This lifted me to high standing with childhood friends Billy and Bobby. One of their chores was to traipse through the woods and set traps to catch possums for dinner. I would tag along and tell them where to place the traps. After they caught the critters, I would get money from home, buy the possums from their dad, and then release them in our woods. This made everyone happy—especially the opossums.
Being alert to strong smells comes in handy for more than setting possum traps. Recently, I received a Facebook friendship request which I almost accepted—because the person was reportedly from Bandera, Texas—Cowboy Capital of the World, and home of my heart.
Something about the request emitted a foul odor, but I couldn’t figure out what.
When I get a FB request I always check to see: that the person has posted personal information like place of residence, education, etc.; that at least some of the posts are recent; that the posts do not include profanity or other objectionable content, and that the profile picture is not followed by pictures reportedly of the person who made the request—but pictures that do not match the profile picture and are “flirty,” or self-aggrandizing. This FB request passed all those checks—but I smelled possum.
Finally I found the critter hiding in the woods. The person was a Wicca. A hidden post endorsed witchcraft. At first I was insulted. A Wicca in Bandera, home of my heart? That couldn’t be true! However, good and bad can be found everywhere, and Bandera—as wonderful as it is—is not perfect…because people live there…and people are not perfect.
I am not perfect. I am saved. I will be going to heaven when I leave this earth. But I am not perfect. If people on FB or other media deleted everyone who was not perfect—I would be one of the first deleted.
The ability to smell possums is a valuable skill. Everyone can develop it. We just need to allow God’s Holy Spirit to live in our hearts and work through us.
The following review for my newest book is one of the best I’ve ever received on any of my books because of this: “When I read a cozy I like to try to figure out whodunit before the amateur sleuth or the law does. I was so, so WRONG this time. McKean had me fooled. (Palm to forehead when I look back at it!)”
As a writer of cozy mysteries, I endeavor to surprise the reader, but “All the Colors of Murder” does more than surprise. It also showcases love. The protagonist has never known love. Enter a man who accepts her even when she rejects him, even when she is rude to him, even when she mocks his beliefs, even when she engages in activities that he does not espouse. And that’s love.
All my cozy mysteries contain love stories, but “All the Colors of Murder” embodies the best description of love ever written within the lives and actions of the main characters. That description is found in the Bible. “Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself; is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.” 1 Corinthians 13: 1-8. And that’s love.
The matchless example of love was set by Jesus. “This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends. You are My friends if you do whatever I command you.” John 15:12. And that’s love.
MaCoy and Hayden’s love story doesn’t reach the pinnacle of the love Jesus showed the world by dying for it, but my prayer is that it will engage the readers’ hearts in hope and expectation and encourage them to believe in a love that never fails.
People who hear about our family adventures—and misadventures—living with wild animals like an African lion, a fox, a raccoon, a jaguarondi, monkeys, along with domestic pets like cats, dogs, and horses—often ask me if I would consider writing an autobiography. My answer is always the same. No. There are things in my life that I don’t want anyone to know.
People who hear about the childhood sexual abuse I survived—in spite of nearly bleeding to death twice from abortions performed by a person armed with a knitting needle, no medical knowledge, and a determination to cover up that abuse—ask me to consider writing an autobiography. My answer is always the same. No. There are things in my life I won’t share unless sharing will help someone else. I won’t harm the living by opening up a horrendous chapter in my life for personal financial gain—even though a lot of celebrities make money selling their childhood horror stories.
And the only time I will admit to having failed math for all four years of high school is when I am encouraging a beginning writer who laments that he or she is “too stupid” to finish a book because they can’t do math.
Therefore, this blog is a departure from my usual, but only because I hope it will be an encouragement to other people. It’s about a tie-breaker, not in sports—but in life.
After husband Tom died of cancer, I got conned into a sort-of marriage with a guy named Nathan. I say “sort-of” because he spent nights in a hospital bed—not my bed. He was addicted to prescription pain pills. Our marriage was annulled after a year. He had hidden his drug use from me and never lived with me. The county judge who granted the annulment told me it was as if we had never been married—which was good—because we actually hadn’t been. Fortunately, we had separate bank accounts because he had somehow conned the bank and was overdrawn by $30,000. I never knew someone could swindle a bank out of so much money. We had gone into business together and I was stuck with a substantial business loss—substantial for someone with my salary—but it was only about $13,000…plus the loss of my Texas Hill Country house and land.
