the exciting life of an author

I've been writing up a storm on the third and final book in my Sisters of Bethlehem Springs series. The book got a new title about a week ago: A Matter of Character. It's such a perfect title for this story about a female dime novelist who writes under a male pseudonym.

I left the house exactly twice between church a week ago and church yesterday. Once to go to the doctor's. Once to do some "can't wait" shopping. I got in a bit of exercising (not enough), ate moderately healthy food (chocolates a vegetable, right?), and did manage to shower semi-regularly. But mostly I was glued to my MacBook, typing, typing, typing. I still have more words to go than I have days to write them in. Thus, it's kind of hard to come up with anything inspiring or funny or profound to share with my blog readers.

Since I must assume our blog readers enjoy historical tidbits, how about if I toss out some facts about 1918, the setting for A Matter of Character. Here's a bit of information taken from American Standards of Living (1918-1988) by Clair Brown:

The economic lot of working-class families had improved considerably as a result of the high demand generated by World War I, but monotony and drudgery still characterized everyday life. The urban working-class family tended to live in cramped, dark apartments; ate large amounts of bread with little jam or butter; wore remade and mended clothing; stayed mostly within walking distance of home except perhaps for going to work; attended church or temple as their main social activity; and had little money to spend on treats or gifts. Severe economizing was required to attain even this austere life-style. Any economic mistakes, such as buying uncomfortable shoes or a cut of spoiled meat, meant temporary deprivation for the family since their budgets could not accommodate the replacement of these items. The bleakness of everyday material life provided little relief from the difficult physical labor of husbands and the exhausting housework of wives.

Wow! Makes one stop and think, doesn't it?

Like most Americans, I have machines to wash and dry my clothes, towels, and bedding. I have a stove and a microwave to cook my food. I have a refrigerator and a freezer that make it easy to keep food fresh. I have a vacuum that cleans up my messes. I have a spacious home with electric lights throughout. I have an air conditioner to keep me cool in summer and a gas furnace to keep me warm in winter. Although I still have my own kind of stress and I have to stick to a budget like anyone else, I have to admit that I'm very grateful that I live with the conveniences — not to mention the medical advancements — of 2009.

Nonetheless, thankful though I am to live in the present (and because I believe that God put me on the earth when He did for such a time as this), A Matter of Character demands that I return to 1918 and see what sort of new mischief I can dream up to drop my characters into. See you next week.

~robin

New Alaska Series

My new Alaska series has debuted with book #1 DAWN'S PRELUDE. Over the next few blogs, I hope to share with you some of the inspiration for this series set in Sitka, Alaska.

There will be three books total in the series, and it will be what I call a generational series. Book 1 is set in 1870, book 2 in 1889, and book 3 in 1906. Sitka is a fascinating location, and I hope you'll come to enjoy it as much as we have.

First, understanding where Sitka is located is of the utmost importance. Located on the Baranoff Island in the Inside Passage of Southeast Alaska,
Sitka has been settled for hundreds of years. The Tlingit people were there first. Their culture has definitely left it's impression on the island. Even now you can view the totems they carved, and watch the native dances. The people there are friendly and very informative.

Dawn's Prelude will deal in part with the questions that revolve around missions work in foreign lands. As we often see in history there were two major trains of thought. One was to go in and strip the people of their culture and westernize them. Often this entailed forcing them to give up their native language, their manner of dress, their rituals and their lifestyles. In the situation in Sitka this was evident in the school created by Sheldon Jackson. Jackson was an incredible man who had a heart for God, and for educating native children. His school in Sitka originally took children from their homes to live at the school where they could be completely immersed in western culture and education. The thought behind this was that in the future they would need to be able to blend in with white society, and could not do this if they were practicing their Tlingit culture. I believe their heart was in the right place, but I don't think the manner in doing this was necessarily right or best.

On the other hand, there were Russian missionaries who felt that incorporating the natives in their everyday living with the new religious beliefs was the best way to minister. Often this meant allowing all beliefs to merge and interact. This too caused problems.

So what was the right answer? What is the right answer for missionaries today? Difficult to say. I go to the Bible for examples of Jesus, however. He was never pushy or imposing with His ministry. He shared the truth and lived it in front of the masses. And because of this, hearts were changed. Lifestyles changed of their own accord and traditions and cultures were greatly effected.

I think we have to look to Jesus for our example of right living. Sometimes in our human enthusiasm we tend to try our own methods instead of His. My prayer is that we will reflect Jesus.

Next week - more about Sitka.
Tracie

Mrs. Structure

In my former life, when I taught fifth grade, the kids abbreviated Mrs. Sawyer (which half of them mispronounced as "Mrs. Soyer" anyway) to Mrs. S. My principal teasingly commented, "I know why they call you Mrs. S--it's short for 'Mrs. Structure.'" Yes, I confess, I'm a structure gal. My brain just functions better with a little bit of order.

