Dedication

There’s a trend on Cable TV programs—showing the everyday life of people in varying jobs. I’m fascinated at the who, what, and why’s of it all.

Men brave the ocean to catch crabs.

Men are lumberjacks in mountainous terrain while others harvest submerged logs.

Pulling on baited hooks, they hunt alligators in the bayou.

They dig in the frozen Alaskan ground to find gold.

They swim in the bays and oceans Alaskan or South African for gold or diamonds.

Professionals struggle to save lives in the ER.

Dance instructors spend as much time arguing with parents as they do teaching the students.

Parents spend exorbitant money and time to turn their little daughters into baby beauty queens.

People risk their lives in oceans all over the world to save whales.

Researchers wrestle live sharks onto a ship for fifteen minutes of tests, lab specimen collection, surgery, and tagging.

Mose strives to help Amish-reared people feel they are still God’s children and recreates a close-knit community for those who have chosen to leave the order.

Awareness of ecology created some of those occupations; others of these jobs have existed for centuries.

What motivates these people? For some, it’s family. For some, it’s a willingness to give up their life for a whale. Others want money. Others seem to spend a lot of time fighting with others. Vanity rules some while another is motivated by a deep commitment to loving and serving others.

A show on Angola Prison featured an old inmate, Floyd Bones. In his 70s, he met his grandson for the first time—because that grandson is now imprisoned at Angola, too.

Floyd Bones tends the prison’s percheron  horses and hitched them to the prison hearse this week. He spoke of how when the time came for it, he wanted each inmate to “go with dignity.” “I’m in a silent mood. All my mind is on, is bringing the Lord’s children to their restin’ place.”

When our children are born, we dedicate them to the Lord. Our legacy to them isn’t simply the material goods we may leave behind. It’s the lessons we teach—greed, violence, vanity, that life is sacred, that God’s creation is to be respected. Little eyes see far more than we think. It’s no wonder the Bible teaches that blessings and curses extend down through the generation.

 Isn’t it a beautiful miracle that the Holy Spirit calls us to examine our hearts, our values, and our motives? No matter what our job is, we can do it unto the Lord. That kind of dedication is one that will make a difference now, in the next generations, and for eternity.

The crown that comes from being a dedicated child of the Heavenly Father is the only crown that matters--and only because it shows that He is pleased with me.

Now go look in the mirror--not just at yourself, but at the little ones who are watching you.

Cathy

Guest Blogger: Stephanie Grace Whitson

An Antique Weed

            Every year since my now thirty-something daughter was about twelve years old, she and I and an assortment of friends have spent the Friday before Father’s Day in Walnut, Iowa, at the annual flea market there. We do our best to get there as soon as vendors are open to do business, and we stay until they begin to fold up their tents (almost literally, sometimes). I’ve never worn a pedometer, but my aching knees and feet are testimony to the fact that the day includes a few miles of walking, punctuated by a pause to eat lunch at the Methodist Church lunch tent—and pie. Gooseberry, if I’m lucky.

             Then, on the drive home, we stop for a meal and share “war stories” from the day of haggling and treasure-hunting. And of course we have a grown-up version of “show and tell.” 

           Over the years, I’ve brought home quilts, quilt blocks, feed sacks, silver charms, stereoscope cards (I love to find ones of places in Europe I’ve visited), and my personal favorite—characters for my novels in the guise of those old sepia toned photographs.

            The silver charms were a passion of my daughter’s childhood. Other phases have included windows from old houses, architectural finials and corbels, and … vintage suit cases. Books are a perennial favorite. This year I changed my mind on a beautiful volume titled The Life and Times of D.L. Moody. The reason I didn’t buy it was that it was $2 until I handed over the money … and then the dealer showed me the “real” price … $50. I don’t mind a mark-up, but that seemed a bit much. And I gotta admit I was disappointed that the dealer hadn’t bothered to erase her purchase price before indicating her own price on another page. Sigh. I’ll read about Moody another way.

            I think that one of the reasons I love “old stuff,” though, is the connection it provides to women from the past. And this year I made a connection that I’ll treasure for many years to come. I bought a weed. Sewing machine. I was attracted to the machine—at the back of a vendor’s spot on the street—because of the simplicity of the design. When I got closer, I realized that once it was “put away,” the machine would look like an end table. The cabinet is lovely, the foot pedals intricately formed. And it works.