Enter someone new. We’ll call him John. I loved him like I had never loved anyone else. He was intelligent, well educated, and never used the word “ain’t.” He even proofread my second book for me and taught me something vital for writers, something I remember each time I write a new book: never introduce a character by name unless that character will significant. We had a great relationship full of laughter and fun and eating out at almost every meal, because we were usually on the road selling things out of the back of his truck. I saw more of Texas than I had ever imagined I would see in my lifetime. We traveled to Oklahoma and Louisiana, and once—all the way to the east coast and Florida. Between trips, I learned how to cut and put down floor tile from helping him retile one of his rental houses. I helped him paint his rental houses and do the yard work they needed. Between trips, he and I would sit on the lawn of his house pulling weeds together and talking about everything—including marriage. He would inherit money when his father died and we talked about building a little house that would look like a tree from the outside. He drew up the plans for it. I was going to do the concrete work to transform the metal structure into a tree. We even went to Disney World in Florida to see one of the trees they had created.
Then the tie-breaker. One day we could not find another weed anywhere in his yard that needed uprooting. “We should set the wedding date,” he announced. “But before we do—we should share our secrets.”
I told him about the childhood sexual abuse I had endured. “As a writer, I may need to disclose it at some time. I won’t write about it or talk about it unless I know it will help someone. Will that bother you?”
“Somewhat,” he admitted, “but not enough that I don’t want to marry you. Now for my secret…about once a month…I smoke pot.”
I screamed at him. I don’t remember the words—but it was something like, “How can you be so stupid?” And I left.
Leaving John after his confession was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but it was non-negotiable. Some things are. First, it was illegal. Second, after my experience with drug-addicted Nathan and the financial ruin his drug use had inflicted on me before I escaped—there was no way I would put myself in risk of going through that again. It’s not that pot smokers are bad people or always do bad things—it’s that the money spent for the purchase of any illegal drug finances a tool from satan’s toolbox and makes a financial investment in the misery, wickedness, illness, and death that drug use causes. It’s the bigger picture.
After I left, I regretted the decision at times because I missed John so much. Jesus strengthened me and kept me going. The Bible fueled me with wisdom. For example, Proverbs 5:14, “Do not walk in the way of evil. Avoid it, do not travel on it.” And, “whoever commits sin is a slave of sin.” Jesus in John 8:34.
Not exchanging good for evil is non-negotiable—regardless of the cost. And it comes with blessings attached. The Bible promises “all things work together for good to those who love the Lord. I am now married to a husband who loves Jesus as much as I do. I am now living in a country I never expected to see. I have now written 44 books with a new one scheduled for publication within days. All I have ever wanted to do since I was a child is write books.
Sometimes the cost of reaching for a dream is pain and loss, but enduring that pain and loss leads to great reward and joy.
We have a neighbor who is incredibly negative. Perhaps even toxic?
I’ve always loved ice cream vans, although most of my life has been spent in rural areas without them. I walked Savannah past negative neighbor’s (let’s call her NN) house a while back and we heard the distant tinkle of the ice cream van. I smiled and commented on the cheerful tune. She glowered. “It’s not really an ice cream van,” she said darkly. “Don’t you know? It’s a cover. The guy actually sells drugs. That’s why he’s out so late. Haven’t you ever noticed how weird his schedule is?”
Here’s the thing; I’m sure NN’s words are false. She never has anything good to say about any of our neighbors. It would be interesting to know what she says about me when she is talking to other people! But while I’m sure that NN is wrong about the ice cream van—she planted an uncertainty and distrust in me that sours the cheerful tinkling music. Unfortunately, it’s possible to consider that her words are true, because she has been right about some of the other negative comments she’s made.
I scold myself and tell myself not to be ridiculous. NN is just a negative busybody—and I’m a writer, mostly of cozy mysteries—with an overactive imagination. And yet…
The ice cream vans I’ve known in the U.S. operate in summer and in afternoons after children are out of school. Everything is warm and bright and wonderful. This Scottish ice cream van makes the rounds largely after dark, and in the winter even when snow is on the ground, and even when it’s painfully cold, and even during gale-force winds.
I don’t know what to believe about the ice cream van.
No wonder the Bible contains strong words against bearing false witness. “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor,” Exodus 20:16. “Whoever spreads slander is a fool.” Proverbs 10:18.
