The Pink Jesus

This blog marks the completion of an entire month in my new home in Zephyrhills, Florida.

Bandera, Texas is the home of my heart. I’m Texan right down to my boots—which I had to leave behind in Dunoon, Scotland, because there wasn’t enough room for them in the suitcase.

However, Florida has attractions I have always loved; tropical flowers, palm trees, Spanish moss, heat, sunshine, lizards, frogs, and an abundance of other wildlife. The two most important things about Zephyrhills are that Savannah loves it and is actually eating every night for the first time in the past seven years of her life, and I’m able to help my brother Jerry who has Parkinson’s disease. I miss Scotland and my Scottish friends—especially my church family. But God has blessed me right down to the pink Jesus around the block from my brother’s house.

Yes, a pink Jesus. A very large, very pink statue of Jesus.

Many things around the neighborhood have surprised me. All the folks I have met here are friendly and welcoming. They have all commented favorably on my Christian-themed T-shirts. Many of them wear similar clothing. Nearly every house has at least one U.S. Flag displayed. Many houses have several American Flags, and one of the houses has a Flag which lights up at night. Cool!

Many of the vehicles here—including my brother’s and my sister’s—sport license plates that declare, “In God We Trust.”

And…the pink Jesus. The very large, very pink Jesus.

When I first discovered the pink Jesus it was on a late evening walk with Savannah and I wasn’t quite sure that I was seeing what I thought I was seeing—so I went back the next morning to get another look—and there it was. Very large, very pink.

Because I don’t personally like pink, my first thought was, “why a pink Jesus?” Nothing in my closet is pink. As a matter of fact, nothing I own is pink. To me, a pink Jesus seemed almost an affront.

Then I remembered the children’s song we used to sing: Jesus loves all the children, all the children in the world—yellow, brown, red, black, or white—they are precious in his sight—Jesus loves all the children in the world.”

The pink Jesus made perfect sense. Jesus is a Spirit. A spirit can be any color, or no color at all. And Jesus loves all the people in the world. Even if people were green, pink, blue, purple, or some other color—Jesus would love all of them. Jesus doesn’t look on the outside, He looks into hearts.

A pink Jesus? Why not? Just another thing in my new neighborhood that makes it special.

“For the LORD does not see as a man sees; for a man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.”

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Away from God

For many years now, Jesus has been my best friend. However, something strange happened when I left my Scotland home after 15 years and returned to the U.S., specifically to Zephyrhills, Florida.

I felt alone. My family was around me. Family I hadn’t seen in nine years. They are lovely. But, still, that quiet nagging feeling that I had been abandoned.

I knew moving back to the US after being gone for so long would be difficult. It would mean starting all over again. It would almost be like coming as an immigrant with nothing to bring except a dog, a computer, and one suitcase. And the computer was 15 years old.

Everything seemed impossible. I needed to get my computer up and running, but it would not accept the US internet connection.

I needed to get a bank account, get my Social Security switched from the UK to the US, and get a driver’s license. I couldn’t do any of that because I couldn’t prove my identity.

Yes, I had my passport, but to get a bank account, or get the Social Security switched, or get a driver’s license—I needed two pieces of mail that came to me at my new address in Florida. Moreover, I was told that because my current driver’s license was from the UK, I would need to take both the written and the driving part of the exam to get my driver’s license.

The worst part? I discovered that where I am living with my brother is too far away to walk anywhere. It is so far from grocery stores and other places that I am totally dependent on my sister for transportation. If she can’t come some day or if her car breaks down—I am stuck. Helpless.

The US is huge. Florida is huge. After living in Dunoon, Scotland, and never driving across the water—Zephyrhills is huge with busy crowded roads and rushing traffic. There is a McDonald’s within walking distance of our house, but it is across the road on one of the busiest North-South roads in US, and it is too dangerous to cross on foot.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but the seeming impossibility of my situation and the need to be totally dependent on other people after having been the decision-maker and caretaker for so many years in Scotland, devastated me. It made me feel as if God had moved away from me. As if He, too, had abandoned me.