            But the best thing about the machine was the fragments of 19^th century calico in the tool bin … the attachments … the “1871” pressed into the cabinet … and the fact that the dealer had the original manual. It’s a “Family Favorite” model. The manual was copyrighted in 1875, and some of the parts have patent dates as early as 1856. I’m fascinated. I’ve already ‘sprung’ for a page from an 1868 NY City Directory advertising this machine. And a trade card. Both for sale on ebay. I’ve talked to treadle machine enthusiasts and learned that my “weed” was made in Hartford, Connecticut.

            The machine works. And now it’s sitting to the left of my desk where I can wonder about all the women who’ve made work shirts and dresses and aprons and … maybe … quilts seated at this machine. And I’m already looking forward to next year’s caravan to 2013 edition of the Walnut, Iowa, flea market.

            Memories for sale … and memories made. Fun time with my girls. Priceless. 

A Call to Pray

Just a few short weeks ago I blogged about my trip to Colorado Springs, Colorado, to meet with my new publishing board and speak at a campgrounds in the mountains. The beauty enthralled me until my chest literally ached. But the latest images of Colorado Springs and the surrounding areas now make my heart ache in a completely different way. So I'm asking you to pray.

Pray that these raging blazes will be contained...

Pray for the people in its pathway whose lives have been irreversibly impacted...

Pray for the heroic individuals fighting the fires, whether on the ground or from above, and for those caring for the distraught ones who have lost their homes...

 

Pray for a safe evacuation and for secure shelter for the displaced residents of these communities...

Even pray for the wildlife that's been affected....

And if you can't form words--the way I keep finding myself when I bow my head to petition the Lord--then trust He will interpret the groanings of your heart. But please, please pray.

May God bring beauty from these ashes.

~Kim

Adaland

This week I’m taking you on another one of my ‘history tours’ that I enjoyed while in West Virginia. For many years I’d heard my sister mention Adaland. In addition to tours of the house and grounds, many weddings and other social events are hosted in the mansion and on the grounds. And since one of her friends is a docent at the mansion, Adaland was on my “to be seen” list. Of course, we wanted to go when her friend, Jada, would provide the tour for us and give us the inside scoop. My expectations were high, and I wasn’t disappointed. The picture at left doesn't do the mansion justice, but it was the best I could do. I should have taken a picture from the back of the house as it would have given you a much better view of the size and beauty of the house and surroundings, but this will have to suffice.

This beautiful land on Fox Grape Run lay idle until purchased by the Modisett family in 1807. Don’t you love the name, Fox Grape Run? When I was little, we visited relatives on Plum Run, but I really like the name Fox Grape Run. Here in Kansas, we have creeks instead of runs, but in West Virginia and Pennsylvania, runs are common usage. Sorry—I got off topic and took you down a bunny trail with me.

The original home was a log structure. It wasn’t until 1868 that construction of this Greek Revival Mansion was begun by one of the Modisett sons. Until the acreage was sold to Judge Robinson in 1920, it was known as the Modisett farm. After purchasing the home and property, judge began renovations and renamed it for his wife, Ada Sinsel Robinson.

We enjoyed a wonderful tour of the home, and Jada played the psaltery for us. I gave it a try and thought I might purchase one—then I decided it would have to wait until I had a little more time. But one of these days…

I included this ‘picture of a picture’ that hangs in the dining room of Adaland because the young couple, Phoebe Pullison and Arlie Woodford, are the great-great-grandparents of my niece (mother of the cute banana-stand kiddos from last week). Arlie was the overseer at Adaland and he and Phoebe were the first couple to be married in the mansion. Of course, I thought that was really neat!

A good portion of the land was eventually sold to coal companies and the mansion was even used as office space. Can you imagine something so beautiful and historic being turned into a coal mining office? Eventually, in order to preserve the historic significance of the property, the house, barn, carriagehouse and about twenty acres were signed over to the City of Philippi and placed on the National Register of Historic Places. Renovations have been significant and costly, but well worth the time, effort and money. Adaland is a true jewel. If you ever find yourself near Fox Grape Run—stop in and have a glass of sweet tea and listen to the magical music of a psaltery. You’ll enjoy the step back in time.

May you find joy as you rest in Him. ~Judy

You mean…there's an app for THAT?!

You bet there is! There are apps for just about everything! And I'll admit…I love (too) many of them! Here are some of my favorite free apps, and in a minute, I want you to tell me YOURS!

Draw Something

This is just what it says it is…a game where you draw things.