God hates every false way. Proverbs 18:21 says that death and life are in the power of the tongue. Our words can cause injury for which there is no healing—and likewise heal injuries for which no physician can provide a cure. Even though I don’t believe NN’s poisonous words about the ice cream van, they pricked holes in my joy.
Once false and negative words have been spoken and heard—they can’t be unheard.
Thankfully, God’s love is stronger than human hate. But it will take a while for me to patch the holes in my joy when I hear the tinkling bells of an ice cream van.
Because pushing my husband in a wheelchair and pulling him around the house in his potty chair since he can’t walk has increased the size of my knuckles, I can no longer wear my wedding ring. My husband lost so much weight over the five months he spent in the hospital that his wedding ring was too large—and he lost it. So neither of us wear our wedding rings—but the missing wedding rings do not mean that we are not still married. The rings were merely a symbol of our marriage. A label.
Changing labels does not change reality.
William Shakespeare perhaps said it best in 1595 when he wrote ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Changing the name of the flower does not change the rose.
Geologists often abandon BC—Before Christ, and AD—After Christ’s Death, for BP—Before the Present. Astrologists often replace BC and AD with CE for Common Era and BCE for Before Common Era. These new labels do not negate the fact that we celebrate Christmas as the time that Jesus Christ, God’s own Son, came to earth to live as a man and experience everything we experience so He could understand our trials and temptations and deliver us from them, and so that we could see our God in human flesh. It does not negate the fact that more than 2,000 years ago, Jesus Christ died on a cross and was sealed away in a tomb that could not hold Him. He is Risen. Christians have no grave to visit and reverence. We have an empty tomb.
Labels are tricky things. Easy to change—but impossible to change.
God’s immutability: “It is impossible for God to lie. This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast.”
Don’t let human applied labels and criticism wear you down. You are fearfully and wonderfully made and God loves you and has a plan and purpose for you.
While walking our collie dog, I was astonished to see blooms on clumps of moss growing on rock fences. I never knew moss bloomed. The fragile spear-topped stalks opened up miniature magic for viewing—a minuscule journey into a tiny parallel world.
And I thought: moss blooms. Elephants don’t. Yet both reproduce their kind and exist on this beautiful wide planet that God made. And that’s the point.
The theory of evolution cannot explain this wonder, nor can the big bang theory. But God? The infinite and precise creations of an intelligent Creator with a design and a plan—that explains it. How can anyone study the miniature world of a clump of moss and touch an elephant—and believe they were haphazard happenings. That takes more faith than I have.
I looked up moss blooms. Scientists say they are not actually blooms, and moss does not have flowers. They have an explanation; the “blooms” are spores. Spores are not seeds and produce no flowers.
But many of these same scientists also discount creation and herd academics and anyone else they can bend to fit into their agendas into accepting their theories of a big bang and evolution. I will stick to moss blooms and elephants.
“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth…and God saw that it was good.” Genesis 1:1
While walking our collie dog, I was astonished to see blooms on clumps of moss growing on rock fences. I never knew moss bloomed. The fragile spear-topped stalks opened up miniature magic for viewing—a minuscule journey into a tiny parallel world.
And I thought: moss blooms. Elephants don’t. Yet both reproduce their kind and exist on this beautiful wide planet that God made. And that’s the point.
The theory of evolution cannot explain this wonder, nor can the big bang theory. But God? The infinite and precise creations of an intelligent Creator with a design and a plan—that explains it. How can anyone study the miniature world of a clump of moss and touch an elephant—and believe they were haphazard happenings. That takes more faith than I have.
I looked up moss blooms. Scientists say they are not actually blooms, and moss does not have flowers. They have an explanation; the “blooms” are spores. Spores are not seeds and produce no flowers.
But many of these same scientists also discount creation and herd academics and anyone else they can bend to fit into their agendas into accepting their theories of a big bang and evolution. I will stick to moss blooms and elephants.
“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth…and God saw that it was good.” Genesis 1:1
Savannah needed brushing. She can’t be brushed when her coat is wet—and since it rains here in Dunoon nearly every day—accomplishing that chore is difficult, especially given the large amount of time that it takes to care for husband Alan, who cannot walk.
Recently, I set out with brushes, a comb, and a short leash, and took Savannah down to the edge of the River Clyde to brush her so that her loose fur would fly away with the wind—and hopefully be used by birds this spring for their nests.