Of course He hadn’t. It wasn’t God who had moved. It was me. I let pride do the talking. Texas is home, but I’ve always loved Florida; the palm trees, Spanish moss, lizards, frogs, other wildlife, tropical flowers. And I love my family. But I did not love feeling helpless and dependent on them when I’ve been the one in control for most of my life starting with raising Luke as a single parent.

More to my shame, I did not recognize or admit my pride at first. It took a while for the truth to hit. When I finally admitted my sin of pride to Jesus and accepted His forgiveness, I found peace in my new home. God had never left me. I had never been alone or abandoned. When I let go and let God—amazing things happened. Suddenly, I got a new computer and got it hooked up to the internet. I got a bank account, got my Social Security payments switched to the new bank account, and got my driver’s license—without needing to take the exam! Now I’m looking at used vehicles.

The problem wasn’t God. It was me. He didn’t move away. I did.

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” Psalm 30:5

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Learning to Sweat Again

Frogs on the outside window screens, lizards in the laundry room, palm trees, Spanish moss, blooming tropical flowers…and sweat. I’m in Florida with family now and loving it—even the sweat.

But there are things to learn. Learning never stops at any age. Because I moved to warm, sunny Florida from Dunoon, Scotland, which is cool to cold all year, I’ve discarded my sleeveless jacket—my body warmer. I wore it nearly every day of the year in Scotland for the past 15 years. The pockets were full of everything I needed; my camera, doggie poo bags, tissues, my change purse and money. Now I am learning to stuff the camera and doggie poo bags in the pocket of my jeans—and leave everything else behind.

Having no desk or desk chair yet, I am learning to work on a round table, which is challenging, especially when I attempt to open my Bible. If I get enough of my Bible situated on the round table that I can read it, my mouse and mouse pad fall off the other side!

Rough collie Savannah and I mostly have the neighborhood figured out, but me being me, we did get lost once. And, Savannah needs to learn that there are no water puddles to drink out of along the way, and that however far she decides to go on our walks—she must travel the same distance to get back again.

As for me, I must learn to take pictures in the sun. My point-and-shoot camera took great photos in Scotland where it was invariably cloudy. Now…the clouds are gone and the sun attempts to overpower my camera.

 I need to learn to drive again in the U.S. on the side of the road that I drove on for 53 years before moving to Scotland 15 years ago. I must take and pass both parts of the driver’s license exam and drive in heavier traffic than I have faced since leaving the San Antonio area some 18 years ago. Learning is strengthening—but not fun!

My mother and grandmother always told me that women don’t sweat. They perspire. They “glow.” But they don’t sweat. Well, I wish they were still alive now to see me as I sweat over my computer because I just got back from walking Savannah in the sun under a cloudless sky.

And as much as I love and miss all my friends in Scotland—sorry—don’t be expecting a phone call. Today I called the electric company to pay a $13.16 charge for my last week in Dunoon. The phone call cost $78.00.

Learning one day at a time. “For precept must be upon precept, precept upon precept, line upon line, line upon line; here a little, there a little.” Isaiah 28:10.

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Rain, O Rain, O Rain

When I was a child I loved singing Al Jolson’s 1921 hit, “April Showers.” The lyrics include: “Though April showers may come your way, they bring the flowers that bloom in May…It isn’t raining rain, you know, it’s raining violets.”

Since living in Scotland, I’ve quit singing that song.

I spent many years in the northern Nevada desert which gets an average of four inches of rain a year. I spent many years in the Texas Hill Country which gets an average of 34 inches a year. Dunoon, Scotland, averages 312 inches a year. So far in September, it has rained nearly every day. Savannah’s towels are hung up all over the house to dry. My shoes are on top of a radiator waiting for the heat to come on. The other radiator is covered with my wooly hats and gloves from yesterday’s dog walk.

By the time I finished walking Savannah in the wind and rain this morning and made it into the store, my fingers were so cold that I couldn’t feel the avocados to see if they were ripe. I didn’t spend long in the store—my feet were so wet and cold that I wanted to get home and exchange my footwear for dry socks and slippers. No good to scold me for not wearing rain-proof shoes. I wear size 11 shoes and UK women’s shoes go up to size 9. The only reason the slippers fit is that they were a Christmas gift from the U.S. last year.

