nurse Maddie said so.”
    “Will they come tonight?” Kit lifted her head from her white pillow across the room.
    “Yes, tonight.”
    “Will they sing ‘Way in a Manger?” Lilly asked from a few beds down.
    “I don’t know. Maybe.”
    All around the room the children perked up.
    “I wish dey’d thing the thong ‘bout my brover.”
    “Your brother, Nanny?” Georgie shifted in his bed and bit his lip to keep back the cry of pain the movement had caused. He wanted to cheer up the other kids.
    “Uh huh. Harry.”
    “I don’t know that song,” Lilly said. “Can you sing it, Nanny?”
    “I don’t know it all.” Nanny half sat up in bed. “But I can thing thome.” With that Nanny began to sing. It wasn’t a very clear tune, but it was a joyful noise. “Hark, the Harry, angel thing, gory to the newborn King. Peathe on earth an’ merthy mine, God an’ thinnerth recognized. Joyful all ye naithonth withe, join the twiumph of the thkies, with Aunt Jelly hosth pwoclaim, Chwist ith born in Bethlehem. Hark, the Harry, angel thing, gory to the newborn King.”
    A patter of small hands clapping covered a muffled laugh at the nurse’s station near the door.
    “Georgie,” Teddy asked from over near the window, “Will they sing two songs?”
    “I think so.” Georgie thought of all the songs his Dad had sung and wondered how many Christmas songs there were. “Maybe they’ll even sing three songs.”
    A delighted “Oh!” echoed around the room.
    “Do you think they will wear red?” Lilly asked.
    “Maybe they’ll wear green,” Bobby said quite cheerfully having forgotten his own troubles in the promise of something special later on.
    The talk in the ward that morning and after visiting hours was all about the coming carolers. What colors would they wear? How many were coming? What would they sing? Would they come into the room? Would they have candles? Will they be wearing scarves? Do the nurses know them? What were their names?
    Georgie didn’t know the answers to the questions and neither did Nurse Elizabeth who had taken Nurse Maddie’s place.
    As dusk began to settle outside, Georgie felt himself growing restless. This was almost like waiting for Christmas morning to arrive. But unlike other Christmas Eve nights, this time Georgie couldn’t toss and turn in bed.
    “Georgie,” Bobby asked in a stage whisper, “they are coming, aren’t they?”
    “Sure they are, Bobby, why, they’re probably getting their coats on right now.”
    Lilly lifted her head. “You think so, Georgie?”
    “Sure.”
    There was a moment of silence in the dim ward. Supper was over and Nurse Elizabeth had left only a few small lights on.
    “What do you think they’re doing now, Georgie?” Kit’s voice was close to tears and Georgie guessed her back was hurting her a great deal.
    “Well, let’s see. One of the boys has to pick up one of the girls so he’s going over there. And--”
    “Do they know how to drive?” demanded Stevie.
    “I guess they might. If not someone else has to drive them.” He paused a moment and then went on. “But anyway, they’re driving down Main street and warming up their voices.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know.” Georgie wasn’t sure if real singers did warm their voices up, but his dad used to say--back when he sang--that he had to warm his voice up. Turning his head toward the door he wished the singers would come. They would come, wouldn’t they? If they didn’t come-- A lump the size of baseball seemed to rise in his throat. They had to come. They just had to!
    “What’re they doin’ now, Georgie?” Nellie asked. “Are they comin’ thoon?”
    “Pretty soon, I ‘spect. They have to get out of the car and walk inside now. Oops, one of them left his music in the car and had to run back out and get it maybe.” A few giggles sounded in the dim room. “Now they have to find out how to get to this part of the hospital. And they might get turned around a bit ‘cause it’s pretty big.” As Georgie wondered how much longer he could keep his story going, he thought he heard voices outside their room.
    Others heard them too and when the door opened, sixteen heads were turned and sixteen pairs of eyes fastened on the four visitors. The guys wore dark suits over white shirts and the girls wore red dresses.
    Not a sound could be heard as they stepped into the ward and began to sing. Their voices rich and full yet tender and soft reached to the most distant beds.
    Georgie felt like a warm blanket had been spread over him as he lay listening too the familiar strains of “Oh Come, All Ye Faithful.” He would have gone to Bethlehem to see the Baby if he’d been a shepherd. “Even if I had a broken leg,” he decided but bit his lip at a sudden stab of pain.
    After the first song, the carolers moved among the beds and spoke a few words to each child.
    One of the young men came over to Georgie and smiled down at him. “Hello there, I’m Greg.”
    “My name’s Georgie.”
    “It’s nice to meet you, Georgie. What are you doing in the hospital on Christmas Eve?”
    “Broke my leg.”
    “You did? Well, I did too when I was a little chap. Had to spend Christmas in the hospital too.”
    Georgie stared up at the smiling face of the singer. For a moment he didn’t know what to say. “I . . . I’m glad you came to sing to us. I miss my dad’s singing.” He swallowed hard.
    Greg squeezed his hand lightly. “I’m sure you do. We’ll sing again in just a minute, all right?”
    Georgie nodded, and Greg moved to another bed.
    When the carolers started singing again, Georgie lay quiet and listened, his eyes closed. They were songs he knew and their familiar words and tunes wrapped his heart like a hug and he drifted off to sleep with the soft strains of “Away in a Manger” taking away the sadness of being stuck in a hospital bed over Christmas.

Have you read "Glory"?
Did you have a good week?
What are your plans for Christmas?

Tuesday, December 21, 2021

Christmas Story Prompt

 This year, instead of taking you on a tour of Garlandsburg (our Christmas village) I'm going to ask YOU to tell me what is happening. That's right, you get to visit the unique village of Garlandsburg. Pick one of the pictures below and write a short (1,000 words or less) scene about what is going on. Share your story and let me know what happens. (Yes, the pictures are posted in the order they appear in the village this year.)

Ready? Start writing!











P.S. If you need any information or have any questions, just ask!

Friday, December 17, 2021

Just a Bunch of Shepherds - Part 3

 Good morning, and happy Friday!

Sorry it's taken me so long to post again. I was planning on posting on Wednesday, but that day must have just blown away. It was in the 70s and we had wind gusts of 50 mph at times. Sure didn't feel like Christmas time.

I'm not sure what all happened this week. I know last Saturday I had play practice most of the morning. This year I get to be in the play instead of writing and directing it. I only sing carols with some other girls so it's not like I have to learn any lines or anything. All the carols are ones I already know, so it's pretty easy. Sunday had a lot of different practices. Before church a few of us practiced a song we were going to sing for the program, but we decided yesterday to cancel it because we just couldn't get everyone together for practice. On Sunday we also had bell practice with the kids at church, and my sis and I practiced a song with the Children's Church group. I also practiced playing the piano for my sister and two young girls who wanted her to sing a song with them for the program. They are pretty cute.

The rest of this week has just disappeared. I've read some, written some, went Christmas shopping with my mom to try and find something for my widow, and worked on getting lots of Christmas cards ready. I'm sure there were some other things I did, but the days are running together and . . .

Oh, wait! On Monday evening all my nieces and nephews were over so their parents could go shopping. We made and decorated Christmas cookies and ate pizza for supper. I wish I had a picture of the 18-month-old rolling and cutting, and patting, and rolling, and eating the cookie dough! It was so cute! She wanted 'noman cookies. :D 

And here's the last part of this story. Well, the last part that I've written. I've been told it needs more. Enjoy.