These are some pics of a current game between Robin and me. 

This is the pic Robin drew for me, and that I guessed correctly! ; )

These are the choices I had to choose from to draw for Robin. Guess what I chose....

This is the screen you see once you make your choice. And, just as it says, you tap to draw!

Can you guess it? Huh? Can you?!!! ; )
The more coins you win, the more colors you get too.

Project Noah

#1 Education app in the U.S. when launched

Project Noah is all about identifying and sharing pictures of plant and animal life. It's just flat COOL! And so educational! Which makes you feel better about playing it, of course.

iTalk Recorder

I use this all the time for brainstorming or making notes for my books. I'll actually talk a scene through and record dialogue, try different twists and turns, then I'll label it and reference back to it when I'm writing that scene. It's a handy app for remembering "to dos" as well!

Here are some other free favorites you might want to check out:

RunPee.com -- this app tells you the best time to run and pee during a movie without missing anything important. It also tells you if there is anything "extra" after the credits. 

Flipboard -- this app creates a personalized magazine of everything being shared with you via Facebook newsfeed, tweets, photos, videos and more.

Houzz -- this app gives interior design ideas (so fun!)

i-nigma QR Code Reader -- this app enables your phone to read barcodes... like this one:

Once you download the i-nigma QR Code Reader,  try it out on this code!

So tell me…what are some of your favorite FREE apps?

Tammy

Okay, this isn't an app. It's Kurt asking Jack if he wanted to go for a walk last night. : )
Let's just say…Jack WANTED to go!

And lastly…

Beginning TODAY, June 26th, through Saturday, June 30th, Robin's WWII set novel, THE VICTORY CLUB, will be free on Amazon for the Kindle. Don't miss out and please tell your friends. (Sorry. This offer doesn't extend to the Nook.)

Words to Live By

I've been a writer for 30+ years. Started in the cradle, obviously. (Tamera, stop laughing.) But I can't claim that I understood the power of story, the importance of written words, until I'd been writing for over a decade. That's when I read the mainstream release of Francine Rivers' Redeeming Love in November 1991. She calls the book her statement of faith.

I had read some of Francine's secular romances from the 1980's, and although I didn't know her then, I did notice when I didn't see any of her books in a long time. Years, actually. In the summer of 1991, I read about her upcoming release, and the article told about how she had come to Christ and lost the ability to write until God showed her the story He wanted her to write, based on the Book of Hosea. At the time, although I was a Christian, I wasn't walking closely with Him (another way of saying I was in rebellion). But I was longing to get right with Him again, and her story in that magazine called to me.

I bought Redeeming Love the moment it released and stayed up way into the middle of the night to finish it. I wept and wept, declaring it the best book I had ever read. God used that novel to plant in me the desire to write something that beautiful, that meaningful, that powerful for Him. But first I had to go through a renewal and healing process in my own life. I never dreamed in 1991 that I would soon have the privilege of calling Francine my friend. Nor did I dream that He would open the door for me to write books for Him.

Sometimes our dreams for ourselves are too small. Aren't they?

Speaking of the power of words, this weekend I watched the DVD of The Iron Lady. I can't call it a great movie, even though Meryl Streep's acting was awesome (as always). I give it 3 stars and feel I'm being generous. It could have been great if they hadn't muddled it up with her descent into dementia. The parts about when she was Prime Minister was when the film excelled.

Anyway, toward the end of the movie, I had to stop the DVD and write down Mrs. Thatcher's words:

Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become your character.
And watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.

Oh, yes! Wish I'd written those words myself.

~robin

A Different Outlook

Tilt your head to the right. Now tilt it a little more…. A little more… when your ear is a whisper away from your shoulder, freeze. Is it a little harder to read? Does glare bounce off your monitor? Have you spied an itsy bitsy spider starting a web in the corner of something?

I woke up in the middle of the night with a wry neck. After doing all the right stretches, I used an ice pack, then climbed back into bed and arranged my pillows just-so. Lying there, I sleepily mentioned to God that I wouldn’t mind if He straightened me out.

 But I woke up this morning looking like an art critic wondering if the museum hung a painting sideways.

 (BTW, bunnies and birds get wry necks, too!)

Things looked different all day. I spotted a pen I’ve looked for off and on for awhile. (Hiding amongst the wooden spoons in the ceramic jar by the stove.) A box of those magic Teflon eraser sponges lay tucked against the left side of the cabinet under the kitchen sink.