The last few years I lived in the Texas Hill Country it was in a building with a metal roof and no air conditioning—on 108F degree summer days. My entire life, up until 15 years ago when I arrived in Scotland was spent living in places that got up into the high 90s during summer—mostly with no air conditioning. Conversely, here in Dunoon, Scotland, the average temperature ranges from 35F to 64F, and it rarely gets above 71F.

The purpose of this blog is not to criticize or complain. Scotland is a lovely country from coast to coast with a wealth of history and historic sites to visit. The people are as lovely as their country and have welcomed and embraced me. Were it only for the wonderful folks and the stunning views, I would stay in Scotland until Jesus calls me home instead of leaving at the end of this month.

But the rain. The last violets I remember seeing were on my grandmother’s window sill in the sunny south U.S.A. April showers don’t bring May flowers in abundance here—it’s still too cold for them to bloom.

The point of this blog is to encourage all of us to soften the hammer of judgment. When we meet others who seem strange and weird to our way of thinking, we should temper our quick negative response. Perhaps they are merely out of place flowers seeking sunshine so they can bloom.

Jesus warned, “Judge not, that you be not judged. For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you.” Matthew 7:1

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Leaving Scotland

If all goes according to plan, I will be flying away from Scotland in two weeks and landing in the arms of my family. I haven’t seen them in nine years because Alan became too ill to travel.

Scotland is an altogether lovely and mysterious country, and the people here are warm, friendly, and wonderful. If the weather was not so grey, gloomy, dreich (wet and rainy), and cool to cold—the entire world would crowd into Scotland and ruin the scenic beauty.

God put me in Scotland for these past 15 years. I have no doubt of that. By every law of probability known to science, I should never have met Alan—much less married him and moved to Scotland. It was a God thing. I often wonder if I have accomplished what God sent me to do. I was here to hold Alan’s hand as he took his last earthly breath. I have met and made lovely friends that I will carry in my heart and prayers until I take my last earthly breath. And adventures? They color the pages of many of my 51 cozy mystery books, especially the ones set in Scotland like “The Moss Murders.”

But have I finished what God sent me to do?

I have helped teach Children’s Church at my church, a privilege and a blessing. I have fed birds, pet neighborhood dogs, rescued sea gulls and hedgehogs, and supported local businesses. I learned to drive on the wrong side of the road and passed my driving license exam on the first attempt. But have I done what God sent me to do?

I’ve done what my character Zara did in my most recent cozy mystery, “The Moss Murders.” Zara explained, “I studied 480 test questions so I could take the test for Indefinite Leave to Remain in the UK. Do you know what kind of things I had to learn, Cleve? I had to learn that the first British curry restaurant opened in London in 1810. I don’t even like curry. I had to learn the owner’s name—Hindoostane. What did I need to learn that for? The only way I could remember how to spell it was comparing it to voodoo, and then on the test—it was multiple choice. I felt cheated.”

I survived my first experience with roundabouts. I hit one going to Inverness and went around, and around, and around, and around—because I didn’t know how to get out of it. I climbed over a mountain and entered an enchanted forest where a ghost army of mushrooms guarded the path and the trees grew so close together that daylight never touched the ground to dry the muddy, slippery trail. I searched for the Loch Ness Monster. I learned a slew of Scottish words like blether, shogly, haver, muckle, peely-wally, stooshie, dreich…but have I accomplished what God sent me to do?

I ate two evening meals on the same day because I fixed dinner before going to have “tea” with a neighbor. I didn’t know that “tea” is the evening meal. Even dogs have their “tea” at night.

I have learned to recognize words that the Scots pronounce differently than my Americanism—words like garage and aluminum that I didn’t understand the first time I heard them. And “zed-e-b-r-a,” which is how zebra is spelled here.

But have I done what God sent me to do?

Last night when I was walking Savannah, a group of older teen girls stopped to pet her, as they have done for years. As they were leaving, two of them called out, “God bless you,” before I could.