 

 Just a Bunch of Shepherds
Part 3
 

    The flickering lights of the candles in the windows looked friendly as Old Sawyer crossed the yard with the three brothers. He had put out the lantern and shut the barn door, latching it again from the outside. Looking around at the dark yard, he wondered if Bethlehem had been that dark on the first Christmas. Had the moon shone in the sky? Or had clouds covered the heavens?
    He put aside his thoughts when they reached the house. Once inside, he turned the almost never used lock and set about making his guests welcome. Mark was settled in Old Sawyer’s bed, his leg dressed by the old rancher’s capable hands, and after some hot tea which Old Sawyer claimed was his “Bessie’s cure for fevers an’ such”, was covered with blankets and left to sleep.
    Titus and the younger brother, Elisha, were served bowls of hot stew and then the three men, not feeling like retiring, settled themselves in the front room near the fire. For some time no one talked, then Titus, in a husky voice said, “Thank you, sir. Most cattlemen wouldn’t have lifted a finger for us. At the least they would have left us in the barn and let come what may. But Mark–” He paused, drew a breath, and then went on. “I don’t think Mark would have lasted. He was already feelin’ poorly when–well, when they came. Took him more time to reach the shelter of the bushes and that’s when he got hit in the leg.”
    Old Sawyer shook his head and rocked back and forth. “Ya know who set fire an’ shot Mark?”
    “Sure do,” Elisha spoke quickly. “I had my gun and was ready to fight back, but Titus hauled me away and wouldn’t let me so much as fire a shot.”
    “You’re too hot headed, ‘Lish. You would have killed someone, and I couldn’t stand the thought of someone being killed over sheep again, Especially not on Christmas Eve.”
    “Again?” Old Sawyer paused his rocking.
    “Pa was shot when Elisha was only ten.” Titus stared into the flames.
    “Why’d you help us, mister?” Elisha asked, his face looking more youthful in the light of the fire’s glow.
    Picking up his Bible, Old Sawyer rubbed his hand over the worn leather cover. “Well, I were readin’ the Christmas story for I heard the barn door, an’ I had jest read the line about there bein’ in the same country shepherds. I reckoned if the first ones to hear of the Savior’s birth was a bunch of shepherds, than the least I could do is offer other shepherds a place to stay.”
    “I–”
    Loud voices outside stopped whatever Elisha was going to say and his face grew a shade paler.
    “They’ve found us,” Titus whispered.
    Old Sawyer rose quietly. “Jest get yerselves in that there room with yer brother and don’t make a sound.”
    As soon as the door to the small bedroom was shut, the old rancher picked up his rifle and moved to the kitchen. Taking the lantern from its nail, he lit it and unlocked the door. Quietly, he slipped outside.
    “Who’s there?” he called.
    Instantly, four or five men left the yard and hurried toward the house, the glowing lantern, and the old rancher. “We’re lookin’ for some fugitives,” one of the men called out. “Ya seen anyone?”
    “Fugitives? No. What’s their crime?”
    “They’re tryin’ ta take over our cattle country with the dumb and smelly sheep, an’ if that ain’t a crime, I don’t know what is.” The speaker shoved a hand into his pocket as his companions laughed.
    “Bill Perkins, that you?” Old Sawyer held his lantern up higher and looked at the speaker.
    “Sure is, Old Sawyer.”
    “Why aren’t ya at home with yer folks this Christmas Eve, ‘stead a causin’ trouble an’ seekin’ ta harm yer fellow man?”
    “We knew they’d be home tonight. Folks generally are this night.”
    “Unless they’re out breakin’ the law,” Old Sawyer remarked almost to himself. Then in a louder voice he said, “Ain’t one a ya read the Christmas story?”
    Heads nodded and one of them, a puzzled look on his face said, “Sure, but what’s that got ta do with things?”
    “Shepherds were the first ones to receive the glad news of the Savior’s birth. Now if that don’t show that the Good Lord thinks highly of ‘em, then I ain’t sure what does. Now I suggest ya all get home an’ read it yerselves an’ think it over.”
    For several minutes the younger men stood before Old Sawyer in silence. Then a few in the back turned and walked away into the darkness. One by one the others followed.
    Only after the last man had disappeared did Old Sawyer turn and go back inside. He put up his gun, hung up his coat, and took off his boots. Then he walked to the bedroom door. “It’s all right now, boys. They’re gone an’ I reckon they won’t be botherin’ ya for some time.”

*


    The dawn of Christmas morning was bright and clear. The grass was covered in frost which glittered and sparkled like jewels. Old Sawyer made his way back to the house after he had finished the chores in the barn. Pausing in the yard, he drew in a breath. The smell of frying ham drifted from the house. It was good to have company even if he had to give up his bed and sleep in the old rocking chair. “It’s better ‘n in the barn,” he murmured. “Lord, bless the Tyler brothers. Ya know I ain’t one to favor sheep, an’ were I young I might a been wantin’ ta join them troublemakers last night. But I’m jest an old man now, Lord, an’ ya gave me a bit more sense than I used ta have. Would Ya tell my Bessie Merry Christmas for me? An’ tell her it ain’t a lonely Christmas since I put her candles in the windows. And Lord, thanks for still makin’ me useful even to a bunch of shepherds.” 

 

Do you think this story should be longer?
Have you made and decorated Christmas cookies this year?
Would you rather be on or off stage for a Christmas play?

Monday, December 13, 2021

Just a Bunch of Shepherds - Part 2

 Happy Monday!

I decided not to make you all wait until Friday to read the next part of this little story. Enjoy!

 

 Just a Bunch of Shepherds
Part 2

 

    The house was dark and quiet when Old Sawyer entered. No sweet scent of fresh cookies or comforting smell of savory stew greeted him. It wasn’t how he was used to spending Christmas Eve.
    He lit the lamp, stirred up the fire in the stove and then looked into the cold, dark front room.
    “I’ll do it, Bessie,” he said with a glance at the picture hanging on the wall.
    Taking the lamp, he went in search of candles. He found them carefully wrapped in the bottom drawer of his wife’s worn writing cabinet. With tender hands, Old Sawyer settled each candle in its holder and these were then placed in the windows and the candles lighted. Their soft glow brought a smile to the old man’s face as he turned and set about the task of making his supper.
    As he worked, his thoughts drifted from one Christmas memory to another. The home had been so full of love and laughter as the children had grown up. There had been tears, but not many and they had always been softened by the knowledge that all things worked together for good.
    Old Sawyer ate his solitary supper in silence. Only the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel piece of the front room broke the quiet of the winter evening.
    “It sure would be nice if’n I had someone ta talk to come evenin’s. ‘Specially Christmas Eve. Somehow,” he murmured, “it jest don’t seem right to have this warm house an’ not be sharin’ it nohow. Even a dog would be somethin’.”
    He rose and washed his dishes and then, carrying the lamp, he moved into the front room. “I reckon the Good Lord didn’t have anyone who needed me.”
    After building a blazing fire in the fireplace, he settled into his favorite rocking chair and picked up his well worn Bible.
    “Now it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree . . . And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped in him swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. Now there were in the same country shepherds–”
    A slight noise distracted Old Sawyer and he looked up. “Did I shut the barn door? I’m sure I did.”
    Everything was hushed and still and the old rancher was about to return to his reading when another noise again came to his sharp ears.
    “Somethin’s out there.” Setting aside his worn Bible, he rose and shuffled into the dark kitchen. Peering out the window, he thought he caught a glimmer of light in the barn. “Now who would be prowlin’ ‘round my barn at a time like this?”
    It took but a few moments for his to pull on his coat, shove his feet into his boots and grab his rifle. Putting his hat on his head, he quietly opened the door and slipped outside, thankful he’d oiled the hinges in the fall when they started to squeak. He held no lantern to light his way but the moon shown and bright stars twinkled in the heavens.
    All was calm.
    The barn door was shut but not latched when Old Sawyer reached it. For a moment he hesitated, listening. He caught the sound of a low moan. Something wasn’t right.
    Keeping his rifle ready in one hand, he used the other and opened the door. “Who’s in here an’ what’re ya doin’?”
    A slight gasp and then a deep sigh broke the momentary silence. “Please, sir,” a man’s voice said, “we don’t mean you any harm, but we saw your candles in the windows and well–”
    A new voice, younger but still male broke in, “They looked so friendly like an’ the night was so cold, and our brother got hurt–”
    Old Sawyer’s hand found a lantern that always hung near the door but had seldom been used. Leaning his rifle against the wall beside him, he struck a light. Three faces, younger than he’d expected to see, looked up at him from the corner of the barn. One face was pale and the old man’s eyes noticed the stained bandage on his leg. “Who are ya?”
    “The Tyler boys, sir.” It was the older one who spoke. “We–well, we own the Ewe-T ranch.”
    “Yer the sheep ranchers, huh?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Old Sawyer’s brows knitted as the brother he guessed to be the youngest cringed. “What’re ya doin’ out this way on Christmas Eve? Have a run in with some cattle ranchers?”
    “Yes, sir. Or no, sir. That is–” The older one seemed to be having trouble speaking.
    With an effort, the injured brother raised himself up on one elbow. “We didn’t start anythin’. The others just come on us sudden an’ were shootin’ an’ we managed to get away, but they set fire to our house. We . . . were . . .” Clearly exhausted, the man fell back into his brother’s arms. his eyes closed.
    “We were goin’ to the sheriff,” the younger one added, looking worried. “But Mark can’t make it, an’ Titus ain’t sure the sheriff’ll help us, an’ the other men might be chasin’ us.”
    “Huh.” Old Sawyer grunted. “Maybe I don’t like sheep, an’ maybe I don’t hanker ta harbor any sheep-men in my barn for anyone that’s chasin’ ya ta find an’ upset my animals.”
    Titus spoke up. “I’m sorry, sir, for causin’ you trouble. We’ll be on our way.”
    “You’ll be on yer way up ta the house. It’s Christmas Eve an’ I’ve got room in my house. An’ I reckon if it were shepherds the news of the Savior’s birth was first told to, than I can give other such men shelter in my house. Now help yer brother there, an’ let’s get out a the barn.”