So you can imagine how discombobulating I found this room in our new house...

Yes, folks, this was my office... The desk was there, all set up and ready for me to sit and work, but the clutter around it completely destroyed any semblance of focus I could hope to possess. And it was more than just clutter creating a problem. I need solitude. Seclusion. And with my office space being open to the recreation area of the basement, even if I put everything neatly away, I would still have neither.

So...enter Daddy. Now, my dad was an educator for almost 50 years, but he was also a house fixer-upper. Whatever needed done, he could do. So I said, "Do it." And he did. He put up framing, then hung sheetrock. Bless his heart, he even insulated the walls to block sound (such an important thing for solitude). When the walls were in place, he painted them and then put doorframes and baseboards in place. It's much easier to write about it than to do it, but he finished my office in one week. And guess what? I now have my secluded sanctuary where everything is organized and I can focus to my heart's content.

Now, just to verify how important it is for me to have an organized, all-to-myself space to write, the very first official day in my new office I revamped ten chapters and added 5,494 new words to my manuscript. I call that a good writing day.

See, the thing is, Psalm 139 tells me I am "wonderfully and fearfully made." When I was being formed in my mother's womb, my "bents" were already in place. God instilled in me a need for structure--it's just who I am. And when I bow to that bent...to the way I was created...then I am productive. For Him. So if being structured doesn't work for you, that's okay. Be the person He designed you to be. He's got great plans for all of us--I think there's a verse about that in Jeremiah...but I'll save that for another day. :o)

May God bless you muchly as you journey with Him! ~Kim

Meet Zoey

I’d like to introduce you to Zoey. I said I’d never again own a puppy. Enter Zoey. She is nine weeks worth of white fluff and puppy love. She’s a Maltese and I’m told she won’t shed. Time will tell. Time will also tell if we’ll get her to stop nipping my toes, chewing the rug fringe, and whining when she can’t find us. She doesn’t yet have her “bark,” so the whining is relatively quiet and, as Martha Stewart would say—that’s a good thing. She has worked herself into our hearts and into our home. During the past four days she has managed to turn our lives upside down with her puppy antics—some of them funny, some of them not so funny. She hasn’t kept us up at night, and for that I am most grateful.

She is my husband’s new best buddy. They go to coffee each morning and Zoey has become his magnate for attracting new friends. We’ve lived in our current home for close to fifteen years. Never before have cars stopped when passing by our house. Never before have neighbors flocked to our front yard. I’ve learned that it simply takes a ball of white fluff bouncing on the end of a pink leash to attract visitors. She’s friendly with all of them—willing to chew on their shoestrings or fingers—whichever she can grab.

In the movie Marley & Me, John Grogan says: “A dog has no use for fancy cars, big homes, or designer clothes. A dog doesn't care if you’re rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give him your heart and he'll give you his. How many people can you say that about? How many people can make you feel rare and pure and special? How many people can make you feel extraordinary?”

There aren’t many people that make us feel extraordinary or love us unconditionally, but those who have accepted Jesus are guaranteed the Lord’s unconditional love. What a marvelous gift He has given!

May you find joy in knowing you are His. ~Judy

Mom has the last laugh

We found Mom's camera a day or two after she passed away, as we were putting final touches on a slide show that we played at her funeral. And lo and behold...can you imagine our smiles when we found this picture as the last one that was taken with her camera?

This is "so" June, my mom.

We were in the Orlando airport terminal, waiting to board our flights on May 31st after we returned from the family cruise, and (unbeknownst to us) Dad snapped a picture of Mom straddling this huge bike. Her with her shoes and jackets that always matched. Oh gracious...she's so precious to me.

I posted some pictures on my personal blog yesterday and shared about driving back to Nashville on Saturday. A hard trip, for sure, but made easier by the stopping that Kelsey and I did along the way. We stopped at an antique store, Traditions, (that Mom would have loved!) and I bought a sign that reminded me of her...

It says, "Life is not measured by how many breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away."

Not 'heavy theology' by any means, but I chose it because Mom was (and still is) the source of so many "moments that take my breath away." God is the ultimate author of those moments and He weaves them together so perfectly. Both the happy ones that steal our breath away for laughing so hard, and also the ones of deep grief. Blessing and pain are inseparable in this life. They go hand in hand.

But not so in the next...

Here are some favorite glimpses of Mom with our kids that we shared with everyone last Thursday. They define how I remember her. (We loved playing Taboo, but Mom, bless her heart, kept saying all the "taboo" words. We always got so tickled.)

One last note...