Water spots on the side of a box in my shed tattled on a link in the aluminum roof. The air purifier is working well—the ceiling fans have no dust on them at all. (Why didn’t I buy one sooner?) There’s a sock under the couch. Maybe I dropped it while doing laundry…. Or one of the dogs is guilty.

Then it struck me. None of these things were from today—they’d been different for a day or a week or even a month. I can’t necessarily say when the change happened. But when forced to into this position, my perspective changed. I had a different outlook.

We get so caught up in the busy-ness of everyday life, stuff slips past our awareness. Especially, I think it does in our spiritual lives. Where did I write down the date of when I’d volunteer for the church nursery? Have I been praying for something as diligently as I’d hoped? Have I allowed an unkind thought drip through my mind? Has dust settled on my heart? Am I taking personal responsibility, or is it easier to let others shoulder work projects for the church or church family? None of those things are startlingly huge in an of themselves. But let a job go undone, a feeling untended, communication slip, and soon there’s distance between us and our Lord, between us and our family, and between us and others.

 I laughed. Remember how I prayed and told God I wouldn’t mind it if He straightened me out? He did. He made me stop and look around myself and inside my heart. A different outlook can give a fresh perspective.

Our Saviour knows us and sees the very first steps His lambs take that could eventually lead them from His side. I don't ever want Him to have to go off in search of me, and I'm thankful He is so wise and gentle that He used a crick in my neck as His shepherd's crook so I'll be sure to stay close to Him.

Now straighten your head. I don’t want it to get stuck that way.

Love,

Cathy

Guest Blogger: Stephanie Grace Whitson

CHAUTAUQUA!

To tens of thousands of Americans in the late 19th century, that word meant FUN. Chautauquas were a combination of adult education, entertainment, and religious events all rolled into one. By the early twentieth century, there was even a “circuit” that performers followed from place to place, where communities pitched tents and put up stages and invited surrounding residents to gather for a week or ten days. It was a chance for “regular” Americans to hear and see former presidents, famous orators, elocutionists, and renowned preachers for as little as a fifty-cent ticket to enter the grounds.

The 1891 program for one such event reads, “To those longing for a wider outlook on the world and its work, and who because of the rough ways of life are denied much time for study, and whose opportunities for improvement are limited because of narrow and unfavorable surrounding, the Chautauqua Assembly comes like a benediction.”

I personally tend to think that most of the farm wives who were able to go for the full week or ten days felt blessed because it was a season of NO cooking, NO housecleaning, and NO gardening. Although I’ve also wondered if, when they got back home, they wondered if it was worth it as they stared at the weeds in the garden that had cropped up while they were gone!

Several communities in my home state of Nebraska hosted Chautauqua events over the years. Two weeks ago I attended a revival of Chautauqua at Homestead National Monument near Beatrice, Nebraska (pronounced bee-AT-rus, not BEE-a-trice). Mark Twain scholar Warren Brown [photo at left] made it seem that Mark Twain himself was on stage and inspired me to read Huckleberry Finn and Joan of Arc. Professor Taylor Keen brought Standing Bear to life (our entire city is reading Joe Starita’s book I Am a Man as our “One Book One Lincoln” read) [book cover below right], and Karen Vuranch introduced me to a Laura Ingalls Wilder I knew very little about. It was a rich event and one I won’t soon forget—as was undoubtedly the case for those who attended Chautauqua events in the late 1800s.

My next novel, The Message on the Quilt, will be set on the grounds of the Beatrice, Nebraska, Chautauqua in 1890, and I’ve had a wonderful time poring over folders of old photographs and programs and newspaper articles to learn more about that time and place. I will definitely have to have Emilie take a moonlight cruise on the Queen of the Blue. I don’t know that I’ll have the heart to have her slip in the mud and ruin her white dress (as happened to one attendee), but she’ll definitely be wooed by one particular member of The Swedish Quartette—much to her overbearing father’s consternation.

Most of the people I try to tell about this “big event” in the lives of so many 19th century people have never heard the word “Chautauqua.” Imagine a chance to see a former President “in the flesh” in the days before the internet and television. Imagine hearing gifted musicians in the days before MP3 players … when to hear music you had either make it yourself or go somewhere to hear it performed. Imagine your first ice cream cone … and an evening in the shade of a giant tree, when back home you were watering seedlings in hopes of shade someday.

We are so very blessed in American in 2012.