I'd love to know what you think of the story so far.

Friday, December 10, 2021

Just a Bunch of Shepherds - Part 1

 Good morning,

Are you enjoying your December so far? I can't figure out how it could be the 10th already! I don't think it should even be the 10th of November, let alone December. What do you think?

This week has actually not been as busy as other weeks have been. I finally feel like I'm catching up on things which is so nice. And I've had time to read and even time to write! I haven't gotten back into writing 1k words every day, but compared to what I have been writing, I'm not doing badly. Plus the story I'm working on needs some research.

Today's story was going to be the first part of the Christmas story we put in our Christmas cards this year, but I was informed by my editor that it needed to be longer. Well, I haven't made it longer yet, but I thought I'd share it anyway. I hope you enjoy it.

By the way, I am hoping to post more often than just on Friday's this month. What would you all like to see? 

  • Christmas decorations
  • Christmas stories
  • Recipes
  • Tidbits about Christmas traditions
  • Story prompts
  • Other ideas

Let me know in the comments below what you'd like to see.

 And now, enjoy part 1 of this story.

Just a Bunch of Shepherds
Part 1

 

    The wind was blustery and cold. Frost lay heavy on the ground as the rancher, his face leathered by years of working in the burning sun and biting cold, tramped from his snug house out to the barn to begin the morning chores. The lantern he carried didn’t shed much light but it was enough. Old Sawyer, as folks called him, didn’t really need the lantern; he knew his entire ranch like he knew the layout of his home, but it was cozy somehow. Perhaps it was the suggestion of warmth and comfort as the flame flickered and glowed. Perhaps it was memories of the many hands which had carried the lantern. Whatever the reason, he always carried it on dark mornings.
    Reaching the barn, Old Sawyer opened the door which creaked a little and stepped inside. The barn was warm compared to the biting wind outside. A horse nickered.
    “I’m comin’, Tunia,” he said, his voice low and gravely. “Looks like we’re goin’ to have a cold Christmas tomorra.”
    One of the barn cats rubbed against his leg with a meow. The lone milk cow mooed, and another horse stamped in his stall.
    “I know,” the old man went on, taking down the bucket and stool so he could get to milking. “It ain’t much of a Christmas we’ll be havin’ this year with my Bessie passin’ away in the spring. But the Good Lord didn’t have much that first Christmas neither.” As he began to milk, he kept up a one sided conversation with the animals as he was in the habbit of doing. “I’m plannin’ on havin’ a nice dinner tomorra, and I think I’ll sit and read the Christmas story tonight by the fire. Or maybe I’ll read it in the mornin’. No, I reckon tonight’ll be better seein’ as how chores keep an old man like me busy even if it will be Christmas Day.”
    The cat rubbed up against him and he squirted a stream of milk into her mouth chuckling a little as he did so.
    “Stan used to do that. Remember that, Millie?”
    The cow continued to chew her cud but a gentle flip of her tail seemed to indicate that she was listening.
    “Yep,” Old Sawyer went on, “he used to milk the cows and send streams of milk to the couple cats we’d keep ‘round the place. They’d all sit and wait for him in the mornin’s.” He gave a sigh as he stood up slowly with the full pail of milk. “None of the other boys could do it like Stan could.”
    As he fed the animals and went out to break the ice in the trough, he found memories of his children and wife in almost every action.
    “Sarah Lou did love the chickens. She never lost a single one when her ma put her in charge of taking care of ‘em. Katie May was always forgettin’ to shut the gate, or couldn’t find the hidden nests, but she was plum handy in the garden an’ always knew where to find the wild berries.” A fond smile wrinkled up the old man’s eyes.
    Walking back to the house with the lantern and pail of milk, Old Sawyer watched his breath show in little clouds of white. “Cold enough for snow. But it don’t look like we’ll be gettin’ any.” He looked toward the east where the sky was turning a pale pink. “Jest cold, I reckon.”
    Before long he was busy in the kitchen fixing his breakfast. “It jest ain’t the same, Bessie,” he said, looking at the tin type hanging on the wall. “Ain’t the same at all ‘thout you bein’ here. Won’t seem much like Christmas, me bein’ alone.”
    Sitting down to eat his solitary breakfast and drink his one cup of coffee, Old Sawyer wondered what his children were doing that day. All had moved away. The girls had gotten married and one lived in the city and the other on a ranch two days ride away. As for his sons, only three were still alive. Stan had married but had died in a train accident many years before. The others were scattered across the country from California to New York and down south to Texas.
    “Dear Lord,” he prayed, “bless ‘em, where ever they be an’ whatever they are doin’. Don’t let ‘em wander from You. And Lord, if’n there’s someone in need a me this Christmas I’d be right grateful if’n ya’d let me know.”

    The morning slipped into afternoon. Old Sawyer saddled up Petunia and rode out to check on the cattle. He’d sold off much of his stock in the fall but he still had enough to keep himself busy. As he returned to the barn, he looked across the yard toward the house.
    “It’s a sad lookin’ place, ain’t it, ‘Tunia? No lights in the windows an’ it bein’ Christmas Eve an’ all. I reckon maybe I’ll put some candles in the windows like my Bessie used ta do.” He dismounted. “I weren’t goin’ ta, seein’ it’s only me that’d see ‘em, but–” He stopped and looked again at the house.
    The windows were dark and no friendly smoke rose from the chimney. Not a trace of Christmas cheer could be seen.
    Old Sawyer sighed.
    His horse nudged his shoulder, and the older man nodded as he led Petunia inside the warm barn. “I reckon yer right, ‘Tunia. Someone might come down the road an’ it might put a spark a cheer in ‘em an’ remind ‘em of the Savior Who came an’ brought light to this dark old world.” As he talked, he unsaddled his horse, brushed her down, and then said as he started on the evening chores. “That house is a might too big for a lone feller like me. Maybe I should think of movin’. But I ain’t young like I used ta be.”

Do you put candles in the windows?
Does this month seem to be flying?
What do you want to see on this blog?

Tuesday, December 7, 2021

Christmas Giveaway

 I don't have a lot of time, but I did want to share with you that there is a Christmas giveaway happening right now for my audio book His Law is Love hosted by Kylie Hunt over at Kylie Hunt - The Film Director's Wife.


Click on the image to enter.

Head over and enter! And check back here because if I have time I might post again before Friday.