Thanks to Mary, the sweet lady behind me in line at Traditions, the antique store where Kelsey and I stopped on the way back home on Saturday. You held Jack for me, Mary, as I paid for my purchases. I appreciate our conversation and you preventing Jack from terrorizing the store. Please know that I'm continuing to pray for you as you grieve the passing of your sweet puppy only two months ago, and thanks for "lovin' up" on Jack.

Continued blessings,

Tammy

Doing the work

Authors try lots of different ways to stay in touch with their readers. In the "old days," it was through postcards and printed newsletters. In recent years, it's been blogs and social networking sites (Facebook, Twitter, Shelfari, ShoutLife, MySpace, etc.) and e-newsletters. But one thing I've learned over the 25+ years I've been a published novelist is that the absolute most important thing an author can do is to write her books.

I can't speak for others, but one thing I don't seem to have enough of is time. Always more to do than time (or maybe it's energy ... or both) to do it in. I'm particularly feeling the squeeze right now as I try to finish my next book.

Last week, after several days in a row of getting spammed by "porno girls" on Twitter (all of whom I blocked immediately, but taking the time to block each one steals valuable time away from what I want or need to do), I'd had enough. I removed my Twitter account. Then, feeling slightly euphoric in my newfound freedom, I also closed my accounts on Shelfari and ShoutLife. I think I felt 10% lighter.

Many years ago, God spoke to me through a verse in the Bible when I was feeling overwhelmed by life and by deadlines:

"Be strong and courageous, and do the work. Don’t be afraid or discouraged by the size of the task, for the LORD God, my God, is with you. He will not fail you or forsake you. He will see to it that all the work ... is finished correctly."
1st Chronicles 28:20 [The portion that is represented by the ellipsis says "related to the Temple of the LORD".]

I look at this verse often. It's taped to my computer display. God called me to write fiction for Him, but I'm the one who has to "do the work."

And that's true of all of us who belong to Christ, whatever God has called us to do (writing, parenting, earning a living with our hands, etc.). We don't need to be afraid or discouraged. We can be strong and courageous. We just need to do the work. He won't fail us or forsake us. And as we work, as we are about His business, he'll see that the work finished correctly.

Isn't that a wonderful promise?

~robin

PS I didn't abandon the Internet completely. I'm still on Facebook and I'll still be blogging here and on Write Thinking. And if you would like to get my occasional e-newsletter, be sure to sign up here (and follow the directions; it's a double opt-in subscription).

Clueless in Belgrade

Okay, this has been an interesting week for all of us. There's been sorrows and joys, and to this I add confusion.

Some wonderful folks are putting together a new website for me, and in turn those wonderful folks are asking me what I want. The trouble is - I DON'T KNOW. I probably wouldn't even have a website if my kids hadn't told me I needed one. I haven't joined facebook yet - it's my own private protest, but I know I have to update the website. I just don't know what I want on it.

I know my favorite color is red.
I know I love the mountains.
I love chocolate, kittens and bunnies.
I love writing.
I love my family.
I especially love God.
Can you make a website out of that?

I told the people - frankly I feel like you're asking me what I want for Christmas and I'm telling you I want a pony.

But then you want to know what kind of pony? What size of pony? What color pony? What accessories do you want with the pony? Do you want a real pony or a plastic pony or a cloth pony?


Do you want a pony that talks? Should the pony dance?


Sigh. I just want a pony.



I'm glad I'm a writer and not a web designer. I think we each have our gifts and talents, and web designing is definitely not one of mine. Pray for me.

Tracie

Madam, Your Slip is Showing

Last week I opened my front door and found a stack of boxes waiting neatly on the porch. I let out a little squeal of delight because I knew it could only be one thing: my newest book had arrived!

There's something infinitely satisfying about holding a novel for the first time. After months of writing, then agonizing through the editing process, and viewing mock-ups of the cover and trying to choose the perfect title to represent something unique about the story...here it is. The finished product. If you'll pardon the comparison, it's rather like giving birth. All the prep--all the anticipation--and then...holding that little bundle of perfection that exceeds all of the expectation. I always tear up when I look at a newborn, and I do the same thing when I hold one of my books for the first time.

Fields of Grace is definitely a "newborn," but I'm already hearing from readers. I got a very sweet email from a woman who enjoyed the story and said many complimentary things. Then at the end of her message, she said, "But..." Kindly, respectfully, even apologetically, she pointed out an error. An error I can't believe I missed, but I did. She hoped she wouldn't offend me by letting me know, yet she thought perhaps it could be corrected in subsequent printings.

For the record, I wasn't offended. When someone approaches you with such tact and kindness, how can you be offended? I was glad to know, and thankfully the error can and will be corrected in subsequent printings. As embarrassing as booboos can be, it's very, very difficult to put out a completely-without-errors book. Because books are being written, edited, and printed by humans. And...well...let's face it--humans aren't perfect. We can do our best, but we'll never be perfect.