Some might consider a new house a blessing. Or a new car. Or an unexpected deposit in their bank account. Or a gift of bling. I don’t need any of those material things. Hearing those girls call out “God bless you” filled my heart with joy and sent tears trailing down my face. In a small humble way, perhaps I have accomplished what God sent me to do.

“That you may tell it to the generation following. For this is God, our God forever and ever; He will be our guide even to death.” Psalm 48:14

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Of Frogs and Snakes…and Umbrellas

The best laid plans of mice and men…sometimes work. If mine do, I will be leaving Scotland at the end of the month to go home to family and friends in the U.S.

Scotland is a lovely country with lovely people. There are things about Scotland that I will miss. Fourteen of my 51 books are set in Scotland. These include the two most recent, “The Moss Murders,” “Body in a Bush Murder,” four Fog Buster mysteries featuring older amateur sleuths with age-related disabilities, “Body From the Scottish Castle Mystery,” three Texas Miz Mike mysteries, a stand-alone one-of-a-kind mystery, “Killer Conversations,” and one of the funniest, “Lost For Murder.”

Living in Scotland has enriched my life. Not all enriching experiences are positive. Learning to drive on the wrong side of the road, navigate roundabouts, drive a big car on narrow roads lined with stone fences, and “hold it” on road trips because there are few public bathrooms have all been challenging. The hardest challenge has been learning to live with nearly daily rain, grey skies, cool to cold temperatures “summer” to winter and all seasonal variations in between—these have been teeth-gritting challenges. As I write this blog at 10 a.m. in the morning, half of Savannah’s towels are already wet and are hanging around the house on every protrusion that sticks out far enough to hold them while they dry.

Scottish words are lovely and it’s been fun to learn them and use them. Feeling blue? Call up a friend for a blether. Angry? Don’t be glaikit. Control your temper and don’t cause a stooshie. Day dreaming? Don’t haver the day away. Fence a bit shoogly? Reinforce it. Sick? Are you peely wally (physical illness) or scunnered (fed up)? Someone invite you to tea? Find out if they are serving hot tea and biscuits (cookies), or if they are serving the evening meal. If you make a mistake about this, they will think you are numpty.

The fourteen books I’ve written with a Scottish background take advantage of the richness of Scottish words. The most recent one, “The Moss Murders,” perhaps more than the others. To me it’s a lovely, almost poetic book, in spite of being a murder mystery. And if you read it and are “blown away” by whodunit, you are not alone. I didn’t know myself until the last couple of chapters. I had a different culprit in mind when I started writing, but the characters took over and wrote their own baddie—which left me scrambling to go back into the front of the book to plant clues for readers.

As I walked Savannah in the rain this morning and watched the advancing army of umbrellas of different heights as children headed for school, I thought about things (besides family and friends) that will delight me to see again. Joining the list were amphibians and reptiles; frogs, tadpoles, turtles, lizards, snakes. They must have frogs here in Scotland because they have a marvelous word for them—puddocks, but for nearly 15 years, I have searched burn after burn (streams or creeks in the U.S.) without ever finding one. It is too cold for lizards and turtles although some people keep tortoises as house pets.

Leaving Scotland will be a sad time and I will dearly miss the friends I’ve made. It will be a happy time, too, because I haven’t seen my family in nine years—nor have I seen a lizard, snake, or turtle. And when I attempt to explain some of the common wildlife we have in the U.S.—raccoons, skunks, armadillos—to our children’s church class, they are as bamboozled as I was when I met my very first roundabout and drove around, and around, and around, and around, because I didn’t know how to get out of it. I fear the children think I’m clyping.

“To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1.

It’s time for me to get back to my wonderful family. And to a land of warm temperatures, and amphibians, and reptiles.

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Why Moss?

We children were blessed to have a mom who loved books and took time to read to us. One of my earliest memories is sitting beside Mom on the couch—me on one side and my sister Leslie on the other—while Mom read us a bedtime story.

Leslie Garcia and I are both authors while my sister Vicky has a journalism degree and has spent her entire working career with words. She is also my editor.

Take time to read to your children and grandchildren.