Friday, December 3, 2021

Christmas Dinner

 Good morning and Happy December!

I actually forgot that today was Friday until I was going to bed last night and realized that not only is it Friday but it's December and I had nothing picked or planned to post. So, after digging through my older posts, I found something for you. But we'll get to that later.

This week was another one where the days ran together and yet a lot got done.

Last Friday– We worked on organizing and cleaning up the back room in our house (that was my writing room and then became Sis's sewing room, and is now storage) so we could get the Christmas boxes out and put them in there. Then my youngest 3 nieces and nephew came over all afternoon. They got to help me set up the Christmas tree and decorate it. (Yes, I did adjust some of the ornaments after they were gone.)

Saturday– I spent most of the morning putting some cube shelves together for my sister's sewing room. Then I picked up my oldest niece and she helped me start decorating. We got the stairs and some of the living room done.

Sunday– I had music practice before church and then played for prelude. Then my sister and I worked with the kids in Children's Church on the Christmas song we're teaching them for the Christmas program. I then taught Children's Church. After lunch I read, and then we all spent around 1 1/2 hours wrapping presents. That was rather fun. We decided to give each person (these are all my brother's family's gifts) a different wrapping paper, so all my brother's gifts were wrapped in one thing, my sis-in-law in another, and each kid in a different paper. 

Monday– I finished wrapping the presents, cleaned some things, put some things away, and I'm not sure what else.

Tuesday– My oldest niece came over again. This time for most of the day and we got the decorating done except for outside. It wasn't even the 1st of December and the house was decorated and the gifts wrapped! Lovely!

Wednesday– I spend 2 hours trying to put a cabinet together but the directions were awful! They told you to put some pieces on the wrong place so they were upside down, and another piece they didn't tell you there was a front and back to it. Then I had a lot of Camp stuff to do in the afternoon with the Camp party. And then I worked nursery.

Thursday– Yesterday I fixed the cabinet that was messed up and built another thing. I worked on some different things, raked leaves, and reviewed a few stories.

Today– I'm going to do some cleaning! And I don't know what.

Anyway, this was long. Here's a short story for you to read. It was based on a Christmas song that just had me wanting to write a story. Enjoy!


Christmas Dinner



    It was Christmas day. The air outside was crisp, and the snow sparkled and glittered across the farmyard in the late afternoon sunshine. Inside the house all was warm and cozy. Smells from the kitchen pervaded every nook and cranny of the snug farmhouse, from the living room where the large tree stood looking bare with all the gifts gone, to the farthest corner of the attic where empty boxes stood waiting to be filled once again with the ornaments and decorations of Christmas time.
    Rousing from his afternoon nap, Farmer Jones yawned and stretched. Standing up he sniffed the air and then, tucking his thumbs in his suspenders, he ambled from the living room. “Sure smells good, don’t it?” he remarked to his second son.
    Eighteen-year-old Jeremiah looked up from hanging his coat on the hook. “Sure does. Think Mother has dinner about ready, Pa?”
    “Sure hope so. I’ll go find out.”
    Sauntering down the hall through the dining room and into the kitchen, Farmer Jones sniffed again. The turkey smelled divine! His wife, an apron tied about her ample waist, was bustling here and there, a smudge of flour on her cheek and wisps of her hair curling about her face instead of staying properly in her bun.
    “Mother,” Farmer Jones said, “everybody’s starvin’. Let’s eat.”
    Mother Jones, as she was known far and wide, turned around, a wooden spoon in her hand. “Hold your horses, Father. I’ve got a million courses to get ready, and,” she waved her spoon with a shake of her head. “I’m fixing a treat! I could use some help though.”
    Quickly Father Jones turned around. He heard someone whistling and called out, “Jeremiah, go and help your mother.” Then, catching sight of the thirteen-year-old twins on the stairs, he added, “Jane and Jonah, you too.”
    The clatter of the twins’ feet was heard as they rushed down the stairs. No doubt they had been smelling the feast and were hungry.
    After checking in the living room and the library but not finding his other children, Farmer Jones looked out the front door. “Ah, there’s another one,” he thought to himself, hurrying to the door and swinging it wide open. “Hezekiah!” His shout caused the head of his third son to raise from the wood he had been stacking.
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Go and fetch your brother.”
    “Sure thing, Pa. Which one? And where is he?”
    “Jud. I ‘spect he’s in the barn with his horse.” When Hezekiah nodded, Father started to shut the door and then stuck his head out once more. “Then fetch Amy and Sue.”
    Hezekiah’s brown head nodded as he strode off toward the red barn.
    Patting his round stomach, Father shut the door and sighed. He could smell all those dishes Mother was fixing and he couldn’t wait to sit down with his family and partake. It was a favorite part of the Jones family Christmas day.
    It wasn’t long before Hezekiah and Jud could be heard stomping the snow off their boots on the porch. A gust of cold air came in with the boys and Father, turning from watching Jane, her pretty dark hair tied back with a red ribbon, set the table, saw Hezekiah start up the stairs, no doubt in search of the two youngest Jones girls.
    Things were in a bustle as Jed, and then Hezekiah, Amy, and Sue all joined in to help Mother get the food on. Father stayed out of the way. He was no help in the kitchen and knew it. As each steaming dish was brought to the table, his mouth watered even more. Finally he stationed himself before his chair at the head of the table and Jeremiah set the turkey down before him. It was golden brown and steam rose in a fragrant wave.
    As everyone found their places, the three oldest boys, Jud, Jeremiah and Hezekiah, on one side, Jane and Jonah, Amy and Sue on the other, and Mother at the food, Father smiled.
    “Mother, everybody’s happy. We’ve got a reason to smile.”
    Mother laughed her bright, bubbly laugh which caused smiles and a few giggles among her children. “That’s ‘cause you know that I’m about to serve a Christmas dinner country style.”
    “No doubt, Mother, no doubt. But let’s all sit and bow our heads. I’ll say grace, then we’ll break bread.”
    There was a slight shuffling as each person quickly sat down. Every head, light, dark, and a few browns, bowed reverently as Father gave thanks for the dinner and for Christmas and what it meant. After a hearty “Amen” from everyone present, heads were lifted and eyes sparkled at the knowledge that they were about to partake of Mother’s wonderful cooking.
    “Put your napkins in your lap, girls,” Mother reminded Amy and Sue.
    “While Jud pours cider from the tap,” added Father. “Is it fresh cider, Jud?”
    “Sure is, Pa. I made it yesterday with some of the apples from the cellar since we had such a lot.”
    There was so much food and it was passed along from one person to the next, across the table, clock-wise and counter-clock-wise. Turkey, both dark and white meat, ham, chestnut stuffing, huckleberry muffins, marshmallow yam, and cranberry sauce, rhubarb, and black-eyed peas. It was a feast to fill any hungry boy or girl. Or a dozen of them. Everyone ate and talked and ate some more. Seconds were had by everyone and the four boys even had thirds.
    “I think I’m ‘bout to explode, Mother,” Jane said, leaning back in her chair.
    “Me too,” echoed Amy and Sue.
    “Have a little pickled quince,” Jeremiah offered, holding out the dish.
    “Choose your pie, everyone,” Father instructed. “Pumpkin or mince.”
    No one refused. How could they when it was Mother who had made them? But at last no one could eat another bite.
    Leaning back in his chair, Father looked down the table at his wife and said, “Oh, dinner was grand, to say the least!” Glancing at his children seated on either side of the now ravished table, he added, with a nod toward Mother Jones, “Honor the lady who cooked this feast.”
    “Mother, thank you for the dinner!” Chorused all seven children.
    And Jonah added, “All the fixin’s were great!”
    A broad smile crossed Mother’s face. “Nothin’ to it. I’m mighty glad to do it, seein’ how much you ate! Now I shouldn’t have to feed you until spring.”
    A general laugh filled the dining room and then Jud pushed back his chair. “Well, it’s time to clear it all away. Come on. Jeremiah, get the turkey, or what’s left of it. Hezekiah, the ham platter. The rest of you start collecting the dishes. Mother, you and Father go sit in the living room and just relax.”
    With a smile, Mother stood up. “All right, but don’t you go and break any of my good china now.” It was something she said every year, and none of it had been broken except one saucer when Jeremiah was no larger than the family dog.
    Beaming, Father rose slowly, tucked his thumbs in his suspenders and stood a moment watching his children clear off the table. Then, with a sigh, he ambled slowly into the living room and built up the fire in the large stone fireplace before sinking down into his favorite chair. “That sure was a Christmas dinner, Mother,” he remarked.
    Wearily Mother rested her feet on the footstool and nodded. “It sure was.”