Several years ago, someone told me that Amish quilters deliberately leave an error in their quilts as a sign that only God is a perfect Creator. I don't know if it's true, but I liked the idea so much I adopted it. When I made quilts, I would attach a little Kim-made poem:

You'll find an error in this quilt--
An error left to say
"Perfection can't be reached by man.
We must look heaven's way."
So when you find that mismatched piece,
Let it serve to show
There's just one perfect Creator,
And that's the God we know. ©

Unlike my quilts, in which I deliberately left an error, I try to make sure my books are without blemish. I want to give my very best to my publisher, to my readers, and mostly to God. But sometimes, no matter how carefully we choose our outfit and how many times we check the mirror, we're still going to show up in public with our slip showing. It's that perfection thing...a little out of reach. And rightfully so! If we were perfect, we wouldn't need to lean on God, now would we? Wow, that's a scary thought. I don't want to imagine this life without Him.

Deuteronomy 32:4 says, "He is the Rock, his works are perfect, and all his ways are just. A faithful God who does no wrong, upright and just is he." I'm so glad that when God looks at the works of my hand, He sees the sincere effort, the desire to please Him. I believe I please Him even in my failings when I've honestly given Him my best.

Maybe when we find an error in a book, we can let it serve as a reminder that while the created is not perfect, the Creator most definitely is. Anything that points our attention to Him has got to be a good thing, right? :o)

May God bless you muchly as you journey with Him! ~Kim

Giddy-Up

I hope you’ll stick with me on this carousel theme for a while longer. In addition to falling in love with carousels all over again, I learned so much while researching for The Carousel Painter that I want to share—whether you want me to or not! How’s that for being pushy? When I was beginning my research, I went to Leavenworth, Kansas—no, not to see the penitentiary—but because it’s the home of the C. W. Parker Carousel Museum. While there, I met with some one of the directors and he provided me with some helpful information, and I also had the opportunity to view some of the primitive carousel horses that had been used long ago. Note the size and thinness of these primitives. Yikes! The transformation of carousel animals is remarkable, and each carver or company had their own specific qualities for which they were known.

I didn’t have a vast knowledge of how carousel animals were created when I began my research. For some reason, I didn’t think about the fact that they were made in pieces and glued together. That’s me, tripping through life thinking there are trees big enough to carve a carousel animal in one piece. And there may be a few trees that large, but not from the specific wood used to create carousel animals.

Those gorgeous animals begin their journey as a custom-constructed, hollow wooden box of basswood or poplar. There are legmen (not the kind of men who like women’s legs), but carvers who carve nothing but legs. All carvers wanted to achieve the status of master carver. They are the most experienced, and the master carver always carved the heads.

Today there are still a few wooden carousels constructed each year and those are carved with mallets and chisels, much like they were years ago. Of course, they use power saws for some of the basic woodcutting, but when it comes to carving—the old ways are still the best. Glue made from animal hide was used to fasten pieces together, but they’ve done away with that stinky process for more modern techniques. Before a carousel was shipped, it was put together in its entirety in the roundhouse, the animals were weighed down with sandbags to represent the rider’s weight, and the carousel would have to pass its test runs. Then it would be deconstructed and shipped. Sometimes an employee of the factory would travel with the shipment to help construct at the delivery destination. Marvelous customer service. The picture to the left is the roundhouse in N. Tonawanda, New York.

The painting process was every bit as interesting (or boring, depending on your point of view), but I better save that for another day. I’m going to attend the National Carousel Convention in Philadelphia at the end of September, so hang onto the brass ring. I’m not done talking about carousels just yet.

Thanks to everyone who signed-on for the drawing.
The winners are:
Connie Sue - The Carousel Painter
EJ-A Surrendered Heart
Please send your full names and mailing addresses to: jamauthor@gmail.com

Mom's safely home

My sweet mom, June, went home yesterday morning and is now in the presence of Christ, whole and free of cancer and delighting in His perfect love. We look forward to joining her one day soon.

I appreciate your loving prayers and support during her illness and in the past few days of her being at home in "her sunroom." My dad, older brother, and I were by her bedside yesterday morning when she breathed her last, and we know with certainty that she's now basking in the Light of Life.

More later, but for now...grace and peace. And my thanks.

Technology: Love it! Hate it!