One of my favorite books—another of my earliest memories—is “And to Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street” by Dr. Seuss. As Marco walks to school and keeps his eyes open—as per his father’s instructions—his imagination is equally awake. A horse becomes a zebra, then a reindeer, then an elephant with two giraffes, and the wagon becomes first a chariot, then a sled, and finally a cart with a brass band. Police escorts join the parade and an airplane drops confetti.

Two memorable lines from the story are, “And that’s a story that no one can beat,” “And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street.”

That book was rejected by at least 20 publishers. Dr. Seuss didn’t let rejection stop him. He believed in his power to create words worth reading. He went on to write more than 60 books. He both wrote and illustrated 45 of them.

All writers struggle to overcome rejection. Published authors are the ones who fight through rejection and keep on writing. They don’t give up. I have written 51 books, have illustrated one of them, and collected more than 150 rejection slips before my first book was published in 2012. I treasure those rejection slips. I’m going to make a collage with them someday.

My just released “The Moss Murders” is set in Scotland. It is one of my favorites out of 51 books, perhaps because peering into moss blooms (actually spore capsules—moss doesn’t bloom like flowers) tickles my imagination and reminds me of Dr. Seuss’ brilliant books and illustrations. When the moss isn’t “blooming,” I like to pet it. When it is blooming, I can look into the forest of spore capsules and imagine a Dr. Seusserized village springing to life.

The Moss Murders is a romantic cozy mystery giving older characters a stage and a script worth remembering.

The Moss Murders is a romantic cozy mystery that roots for the underdog. Or more accurately, for the underfoot. Moss. Other than gardening books, very few books have been written about moss and much of the media on moss is about how to get rid of it. However, in The Moss Murders, moss joins the other unsung heroes as something to celebrate.

Why moss? “God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty.” 1 Corinthians 1:27.

Moss possesses beauty, durability, and permanence—the same characteristics I want The Moss Murders to leave behind in the hearts and minds of readers.

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When a Blessing Isn’t

At times a Bible verse perplexes me—sometimes even for years—until the Lord gives me understanding. For instance, Proverbs 27:14. “He who blesses his friend with a loud voice, rising early in the morning, it will be counted a curse to him.”

Isn’t a blessing always a good thing, I wondered.

The same with Proverbs 25:17, “Seldom set foot in your neighbor’s house, lest he become weary of you and hate you.”

Surely friends are always glad to see one another. Human wisdom, not God’s wisdom.

A recent experience taught me that blessings are not always blessings. A couple of days after Jesus took Alan home with him, a Facebook friend from another country sent me an email that she was going to send me an Amazon gift card—a small amount—that I could use to help with expenses. That was extremely kind, especially since I had never met her. I thanked her, but told her not to send anything. She insisted she was sending it regardless.

My computer is fifteen years old and I’m ashamed to say that I really don’t know anything about it or computers in general. I admit to mental laziness. If I think I don’t need to know something, I don’t burden myself with attempting to learn it. I know how to write books; save them; email them to the editor, even attach cover illustrations. But I don’t surf the internet, I don’t open unfamiliar links…I just write.

I had never heard of Amazon gift cards and had no idea of what one was, what it looked like, or what to do with it. Then I got several emails over the next few days complaining that the gift card wouldn’t go through. I thanked her and explained—again—that her friendship was important, not anything she sent. She said she would send it through Paypal. More emails. Had I received it? She had sent it. Why hadn’t I thanked her? Was there something wrong with my Paypal? Could I check it and make sure it was working? Could I set up a new Paypal for her?

Alan went to Heaven and left me behind with a slew of unexpected red tape to slice through and so many hoops to jump through that I grew weary attempting to do everything and get it right. Plus the additional burden of making a decision about rough collie Savannah—take her with me when I go back to the U.S., or re-home her? That meant researching travel expenses and regulations. Add to that the near daily emails about why I didn’t receive her gift.

That’s when I finally remembered the Bible verse that had perplexed me: “He who blesses his friend with a loud voice, rising early in the morning, it will be counted a curse to him.” The anticipated blessing—wasn’t.