    Before long the children appeared in the doorway, their faces bright and no sign of having stuffed themselves.
    “Jeremiah,” Jane begged, “go and get your fiddle!”
    “Yeah, go get it,” eagerly pleaded Amy and Sue, while his brothers all nodded in agreement.
    “All right.” Jeremiah sauntered into the other room, and they could hear the sounds of the fiddle strings as he tested them. Soon he was back, lightly drawing the bow over the strings in a tune which set each foot to tapping.
    “Come on, Father, let’s dance,” begged Jane, hurrying to her father’s side.
    But Farmer Jones shook his head and patted his full stomach, “I’m too full of turkey and stuffing. Sorry, Janie, I ain’t takin’ a chance. Get one of your brothers to take you for a spin.”
    So, while Mother and Father sat watching, the six children, Jud and Amy, Hezekiah and Sue, and Jane and Jonah danced to the lively tunes Jeremiah brought forth from his fiddle.
    When at last the fiddler ceased and everyone sank laughing onto chairs and sofas, Father said, “It’s been a very, very merry Christmas. We’ve got reason to smile.” He looked around at each shining face “Mother, everybody loved your Christmas dinner country style.”

 Did you have a good week?
Do you have Christmas decorations up?
Have you ever heard the song that goes with this story?

Friday, November 26, 2021

Through an Author's Eyes - Part 10

 Happy Black Friday!

I hope you all had a good Thanksgiving. I did. I got to spend most of it at my brother's house with his family. We hung out and ate, played a little ping-pong, and some other games. Then we came back to out crazy, full, messy house. Since we'd gotten help from my two oldest nephews on Wednesday, we have all the boxes that were in storage back at our house. Along with other things we'd forgotten we had sent down there. Now we don't really have places for everything yet, and so we have boxes stacked all over!

But, my parents are back to sleeping in their own room again! After 4 months of living in the living room, they are glad to have a room again. And my sister is back in the sewing room. Not all the shelves are here and up yet, but she can at least keep sewing in her newly redone room. But I still can't write. Our room is a disaster. And did I mention that our washing machine went out last week? We got a new one, but it's not hooked up yet. That makes things a bit interesting. Hopefully it will get hooked up today.

Anyway, that's that.

This morning my mom and I are going to tackle the back room where we usually put all the Christmas stuff we don't use during December. Then this afternoon the youngest 3-4 nieces and nephews will be coming over while my brother and older nephews work on their new addition, and my sis-in-law and oldest niece help decorate the church. Then tomorrow my oldest niece is coming over to help us decorate.

And today is Black Friday. It's the first time in a few years that I don't have books in Perry's Indie Author Sale, but I just didn't have time to set anything up. But I do have one Thanksgiving story that is Free today if you haven't gotten and read it already. You can find it HERE.

And now enjoy this next part of this author story.

 

 Through an Author's Eyes
Part 10

    Picking up her purse and Bible, she carefully made her way to the stairs. She knew it would take her longer than usual to get down the stairs. Somehow going down was worse than going up and half way down she stopped, turned around and proceeded to take the steps backwards.
    “Are you going up or down?” laughed Aunt Yvonne from the foot of the stairs.
    “Down. It’s less painful to do it this way.”
    “A niece who thinks,” Uncle Cleveland remarked. “It must be because she’s a writer. We come up with all sorts of situations for our characters and then have to figure out a way to get them out, don’t we?”
    Taking the last step down, Annette turned around and nodded. “Only this time I know what my poor MC is feeling. I never did before.” Shaking her head, Annette gave a slight chuckle and then stopped with a frown. “Why do I hurt all over?” she moaned. “I hope I don’t regret saying I want to climb a mountain.”
    “Well, as long as you don’t climb in cowboy boots I reckon you’ll do fine. You said you are used to climbing the Appalachians.”
    “True. And I’ve never ridden a horse before. Levi should have warned me I wouldn’t be able to move.” And she pretended to glare at her oldest cousin as he came into the room.
    He looked like a cowboy even with his church clothes on for he wore a western style shirt, dark denim jeans, cowboy boots that weren’t filthy, and a shiny buckle was on his belt. His hat was in one hand and his Bible in the other. “You wouldn’t have believed me if I had, would you?” he asked.
    “I don’t know. But you didn’t even warn me! I don’t know if I’ll get on a horse tomorrow or not.” She nodded her head once for emphasis.
    “You will. Are the others already outside?”
    “Here they come.” The rest of the family hurried into the room and together they walked out to the suburban.
    It was a forty-five minute ride to church, but Annette didn’t mind. The scenery was lovely and she scarcely took her eyes from the windows. “Oh!” her exclamation came suddenly. “I didn’t know we were going to Cats Claw!”
    “Yep,” Savanna said. “On Sunday the population more than doubles. There’s the church.”
    Annette followed the pointing finger and saw with delight a white church looking like it was taken straight from an old catalogue or magazine. It even had a tall white steeple and she wondered if a bell still hung from the tower. As she gingerly climbed from the vehicle, she watched the people going up the steps and into the church. Most of the men had on cowboy hats and boots, only the women seemed out of place for not one was wearing a hat with flowers or even a bonnet. “So much for going back in time,” she whispered to Savanna who had joined her. Ava slipped her hand into Annette’s and together the three girls crossed the grassy yard.
    Each step was painful for Annette, but she decided to grin and bear it, as her mother would say and when Bethany came up, she returned her hug without wincing too badly.
    “Sore from the ride yesterday?” Bethany asked in low tones.
    “What do you think?” Annette grimaced. “And Levi says I have to ride again tomorrow.”
    “It’s the best way to work out the soreness,” Bethany assured. “But come on.”
    Inside the church, Annette was thankful to see cushioned chairs instead of the hard pews she had expected.

    By the time the Vogel suburban pulled into the home ranch, Annette was tired. Not only had she heard a really good sermon, but she had been introduced to so many people that she couldn’t keep names and faces in her mind. All she wanted was lunch and a long nap. Climbing out of the suburban, a groan escaped her lips without her permission. She had hoped the sore muscles would ease as the day wore on.
    “You need to take a long leisurely walk this afternoon down the lane and back to loosen you up,” Aunt Yvonne remarked.
    Annette raised her eyebrows. A walk? She didn’t even think she could walk to the house let alone make it down the lane! She looked down at the ground. There was grass just a few steps away. If it weren’t so hard to sit down . . .
    “Should I carry you?” Levi questioned.
    “Don’t let him!” Savanna hurried over to say; Annette shook her head. “I’m afraid that would hurt worse than trying to walk.”
    Somehow Annette hobbled or staggered to the porch, moaned her way up the stairs and sagged against the wall inside. She didn’t want to go upstairs until she had to. And she certainly didn’t want to go up and then come right back down for lunch! Nope, she was going to remain downstairs and would eat lunch in her church clothes. Slowly making her way into the kitchen, she asked, “Can I help get lunch ready?”
    “There’s not much to do, but you can get paper plates from that cabinet if you want. We like to keep lunch simple and the dishes even simpler,” Aunt Yvonne replied. “We’re just having sandwiches, fruit, carrots and chips.”
    Annette managed to get the plates out without too much difficulty, but carrying them to the counter was hard and required silent groans with each stiff step she took. Her arms weren’t too sore and she was thankful for that.
    Ava did most of the talking during lunch, then everyone pitched in to clean up and Annette was soon free to make her slow, painful way up the stairs and to her room. “I can do this,” she muttered to herself, pausing on the seventh step and eyeing the rest of them. “I never knew riding a horse was so–well, painful and used so many muscles! Won’t Dad get a laugh when I tell him how sore and stiff I am.” A rueful smile crossed her face as she started upward again. “He’d tell me the same thing Levi is: Get up and ride again. That’s what he always told me when I was stiff and sore from hiking. He’d say, ‘Annette, we’re going to hike again tomorrow. And the next day until you get over being stiff and sore.’”