Among my wide network of writing and non-writing friends, I am usually considered somewhat of a techie. I keep my computer programs updated and am not afraid to try out new hardware and software, ever looking for the items that will make my life easier. I LOVE my Mac computers and I LOVE my iPhone (see how happy I am in the photo at right with my oh-so-wonderful iPhone). My external hard drive and Mozy subscription (off site backup) give me peace of mine should, God forbid, disaster strike. And how could I get by without my wireless network in my home that allows me to write/work wherever I feel like it? Office √ Living room √ Patio √

Yep, I love modern technology. When I saw the movie Cast Away and poor Tom Hanks is washed ashore without food or shelter, what were my first thoughts? "No computer! No email! No cell phone!" I thought I would die right there in the theater from the sheer idea of it.

Go ahead. You can laugh at me. I probably need to get right into a 12 step group to help me overcome my addictions.

But I'm not so far gone that I can't admit that I love modern technology until something goes awry. Then I'm not so fond of it. I had one heck of a weekend with tech problems (the majority user induced). I have been on the phone with the wonderful guys at Apple Care for hours. I have spent a not so inconsiderable sum of money in the past three days buying some replacement equipment which, as it turns out, may not have been necessary (even though I will love them too). Still, the hours and hours and hours I have spent resolving the issues are what hurts the most.

I'M ON DEADLINE. I DON'T NEED THIS!!!

Please pray for me. This book is due way too soon.

~robin

When I Look In His Face

This week has been a doozy, although looking at some of the problems others have faced, my trials don't seem nearly so hard. Although I was reminded of something my daughter once said. "Mom, the worst thing you have to go through is still the worst thing for you. Doesn't really matter if it's someone else's "worst".

She's right. So my pain and sorrows are equally painful, but through it all, I know that I need to keep taking it back to my Saviour. That's when I was reminded of yet another old hymn. I figure I'm on my "Old Hymn" kick. So I thought I'd share this one by Lizzie DeArmond.

WHEN I LOOK IN HIS FACE

Tho’ the road may be rough where He leads me,
Still His footprints I plainly can trace,
And the trials I meet with seem nothing,
When I look in my dear Savior’s face.

Refrain

When I look in His face, His wonderful face,
In Heaven, that beautiful place!
All the hardships of earth will seem nothing,
When I look in my dear Savior’s face.

So I keep my eyes fixed upon Jesus,
While I’m running life’s wearisome race;
I’ll forget the hard pathway I traveled,
When I look in my dear Savior’s face.


Refrain

Tho’ the shadows around me may gather,
Safe I rest in my Lord’s “secret place.”
For I know there’ll be glorious sunshine,
When I look in my dear Savior’s face.

* * * * * *
Lizzie DeArmond was Born: Ju?ly 23, 1847, Phil?a?del?phia, Penn?syl?van?ia and Died: Oc?to?ber 26, 1936, at her home in Swarth?more, Penn?syl?van?ia. She is very famous for writing a lot of Sunday School children's songs. I think one of the things that blessed me most about her was the following quote from her diary.

Un?der date of Jan?u?ary 1st, 1915, she writes, “Now in the light of the glad New Year, 1915, if an?y?thing I have writ?ten has helped to lift one soul above the cares and wor?ries of ever?y?day life, and brought it near?er to the great lov?ing heart of Je?sus, the joy is mine, but the glo?ry be?longs to God.”

Ah, Lizzie - that's is my heart as well.
Tracie

Grow Old With Me...

This week included a special day: my 25th wedding anniversary. Yep, on August 11, 1984, I walked down the aisle and pledged myself to Don Sawyer. I had no idea that, only two months later, he would answer the tug of military service and the majority of our anniversaries would be spent miles apart. Including this last one. I'd like to say that, over the years, I got accustomed to celebrating alone. But that wouldn't be quite truthful. I'm proud of him for serving his country, but on special days, like our 25th anniversary, it would be nice to have him at home.

Don and I didn't enter marriage lightly. We'd each come from a failed marriage. Not at all proud of that. And when he asked me to marry him, I only put one stipulation on saying yes: We had to agree to NEVER let the "d" word be spoken aloud. Once it's said, it's too easy to let it become reality. I did not want a second failure.

Now, that doesn't mean there haven't been times over the years that the word hasn't crossed his mind or my mind. Being married is never without conflict, and we've had some doozies to overcome. But the fact is, we overcame. It's a daily commitment to choose to love instead of cave. Easy? Absolutely not. Rewarding? Yes...

So much has happened in the past 25 years... We've lived in three different cities; watched our girls grow up, marry, and become mothers; buried grandparents and other loved ones; faced sicknesses and weather calamities; worried about jobs and school and whether the car would make it through one more year... And somehow, with God's help, we've managed to land on our feet. I believe that's because we made a commitment, before God, to stay together 'til death parted us. I have no idea what's waiting around the bend, but I have to trust that the God who has gotten us this far will be there for the remaining years, as well.