On the way to the brushing place, a drop of rain hit my nose. I looked up into the unrelenting grey sky and nearly turned around and returned to the car. I figured that by the time I reached the intended location the sky would have opened up and drenched us. However, I finished brushing Savannah before the rain started. Then I stopped to get a cappuccino to take home to Alan. The sweet barista would not charge me for the drink and gave it to me for free. Blessings I would have missed had I let the possibility of rain stop me.
One drop of rain does not a storm make. How often do we miss blessings by giving up and stopping too soon?
“He who observes the wind will not sow, and he who regards the clouds will not reap.” Ecclesiastes 11:4
Growing up in the South, USA, we did not have holly bushes. We didn’t have snow either—or at least very rarely—but I loved Christmas cards with the deep green leaves and red holly berries, and when I drew my own Christmas cards I always included holly leaves and berries.
When I came to Scotland, I was delighted to find holly shrubs. In fact, we had one growing in our yard. And a friend of ours who hosted weekly Bible studies had an amazing holly tree tunnel in her yard. But, alas…no berries. No berries at Christmas, no berries in the spring, no berries in the summer, no berries in the fall—no berries at all. Remembering all the Christmas cards I had designed and drawn around holly berries—it was disappointing.
Today when I walked Savannah, I faced off with depression. It was grey. Grey is a nice color—but across the entire sky day after day? It was cold. I hate cold. My fingers were numb, my nose stung, the wind threw cold raindrops into my face. I wanted to be home in Texas. In fact, any place warm. But both of my sisters in the U.S. are battling serious health issues and I want to be there with them. Plus I developed some pesky heart symptoms—considering the fact that I need to stay alive at the moment to take care of husband Alan who can’t walk and fur baby Savannah who can’t walk herself—and I was scheduled for bloods, blood pressure, and an ECG on Friday.
As I walked into the wind making a brave attempt to praise God for everything—I spotted it. A tiny red berry on a holly bush. One red berry. It was enough to raise me up to praise and gratitude. Holly shrubs really did have red berries! All those Christmas cards I had faithfully drawn year after year were truthful, not deceitful.
Reflecting on my joy at finding one red holly berry made me think about how one genuine smile could lift the spirits of another person and restore hope and gratitude in their lives.
I’ve spent the rest of the day smiling. One little red holly berry started it.
God says in His Word, “My fruit is better than gold.” Proverbs 8:19.
Sometimes that fruit is a little red holly berry. Or a smile.
The news media is filled with horrible images and stories about atrocities in the world. Yet, there is kindness.
Because husband Alan can no longer walk we do a lot of traveling with him in a wheelchair. Everywhere we go, folks here in Dunoon, Scotland, wrap us in kindness. If Savannah’s leash gets caught in one of the back wheels and I have to help Alan out of the chair and have him hold something while I turn the chair upside down to free the leash—I get shouldered out of the way by eager helpers. Strangers not only take over coaxing the leash out of the chair—they also support Alan as he stands waiting to get back into his chair.
There is chaos in the world, but there is also kindness.
At the entrance to every shop, someone opens the door. They often come in twos or threes and hold Savannah while I maneuver the chair inside, and hold the door open, and tug on the front of the chair to help me get it over the hump. If it’s a restaurant, they run ahead of us and move chairs out of the way so we can get through.
In spite of all that is wrong with the world, there is also kindness.
When Alan spent five months in the hospital, a lovely couple from our church walked Savannah for me every day while I visited Alan in the hospital. Other people in the neighborhood also offered. Friends dropped by to visit him and our church even held a service in the hospital for him.
In a world of hurt, hate, and anger—there is also kindness.
It rains here in Dunoon almost daily. It is 40 degrees colder than my Texas blood likes. When my son Luke was stationed in Hawaii he called excited by the beauty around him. “Mom, everything green has a bloom on it and it is always the perfect temperature.”
The climate is miserable in Dunoon, Scotland, yet there is beauty.
When I am tempted to whine and complain, I remember Luke’s words. Then I tell myself that Dunoon is like a cold climate Hawaii. Everything is vibrant green and almost every green thing has a bloom on it.
It’s amazing how gratitude and thankfulness can transform the world around us and how much kindness there is if we just look for it.
“Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praise worthy—meditate on these things.” Philippians 4:8
Stephanie Parker McKean 