Did you have a good Thanksgiving?
Have you started decorating for Christmas?
Are you planning on shopping some book sales?

Friday, November 19, 2021

God is Still Good

 Good morning dear readers!

It's cold this morning. Below freezing right now, but the sun is coming up in a cloudless sky. It's going to be a good day.

This week has had it's ups and downs. Trying to be patient about finishing up the rooms so we can move back in them, and things not happening as quickly as we'd like. But yesterday the last of the trim in both rooms (not counting the closet off the sewing room and the hall) got the last of their trim up! Now I can finish spackling and do the touch up painting! Then we have 8 outlets and 1 light switch to do, and put up the closet shelves and stuff in my parents room and we can hang curtains and move them back in!!!! We are so excited!!!! Forget writing, I'm going to be working on the rooms today. And tomorrow.

Also today, my grandpa is coming down. He wants to see the rooms and he's bringing us some drawers that only the Lowe's up there had for our cabinets. 

Last night I spoke to a group for the first time about my writing journey. There were only 5 other people besides me. It was nice to start off with a small group. And yes, it was rather fun. I think they enjoyed it and it looked like some of them were interested in a few of my books. 

Thanksgiving is coming. We are going to my brother's for the day. That will be fun. I heard there is, or at least was, a chance of snow for Thanksgiving day, but I rather doubt it will be anything but rain. We just don't get snow this early most of the time.

Anyway, I'm keeping this really short because I need to get everything done on the computer that I can before breakfast so I can just work on the house. :D I hope you enjoy this short little story and the reminder that God is always good.


 God is Still Good

 

    Corina hugged her friend’s furry neck. “Come Maria, we’ll go back to the house. I’m sure Papa can help us.”
    The young alpaca nuzzled the small girl and walked quietly behind her across the yard and around the stone wall. It was cold, but Corina didn’t feel the biting air for she was well bundled up in warm clothes and a hat was pulled down over her dark hair.
    Coming up next to the house, Corina stopped. The door was open and Papa’s voice sounded stern.
    “You have been allowed to wallow in your sorrow and grief too long, Elia. It is time you returned to work and to God.”
    “God. He didn’t care about my Bridget when her time came!”
    Corina heard the pain in her brother’s voice.
    Papa’s voice was softer but no less firm. “You are wrong, my son. God was there and He took your Bridget home to live with Him. But he left you with a little daughter. A daughter who needs her papa to be strong and to provide for her. You have not done that, my Elia. You have turned bitter. You are like the pigs that love to wallow in the dirt and mud. They can be clean but they wish not to be. You too are wallowing in what is not clean and pure. You would rather sit and do nothing and blame God when He is good.”
    “If He is good, why did He take my Bridget, Papa? Why?”
    Carina felt her eyes fill with tears. Bridget had been such a dear older sister to her. She too had wondered why God had taken her.
    “My Elia,” Papa’s voice was gentle, tender. “I do not know the ways of God. But I do know that He gives and He takes away because He is good. Pain and suffering, grief and death are the fault of mankind, not God. When your mama was so ill before she died, I asked the same questions. And I got an answer. I prayed, but God chose to say no. I too say no to Corina at times just like I said no to you and Manuel when you were young. It was not that I don’t love you. It was because I did love you.”
    Corina listened hard and heard what sounded like a sob. Turning, she wrapped her arms around her alpaca’s neck and hid her face.
    “Pray for me, Papa. I don’t understand, and I feel so lost without my Bridget. I want to trust that God knows best, but I don’t see how taking my daughter’s mother could be best.”
    “I do not see it either, my son.” Papa’s voice was husky. “I still do not understand why He chose to take your mama either. But this I do know, though He slay me, yet will I trust Him. I will be praying for you, Elia. Bring your little one over and let Corina mother her for a time. She is always mothering the orphaned animals.”
    “Thank you, Papa. I will. I must go now. The neighbor can only stay a little. Can I come here and work?”
    “Of course. There is much to do.”
    Corina looked around and saw Elia leave the house and stride away. He hadn’t seen her. Papa came to the door and looked after him. Then he turned. His face was gentle as he looked at her.
    “Are you willing to mother your little niece, my Corina? It is hard to be without a mother, and your brother is still hurting.”
    “Oh, yes, Papa. I will take care of the little one. Maria will help me.” She hugged her furry friend. “Papa, God is still good, isn’t He?”
    “Yes. Always good, Carina. Never forget that.” 

 

How has your week been?
Anything happening that makes you excited?
Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?

Friday, November 12, 2021

Go With God

 Good morning, readers,

It rained last night. I woke to the gentle patter of raindrops on the roof and skylight. I didn't know it was supposed to rain.

Yesterday was a good day. I painted the primer on a window that all had forgotten needed painted. Got the rest of the floor laid in the sewing room. Some of that I actually did myself which was rather fun. A friend came over after lunch, and he and my dad got all the trim up that they could do in that room. One place in the closet we have to find out from the guy who is going to build shelves if the baseboard should be on there or not. And in the room, we have to get a few other boards painted to go around the cabinet they put in. But wow! It sure doesn't look like our house any more! Very exciting. In the evening my dad and I cut and sanded the boards for my parents' room. They need primed and painted.

But, not only did a lot of work get done on the house, but I wrote! Yes, I did. It was only 341 words, but that's so much more than none at all.

Today the grandkids are coming over to spend the day. They haven't seen the house since we got sheetrock up. We are going to put a few pieces of furniture together that will go in the sewing room. And who knows what else. But before they come I'm going to work on filling in all the nail holes and cracks between the trim pieces. 

Our goal was to get my sister moved back downstairs today, but we decided not to try. Since the room isn't completely done, and she's too busy with orders to take time to move now, and she doesn't want to be trying to sew when construction is still going on down there, we'll wait. But that's okay. We made great progress. Now we can focus on getting the master bedroom done. Then we'll have the hall. But that might wait a bit.

Anyway, that's been my week. Here's a short little story I wrote back in July.


 Go With God

    The late summer sunshine came through a hazy layer of clouds and a breeze tossed the young man’s brown hair making him shiver.
    Samuel hugged himself to try and ward off the chill of the mountain air. “You’d think that being higher like this and closer to the sun it would be warmer not colder,” he said to the towering pine tree beside him.
    The tree shook its branches as though laughing at the idea, and Samuel had to smile too.
    Pausing on the rocky outcropping overlooking a vast panorama of mountains with sharp ridges and blanketed by pines, Samuel sighed and the smile left his face as one thumb slipped over the strap which held is precious guitar on his back.
    “Uncle James said it takes pluck to move on after a loss like mine. But it’s not pluck, it’s God. I know I’ll see my sisters again and my parents. I didn’t always act like I believed it though. Fourteen is a hard age to lose the ones you love most. If it weren’t for Miss Hope and my music I wouldn’t have made it these last three years.”
    His hands gently rubbed the red knit sweater Miss Hope had made for him before he left to seek a life beyond the small village and farms hidden in the valley. He knew he’d always be grateful to her for sending out letters for him and finding a place in a music shop with one of her cousins.
    “Remember, Samuel,” she had told him before he left, “your musical talent is not something you acquired by your own effort. It’s a gift from God. Always use it for His glory.”
    Samuel had promised. How could he not when Miss Hope had pointed him back to the Savior and the peace He offered after the tragic railway accident?
    Gently lifting the strap of his guitar over his head, he sat down and gently began to strum the strings. His music blended with the sighing of the pines and the rustle of grass. He would rest a few minutes before picking up his duffel bag and setting down the other side of the mountain to the bus stop which would take him away from the mountains, the farms, and from those who had taken him under their wing.
    “Go with God, Samuel,” Miss Hope had said, her eyes brimming with tears but a smile on her lips. “And write often.”
    “I will. Goodbye.”
    With one final strum of the strings, Samuel rose, settle his instrument on his back and returned to the path where he picked up his bag and set for once again.
 