I think of it like being super-glued together. Have you ever accidentally super-glued your finger to something? Doesn't feel too great to have that something pulled loose, does it? As painful as it has sometimes been to stick together, I believe it would be far more painful to pull apart. At our wedding on August 11, 1984, the minister read these words from Matthew 19:

"Haven't you read," he replied, "that at the beginning the Creator 'made them male and female,' and said, 'For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh'? So they are no longer two, but one. Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate."

Don sent me a card from Texas, where he is attending training, and he added the inscription, "25 down, a lifetime to go." I have one waiting to give him when he returns. It reads very simply, "Grow old with me; the best is yet to be."

Happy 25th anniversary, Don. I love you!

God bless you muchly as you journey with Him! ~Kim

Another Early Arrival

Seems impossible, but I had another early arrival sitting on my doorstep, and the delivery wasn’t made by the stork. Instead, it came from the friendly, brown UPS truck. The Carousel Painter has released to some stores, although I find some others haven’t seen hide nor hair of it. But just between you and me, I have my copies. So comment on this blog between now and next Wednesday and I’ll draw a name to receive a copy. And, since I forgot to offer when I made my last announcement, I’ll draw another name to receive a copy of A Surrendered Heart. Now how’s that for a twofer?

I’m always amazed how God is in the little things in our lives as well as the big ones, and I’m particularly thankful when He leaves me slack-jawed over something He does for me. That happened while I was researching The Carousel Painter. I was preparing to go on book tour with several other writers and was a bit disappointed that a visit to a carousel museum in Connecticut couldn’t be fit into our schedule. Then there was a mix-up over when we were supposed to fly into Buffalo, New York. The mix-up resulted in me making plane reservations to fly in a day early. I was a little distraught over the whole thing, but Tracie decided she’d just fly in a day early, too. As I continued to research the area, I discovered the Hershell Carousel Factory Museum was located in North Tonawanda, New York—only a twenty minute drive from where we were going to be staying. You can’t imagine my excitement—well, maybe you can—but, I was even more delighted to learn the museum was open on Mondays. If you visit many museums, you know Mondays are their “off” day. Anyway, I called and asked for information about meeting with a carver or painter and was told they didn’t come in on Mondays, but I decided a visit to the museum would still provide lots of information. To make a long story even longer, I got to the museum and both a painter and carver happened to be there. AND, I got a behind-the-scenes tour of the factory from Rae Proefrock, one of the painters and trustees.

You’d think that would be enough, but to just to add a cherry on top of the whipped cream, Rae agreed to read my manuscript for technical accuracy once it was completed. Now, isn’t that just like God? When you think things are on a downhill slide, He just turns you upside down with His goodness.

About the pictures--the one on the right shows how the carousel animals were crated to prevent damage in shipment by boat and train. Upper left is one of the Hershell Carousel horses and below that is Rae showing me some of the restoration work on one of the horses.

May you find great joy when the Lord turns you upside down with his goodness. ~Judy

Right where I want to be

Hey friends,

I'm sitting by Mom's bedside this afternoon, where I've been many times in recent weeks and months as I've written this Tuesday blog. Except today, instead of being in a hospital, we're at Mom and Dad's home, and Mom's in her favorite room in the house--the sunroom (pictured below from several months ago).

Last Wednesday, my family and I learned the results of Mom's most recent CT scan, and it revealed that the tumors on her liver are continuing to grow at a very rapid rate. The cancer's tenacity, coupled with Mom's already compromised strength, removed the option of further chemo. Mom's body couldn't take it even if she'd chosen to go that route, which she didn't. And we support her decision with all our hearts, though it's heartbreaking.

So...no more hospitals for Mom. And, thank God, no more IVs or tests, or poking and prodding. No more awful tasting contrast (she was such a trooper drinking that stuff!), and she's now resting comfortably here at home. Hospice delivered a hospital bed and other equipment Friday morning, and Jackie, my sweet sister-in-law, did a beautiful job of transforming the sunroom into "Mom's room."

Each morning, we open all the shutters and the sunlight just pours in. So pretty. Mom chose the placement of this room (when they built this home) specifically for the sunlight in the morning. She loves the light, which is a wonderful precursor of Heaven.

The past few days since bringing her home have been good. Not without their challenges, of course, but we're treasuring these moments with her and are doing our best--working hand-in-hand with the wonderful folks at hospice--to keep her comfortable and make her transition a peaceful one.

Her appetite picked up dramatically when we first got home, and you'd better believe we've made the most of it! We've had all of her favorites: Giorgio's Pizza, Roast Beef with Mashed Potatoes and Butter Beans, Chicken Nachos and Sopapillas with honey, Steak and Shake burgers and fries, Chili's chips and salsa, homemade waffles with bacon, Lemonade Cake, and Chocolate Chocolate-Chip Cake (thanks Kelsey for making that for my birthday, honey), just to name a few.

