Stories are everywhere if we just ask God to open our eyes. Our family recently vacationed in the beautiful Pacific northwest. As our children flew colorful kites, waded through frigid waves and dug in white sand, I walked through the wide stretch of beach, enjoying the gritty feeling of sandy between my toes. Gulls squawked overhead and the scent of decaying sea life and salt water permeated the air as I strolled along, noting the various creatures and items washed up on the shore. Small
Yes, I know the saying goes, “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.” Sometimes there’s not a lemon to be found but a startling abundance of hair pieces. Hang with me and I’ll explain. Not long ago I ordered a pair of pants from an online store. I was supposed to appear on a television interview and I thought the pants would be cute paired with a top I already owned. The company promised the product would arrive before my interview. You know what’s
I recently read this quote by Allen Arnold and it resonated deeply. “If God is pleased with your latest creation but the world ignores it, how do you feel? The answer reveals who you are creating for.” Excellent question. I fall into this trap far too often. I hope people like what I’ve written. This new blog was a step out of my comfort zone. Will people read it? Will they like it? This doesn’t even have to revolve around writing. This could be about
Not long ago, I finished up a beautiful study on the book of Hosea by Jennifer Rothschild. She challenged her readers to do something I love: to make a to-be list instead of a to-do list. I’m prolific at creating master to-do lists. They give me a sense of control, a sense of accomplishment and keep my cluttered mind from letting crucial jobs slip through the cracks of my faulty memory. (Correction: these things give me illusion of control, accomplishment and clearer brain function.) Despite
The Arkansas State Police is a happening place to be, especially in the motor vehicle office and even more so from one to four when they are administering driving tests. I recently took a family member to fill out some paperwork, which provided me plenty of time to sit in the waiting room and watch people coming and going. Anxious teens milled around, some of whom were too cool to show their jitters. Nervous mothers smacking gum contrasted against parents who rolled their eyes,
Receiving a long awaited publishing contract is a euphoric feeling. It’s also terrifying for someone like me, a recovering people-pleaser. I love absolutely everything about the creative process. From spinning a story world into existence, breathing characters to life or muddling through their spiritual and emotional transformations, I find the entire journey exhilarating. I even love the grueling grind of editing. (Most days, at least.) With my debut release scheduled for summer of 2018, life is a whirlwind of excitement. Edits and marketing plans, launch
With my debut book release with Tyndale scheduled for summer of 2018, this week I’ve begun the daunting task of writing another story. It’s set in one of my favorite time periods…the Civil War. This isn’t a new assignment for me. This will actually be the fourth Civil War story I’ve penned, uh, typed, but the research involved is always staggering. Always bloody and gruesome, yet filled with heroism, astounding tales of beauty and forgiveness…even humor. People like 11 year-old Grace Bedell who wrote
Wild child. Stubborn. Headstrong. Independent. Strong-willed. Although, having been one of those myself, I suppose I’ve always preferred the term “steadfastly-minded”. You know the type of kid I’m talking about. If you’re not sure, here’s a checklist. You might have a wild child if… -You’ve considered purchasing a taser as a disciplinary tool. Okay, not really. (But maybe.) -The medical personnel at the ER know you and your kid by name. – Your kid can unlock any child-proof device invented in under 3.7 seconds.
You know the feeling. A cold, clenched stomach. Darkness. A pounding heart. All you want to do is hide. You beg the eyes fixed on you to disappear but they won’t. They gape and you wonder what they must think, how they must see you. You feel worthless. Exposed. I’m talking about shame. Is there a more miserable feeling? Growing up with a seizure disorder left me with plenty of fodder for times to reflect on this feeling. Most of the time I felt normal.
I had just laid my son down for bed when the storm started. This was no ordinary storm. This was a good, old-fashioned, Arkansas spring storm. A wild beast of a thing that could turn into a tornado at any moment. Thunder, lightning, window-rattling wind, hail and flickering lights. The kind of storm where meteorologists encourage the television viewers to tie down their trampolines. And maybe their cars too. I passed by Nate’s bedroom door and could tell he was sleeping peacefully thus far, judging