Have you had an exciting day this week?
 Did you do any writing?
What do you think happened to Samuel?

Friday, November 5, 2021

Whomsoever

 Good morning dear readers,

Life is super busy these days. Somehow mixing camp and working on the house and other things equals crazy. Ready for a quick rundown? 

Last Friday: Finishers came to do the last coat of mud. My dad and I spend the afternoon and half the morning painting trim and doors. (And I hurt my back doing so because the saw-horses were a little too low.) I babysat my youngest niece (17 months) in the evening while the others watched my oldest niece play volleyball.

Saturday: We were ready for the guys to come do texturing at 8. They said they'd come at 9. They came at 10. I was also babysitting my youngest niece and nephew. 

Sunday: I taught in Children's Church, had a fellowship meal after church. Relaxed in the afternoon. Back hurting.

Monday: Wanted to paint but my back was in no shape. Tried to catch up on other things. Finally got to write 564 words!

Tuesday: Worked as an election judge all day.

Wednesday: Painted primer all day.

Thursday: Painted paint! Got one room, closet and the hall done. Went to my oldest niece's volleyball tournament in the evening. I didn't stay until the end. (I watched the first game she played and knew her team was heading to the championship, but that game didn't end up starting until 10:30 PM.)

Today: Finish the paining, install light covers, take up paper off floor, other things.

Our weather has been cold this week and some cloudy days. But it's supposed to warm back up into the 60s and 70s, so it will be nice to air out the house.

I hope you enjoy this short story. 

 

Whomsoever

 

    Mrs. Lane sat on the shady back porch her open Bible in her lap. But she wasn’t reading. Her eyes had stopped on the word “Whomsoever” and her mind had slipped back to a long time ago. Way back when her daughters were young.

*


    The sky looked like a watercolor painting. Blues, purples, pinks, and clouds of blended orange, yellow and pink. Along the horizon the colors had blended into a rosy red as the sun sank below the edge of the land. A moon, looking almost out of place sat in the middle of the sky and a flock of birds, only black silhouettes against the colorful sky, flew below it.
    “Amelie!” Mrs. Lane called.
    The little girl jumped from the swing and ran to the house. “What, Mama?”
    “Supper is almost ready. Will you go find your sister?”
    “May I have a drink first?”
    “Of course.” Mrs. Lane returned to the stove and her singing while her youngest daughter got a drink. “Whosoever will may come.”
    “Mama, what does whomsoever mean in the song?”
    “You mean whosoever?”
    Not sure what the difference was, Amalie nodded.
    “It means everyone. Anyone who wants to may come.”
    Her thirst quenched and thrilled by her mother’s words, Amelie dashed across the field and over the hill. She knew where her sister was playing. Any time she could, twelve-year-old Annalissa disappeared to the Caster’s home.
    The Casters were poor and shy. Mrs. Caster was sickly, Mr. Caster was out of work, and there were a dozen hungry children to keep fed and clothed. Annalissa enjoyed playing with the children, cuddling the baby, and helping out however she could.
    “Annalissa!” Amelie called, running down the hill. “Annalissa!”
    Annalissa appeared around the side of the barn holding the hand of a small dirty child. “Amelie, is something wrong?”
    Panting for breath, Amelie shook her head. “No, but Mama is inviting anyone who wants to for supper! She said whomsoever and said it means anyone can come!”
    “Are you sure?” Annalissa stared at her little sister.
    “I asked her what it mean and that’s what she said. The Casters can come for supper!”
    “But . . . but Mama doesn’t know I play with them, does she?”
    “I don’t know, but she said whomsoever and she had a big pot of soup on, so she must be expecting more than just us and Papa! Won’t that be just lovely?”
    Annalissa nodded. “Nobody’s very clean.”
    “That’s okay. She didn’t say anyone who was clean, but whomsoever will. They will won’t they?”
    “I’m sure they will. I don’t think Mr. or Mrs. Caster can come though. But I’ll get the rest. You run home and tell Mama I’m bringing them.”
    “All right!” Whirling, Amelie raced back home. “Mama! Mama, she’s bringin’ ‘em!”
    Mrs. Lane hurried out to the stoop. “Bringing who? Amelie what are you talking about?”
    “The whomsoever, Mama! The ones you were singing about. Annalissa is bringing them. It’s all the Caster children. They would like a good meal, and you didn’t say anyone who was clean. But they can wash their hands. Oh, Mama, won’t this be just the most splendid time? Is Papa home? Have you told him about whomsoever?”
    Feeling rather numb, Mrs. Lane could only shake her head and watch her daughter dance inside to repeat the story of the whomsoever to her father. “I guess I do have enough soup. I just won’t can any of it,” Mrs. Lane remarked to the darkening sky. “I never thought one word in a hymn would bring an entire houseful of young ones to dinner.”

*


    Mrs. Lane smiled. “I didn’t know at the time that I was feeding a future son-in-law, or that he would become a minister. Annalissa makes a lovely minister’s wife. And Amelie, well, she is still finding those ‘whomsoevers’ wherever she goes.”
 

Was your week busy?
Would you like the "whomsoever" to show up at your house?
How's the weather at your house?

Friday, October 29, 2021

A Kitten

 Hello, Favorite Friday Fiction Fans,

Today is rainy and cold and windy. We've had rain Wednesday, Thursday, and during the nights. I'm ready for some sunshine but it sounds like it's supposed to be cloudy today even if it doesn't rain much. 

It's been a bit of a tough week. The guys who came to do the finishing of the Sheetrock on Saturday told us they'd come back on Wednesday to do the next coat. Then they said they'd try to come back sooner. Nope. We had to wait until Wednesday. I spent the day painting trim. Then they guys told us they'd come back Friday (today) to do the next coat. It is so hard not to get frustrated at them for not doing things the next day and getting this done sooner. We were hoping to start moving back in the beginning of November. That ain't happening. The guys still have to come today, and then come back another time (don't know when) to do the texturing. Then I have to paint primer on all the walls and ceilings. Then the regular paint. Next we have to lay the floor, then we have to put up trim. And a friend of ours is supposed to come help us get the trim up, but I don't know if we'll have to wait for his schedule or if he'll be able to just come when we're ready. Oh, and I'm working as an election judge on Tuesday, so even if the house was ready to paint then I couldn't do it. And the Sheetrock dust and the smell of the mud has been giving us headaches. I am overly ready for the house to be done! ๐Ÿ™‚

But it hasn't all been hard. Writing camp has started and it's been fun to chat with girls there. I'm not sure if I'll get much writing done this camp since I can't seem to get the words to come out with all the mess of the house. But hopefully I can get something written.

Oh, guess what else happened? A new collection of stories including an abridged version of one of mine just got published. You can read about it HERE. And today's story has the same characters as are in my story.