I'm so grateful to be here, to be caring for her, and I've decided to stay here with her and dad until she makes it safely Home, whenever that is in coming days. Heaven has always held a sweet, sweet promise. But it's getting more so by the minute knowing Mom will be there soon.

Resting fully in His grace and peace,

Tammy

Brilliant blog posts ... and perhaps more

I just returned (on Sunday as I wrote this post) from seeing the movie Julie & Julia. Let me tell you two things: (1) Don't miss this movie. Go see it and go see it soon. And (2) don't go to see it hungry. You will be ravenous for food, in particular French food ... even if you don't like French food. Oh, one more thing. This movie is not a chick flick. It is safe to take the man in your life to see it. Lots of men were in the theater on Sunday and they were laughing right along with the women.

If you want another opinion, I posted Charisma Magazine's review of the movie to my personal blog on Friday of last week.

The other thing this movie made me want to do was to start writing brilliant and meaningful posts on my blogs. Not sure I know where those ideas for brilliant posts might come from. I promise you, I am not going to cook my way through Julia Child's cookbook (although I am sorely tempted to go buy a copy, just so that I can say I own it).

Have you ever felt like your life is in a kind of limbo? That's how I've felt for a time. Taking care of my mom has put a lot of my life on hold. It's kept me from joining in and participating in places I wanted to join in and participate, because I never knew what Mom would need or if I would be available. (I'm not complaining; it has been a season of life and a joy in so many ways.) But now that it appears Mom won't be able to come home to live with me again, I think it's possible some doors may be about to open for me in other ways. Part of Sunday morning's sermon at church was about having a vision, about seeing the world from a heavenly and eternal perspective. That's what I'm asking God for now. A new vision, for new ways to serve Him. I'm no spring chicken. I hear the ticking of the clock and am reminded I'm not a kid anymore. But I believe in a God of purpose and that His purpose is for us to live for Him until we draw our last breaths. So I'm convinced it is never too late to get a new vision and walk in it.

There is something, an area of ministry that, every time it comes up in a sermon or in a conversation, causes my heart to stir. It's been like that for over two years. I keep thinking this is something God wants me to write about. So far that's all I understand, but I'm feeling an anticipation, an expectation that I may get a bigger glimpse one day soon. I'll let you know when I'm no longer seeing "in a mirror dimly" (1 Cor 13:12).

~robin

Stories from the Past

This week has been a lot of fun. My aunt (the girl in the back row of the above photo - my mom is the girl on the lower right hand side) and uncle arrived for a visit and with them came one of my cousins and his wife. We have laughed and talked and eaten with great gusto, but mostly we have shared stories and photos from the past.

A couple of my cousins, including the one who came for a visit, had put together a dvd of old home movies my grandfather shot. In these I got to see my mother as a child and my aunt as a young woman. With each scene I got to hear stories of what had brought them to this place. Of course each scene brought additional stories and comments.

There was laughter and tears as the memories spilled out around the room. I learned that my grandfather fancied himself a great photographer, but often cut off the heads of his subjects. We got to a place where we were starting to recognize bodies and necks. We watched the aftermath of a horrible flood that hit Kansas in 1951. My mother told us of the shock they had returning home to find everything ruined and a beloved pet gone. One section of the video offered proof for an age old family argument regarding a car they once owned. (Thank goodness for that because the quibble has gone on for several decades.)

We saw new babies - now adults pushing their 60's. We commented on how my mother's younger sister looks just like my great aunt now long gone. It was a precious time to be sure. My cousin took notes throughout the entire dvd as my mother and his share their memories. He loves researching genealogy and knows the importance of keeping the old stories--because those stories are a special part of our past. This is a photo of my great-grandmother and her children (including my grandmother - also shown above as the mother in the photo. Note how much she looks like her mother as an adult).



I hope you too have a legacy of family stories and photos. I hope you'll write the stories down for future generations and please please write names and if possible dates on the back of photos. We have such a great treasure in stories from the past.

Tracie

I'm Not Getting A Tattoo

Last week when I was in Las Vegas with my girls and my soul sister, my darling daughters did their very best to convince me to get a tattoo. With tattoo parlors on every corner, it would have been an easy thing to do. But although I admit to a moment of temptation, I resisted.

Have you noticed lately how many people sport body art? Used to be just tough guys like sailors or motorcycle gang members or butchers wielding big ol' cleavers. But not so anymore. Businessmen, teenagers, even grandmothers (like me) have tattooes. My husband happens to have three (one of which bears my name, so he's stuck with me); two of my daughters have already succombed to the tattoo craze; and the last daughter is getting one. So my girls thought I should get on board. Um, no. I'm sorry--it's nothing against those who have chosen to tattoo their bodies. It just isn't for me.