Yes, I know it's short, but I have other things I need to do. Besides, my creativity seems to be stuck behind unfinished walls, painting, flooring, trim and doors. ๐Ÿ˜œ

 

A Kitten

    “Is he a boy or a girl?” asked the little girl, crouching down to look at the little kitten.
    It was a sunny summer morning and Jolie and Elliana had followed their big brother Stephen to the barn where he had found a kitten.
    “I don’t know,” Stephen replied, leaning against the side of the barn with an amused expression on his face.
    “Well,” Elliana said, “we’ll just have to think of a name that could be for a boy or a girl.” She tugged on her light brown braid.
    Jolie, still crouched down in the grass, tipped her head to one side. “She’s kind of white, but not like snow because she had gray ears.” She giggled. “Look, he had gray around his mouth like he got into mischief! And his paws are even sort of gray.”
    “We could call her mischief,” Elliana suggested. “But she except for her dirty face and paws she doesn’t look like she would get into mischief, does she, Stephen?”
    At that precise moment, the kitchen sat up and its ears twitched. Then lifted a paw and batted at a grasshopper.
    Jolie burst into giggles again. “Oh, Ellie, I think he will get into mischief if he’s chasing grasshoppers. Let’s call him Mischief.” She looked up at her big brother. “Don’t you think that is a good name, Stephen?”
    With a grin, Stephen nodded as the kitten trying to catch a butterfly, fell into a shallow mud puddle. “Indubitably the perfect name.”
    As the kitten, looking much astonished at where it had landed, the two girls burst into laughter.
    “Mischief,” Elliana called, “don’t you know you aren’t a fish?”
    Sitting in the grass, Jolie and Elliana coaxed the kitten to them and with the help of Stephen’s handkerchief, helped the sunshine dry the little kitten off.
    “Do you think Mama will let us keep him, Stephen?” Jolie asked anxiously.
    “We promise not to bring her inside,” Elliana said.
    Before he answered, Stephen looked toward the house. “You can ask her yourself, for here she comes.”

How was your week?
Do you think you'll read the new collection?
Do you like kittens?

Friday, October 22, 2021

Through an Author's Eyes - Part 9

 Good morning readers,

It's chilly this morning. in the low 40s and I have a cozy shirt on. I'm always ready to get out my warm, cozy clothes when fall comes, but by the time spring arrives I'm ready for short sleeves. We haven't had any frosts yet and nothing 40ยบ or colder to kill the chiggers.

Guess what? The Sheetrock has been hung! Two guys came Tuesday around 3 and got almost all of it done in 3 1/2 hours. Then one guy came back Wednesday afternoon and finished it up in about an hour and a half. It's so different having the Sheetrock up. We have Sheetrock where we've never had it before. And boy do those rooms echo! The finishers are coming tomorrow at 8 AM to start the taping and mudding. Then it will have to dry, then they'll have to come back and sand it. Then they'll have to texture it, let it dry and come back and sand again. After that I get to paint! Then it's floor, trim, and moving back in! Of course I have no idea how long all of this will take. Praying not too long. I'm ready for a normal house again. :)

No writing this week and only some reading. I've been working on Camp stuff. Registration is open in case you hadn't heard. It's going to be a full month of camp this time, and I'm really hoping I can get some good writing in.

I didn't think about looking to see what other stories I could share, so you'll have to have the next part of this one.

 

 Through an Author's Eyes
Part 9

    “Suites me,” Annette laughed. “I could use another cousin or two. Dad only has one married sibling and he only has two kids, so I’m kind of short in the cousin department.”
    Talking and laughing, the three girls saddled their horses and mounted up. Annette for the first time since arriving, was wearing her aunt’s cowboy hat instead of a helmet. “Levi must think I know enough not to fall off now,” she had laughed to Savanna when Levi had told her to wear his mom’s hat.
    “More like he doesn’t want you to get too much sun. It can get really sunny out on the ranch and a helmet doesn’t offer much shade.”

    The ride was long and pleasant. Annette enjoyed every minute of it. Lunch was eaten in the shade of several large trees near an ice cold stream. “This is what I’ve always dreamed of doing,” she sighed, leaning back on her elbows and gazing up into the shading branches of the trees.
    “You’re probably going to be stiff and sore tomorrow,” Savanna warned. “You haven’t ridden this much before.”
    “I don’t care,” Annette sighed. “I’m just going to enjoy every single minute of this experience. Including that snake over there.” And she pointed to a sunny rock near the water’s edge.
    After a quick look, Bethany relaxed. “It’s not poisonous, so we don’t have to worry about it.”

    It was late afternoon when they returned to the barn. The boys had already returned from wherever they had gone and offered to help unsaddle and brush the horses down. As Annette swung down from the saddle, she felt her muscles protest. “Savanna’s right,” she thought, trying to ignore the stiffness in her legs. “I’m going to find walking normal almost impossible tomorrow. And it’s Sunday too. Oh, well.” She gave a sigh.
    “Something wrong?” Vic asked, lifting her saddle off Mouse and pausing to look at her.
    “Nope. I was just thinking of what to add to my story later.”
    “About being stiff and sore from a long ride when you aren’t used to it yet?” Annette was always astonished at Victor’s insight. He didn’t speak much but he saw and noticed all sorts of things.
    “Yeah,” she admitted. “I have a feeling I’m not going to be moving too well tomorrow.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. It’s the price I pay for riding a horse. Thanks for helping me, Vic. I’m still rather green about taking care of a horse.”
    “You’ll get the hang of it.” He picked up a brush and handed it to her. “Start brushing her and I’ll finish untacking her.”

    Bethany stayed for supper and then drove home in her car. After helping with the dishes, Annette said good night and headed up to her room. She had a story to write. Besides, she hoped to catch her parents on line and chat for a few minutes with them.

    When she climbed out of bed in the morning every muscle in her body seemed to scream at her. Limping her way to the bathroom with a moan at each step, she wondered if a hot shower would help or only make her more stiff later. A look at the clock decided the matter for her. She had time for a quick shower.
    An hour later she silently groaned her way down to the kitchen and eased herself into a chair at the table.
    “Feeling the affects of the ride yesterday?” Aunt Yvonne asked.
    “Uh huh.”
    “You’ll have to take a walk later to help loosen things up. And I imagine Levi will tell you get on a horse again tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow?” Annette groaned, this time aloud. “I don’t know if I’ll even be able to move tomorrow let alone get on a horse.”
    Savanna turned from the stove where she had been flipping pancakes and, carrying a large plate of them to the table said, “If you don’t get on a horse tomorrow you won’t get used to riding.”
    The back door opened and Levi, Vic, Devon and Uncle Cleveland came in.
    “What’s this about not getting used to riding?” Uncle Cleveland asked, hanging up his hat.
    “Annette said she doesn't think she’ll be able to get on a horse tomorrow. The ride we took yesterday left her really sore.”
    “She’ll ride tomorrow.” Levi, having hung up his hat, turned from washing his hands. “I can’t make her into a cowgirl unless she does.”
    Annette glared at him. “I’ll bet none of you remember what it feels like to be as sore and stiff as I am! Why I can hardly move!”
    Going to the doorway, Aunt Yvonne called, “Ava! Breakfast!”
    No one replied to Annette and after everyone had gathered and seated themselves at the table, Uncle Cleveland gave thanks.
    If Annette couldn’t move very well, there was nothing wrong with her appetite. If anything she was hungrier than she had ever remembered being, and ate four pancakes, a pile of scrambled eggs and several pieces of bacon.
    “All right guys,” Uncle Cleveland said, glancing up at the clock. “We leave for church in twenty minutes. Anyone out the door after that has to take the truck.”
    There was a scramble of legs, the scraping of chairs and the clatter of dishes. Before Annette could carry her dirty dishes to the sink, the were snatched from her hands and Savanna said, “Go get ready. It’ll take you longer.”
    “But what about the dishes?”
    “We rinse them off and stick them in the dish washer. When we get home we add the lunch dishes and turn it on. It’s about the only time we use the dishwasher. Now go get ready!”
    Staggering from the kitchen, Annette cringed at the thought of climbing the stairs to brush her teeth and get her Bible and purse, but holding back her moans and groans, she gripped the railing and hauled herself up the stairs. “Why did I ever want to go on a trail ride yesterday?” she muttered as she squeezed toothpaste onto her tooth brush. “It was a crazy idea. I thought I was sore before when I had only ridden a little bit–” A glance at the red lights of her alarm clock made her hurry.

Have you ever ridden a horse before?
Do you like to paint?
What do you usually eat for breakfast on Sunday?