Now, that being said, if I were to get a tattoo, I'd get a purple butterfly, maybe like the one at the left. I love purple. Have always loved purple. But not until God healed me of a lifetime of self-recrimination did I find the courage to wear purple. So it's kind of my declaration of freedom. Purple is the color of royalty, and it reminds me that I'm a daughter of the King. No need to be hangin' my head in shame.

I also love butterflies. They're so pretty with their multi-colored, delicate wings, and they're so graceful the way they float on the breeze. My dad always warned me not to catch a butterful by its wings because the wings are covered with miniscule feathers; if I damaged the feathers, the butterfly might not be able to fly anymore. I was convinced the inability to fly would make the butterflies very sad. So I would crouch next to flowers (that always grew in abundance in our yard, thanks to Daddy's green thumb), admiring but keeping my fingers to myself. And if a butterfly happened to flit over and land on my hand or my knee....ah, bliss!

Not long ago I ran across a quote that said, "Just when the caterpillar thought her life was over, she became a butterfly." As silly as it sounds, I cried. I could so relate to that quote. Looking back over the years, there are many difficult moments that I thought would end my life. Maybe not physically, but certainly emotionally. But then God, in His infinite love and wisdom, used those circumstances to bring about a change in me--a good change, a growing change, an increase in strength or empathy or discernment. And in those joyful moments of realization--it wasn't wasted!--my heart took wing. Like a butterfly.

This summer hasn't been the easiest for many of us, myself included. But each time I glimpse a butterfly, I take hope. Psalm 34:7 tells me, "The angel of the Lord camps around those who fear [reverence Him; hold Him in awe], and he delivers them." When we trust Him to use these difficult moments to bring about a change in our lives, then I know without one modicum of doubt that we will be delivered of the hardened chrysalis, will unfurl our delicate wings of many colors (mine are purple, just so's you know), and soar...

May God bless you muchly as you journey with Him! ~Kim

P.S.--The winner of last week's drawing is Janelle! Janelle, please shoot me an email (kim@kimvogelsawyer.com) so we can arrange shipment of your book...as soon as I have them in hand! :o)

Confessions of an Addict

Okay, dear readers, it’s confession time. I have hidden this addiction from most of my friends and a few members of my family for far too long. There are, of course, a few who know. My husband is chief among those “in the know.” He’s no longer willing to put up with my addiction, and has declared it’s time to ‘fess up and deal with the problem. So, I’m going to clear the air, right here and now. I ABSOLUTELY LOVE COOKBOOKS. My house overflows with them. We have two large boxes filled to the brim and stored away as well as a shelf in the family room devoted to the art of preparing culinary delights. I also have my mother's old cookbooks in the garage, plus the few I pulled from the cupboard and pictured here for you to see. If a store has cookbooks, my body will generally just lean in that direction until gravity takes over and leads me to the proper aisle. There you’ll find me leafing through the pages of gastronomic possibilities, though I do confess, my very favorites cookbooks are the ones produced by churches, families, or other organizations.

For a while, I’d taken control of my obsession. Although I hadn’t overcome my obsession to stand in Cracker Barrel and read their cookbooks until they called my name (and sometimes take it with me to peruse while eating), I hadn’t purchased one in almost a year. Then it happened. Tammy Alexander mentioned Christy Jordan’s Southern Plate website and that strawberry, angel food trifle. Surely you remember that delightful dessert I concocted in my Tupperware bowl, don’t you? Anyway, I made the mistake of signing up to receive the recipes from Southern Plate.

Now, that didn’t bother my husband because those recipes are stored on the computer. But then, I spied it! Christy Jordan had an honest- to-goodness, spiral bound cookbook for sale. How could I resist? I mean, that thing has everything from fried apple pies to corn chowder. And as if that isn’t enough, I could find recipes for sourdough starter, chocolate cobbler or spaghetti lover’s soup. Now how was I to resist?

I sent off my order and for the next couple of weeks, I raced to the mailbox everyday. But wouldn’t you know, the one day I was gone to a dentist appointment, my anticipated delivery showed up in the mailbox! My husband doesn’t open my mail, but he was mighty interested in what was in a thick envelope with a return address that said “Southern Plate” on the label. I tried to escape, but he followed me into my office where I finally relented and opened the manila envelope.

“Another cookbook,” he quipped. I nodded and hung my head in shame. He gave me a long, sad look, then shook his head in defeat. “Sure would be great if you’d try making one of these recipes someday!” Now isn’t that the way of it? Just because I enjoy reading cookbooks doesn’t mean I actually want to cook!

May you find joy in the Lord as you follow his recipe for your life. ~Judy