Oh, but that’s not the end of the story. When the money was finally sent back to her by Paypal because I had “never accepted it,” it turned out that she had used the wrong email address even though she assured me all along that she had used the right one. No apology for the drama. She said she would send a check.

Groan. Our bank left our little village a long time ago. There is no way to cash or use a check here—even a small amount. It requires driving to the passenger ferry, purchasing a ticket and return ticket, taking a taxi to the nearest bank—which is NOT in the same town where the ferry docks—and then, me being me, getting lost attempting to find another taxi to get back to the ferry from the bank (I don’t have a mobile phone). It takes more than half a day to complete—longer depending on how long I stay lost.

I love my Bible. I read it cover to cover. I believe it cover to cover. And now just one more example of how I know that I can trust God’s wisdom over my human wisdom.

Sometimes, a blessing isn’t.

It will take practically the entire amount of the check to finance getting it to the bank. There might be enough left over for lunch—but I will be wandering around lost at lunchtime.

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My Dog Has Trust Issues

It is disappoints me that my rough collie Savannah has trust issues. I’ve given her nothing other than love and the best possible care I can since puppyhood.

Okay, I admit—the drop foot is a problem for both of us. Drop foot is interwoven into the plot of my Christian cozy mystery, “Hole to Hell Mystery” https://www.amazon.com/Hole-Mystery-Stephanie-Parker-McKean-ebook/dp/B0GDG6T6GS . The condition causes me to fall when the foot I lift up when I’m walking falls down on its own accord. When Savannah walks in front of me she casts frequent sideways glances behind her to make sure that I am still there—and that I’m not about to fall. When she hears my shoe scuff—she runs far enough ahead that I won’t land on her if I fall.

The part about the trust issue that I don’t understand, however, involves the vet’s office. She loves going to the vet. We walk past it nearly every morning and she always goes in to say “howdy” to the folks there. Recently, they have started giving her treats—which has increased her keenness to visit. Our vet’s office is closed on Saturday.

When we walk past the vet’s office on Saturday, Savannah is determined to visit. I explain to her—every Saturday—that it is Saturday and that they are not open on Saturdays. She doesn’t believe me. She will stand at the gate waiting for it to magically open until I shake it and prove to her that it is locked. Then she walks around to the other side and we repeat the performance. “Savannah, the vet’s office isn’t open on Saturday. It’s closed. No one is there.” And, again, she doesn’t believe me and waits for me to shake the gate and prove to her that it’s locked.

She’s an extremely intelligent dog—as most collies are—and it bothers me that she doesn’t trust me to tell the truth. I make an attempt to reel memories through my head and stop the reel at an explanation. The only one I’ve found is that occasionally—and only occasionally—I will tell her, “no treats until you eat your food,” and then I relent and give her a few more chicken strips because it’s bedtime and she hasn’t eaten anything and I hate letting her go to bed on an empty stomach. She has chronic pancreatitis. When her tummy hurts she simply won’t eat. Not anything. Therefore, it is an every-single-day battle to get her to eat even with the medication I give her. So when she eats the food in her dish she is rewarded with hugs, pats, praise—and treats.

Finally, another explanation filtered through my mind. Perhaps she doesn’t have trust issues—perhaps she has incredible faith. Didn’t Jesus say in the Bible that if we have faith the size of a mustard seed we can say to the mountain, “move,” and it will be moved and cast into the sea? (He did.) Through prayer, Jesus has moved many seemingly impossible circumstances and difficulties out of my life and put me on the road to victory. Perhaps Savannah believes that if she stands at the gate and waits long enough—someone will open it for her.

Or, perhaps Savannah is a positive thinker. Christian evangelist and author Nick Vujicic was born with no arms and legs. He travels the world speaking positive encouragement to millions of people. He is married with four children.

Martin Luther King Jr.’s unwavering optimism brought his dream of equality for all people to the forefront and brought about great and positive changes that continue to mushroom and encourage others to share the dream and reach for it.

Helen Keller was deaf and blind. Her remarkable accomplishments continue to inspire millions.

Pastor Joel Osteen’s mother Dodie, who recently died at 91, survived for more than 41 years after being diagnosed with terminal Stage 4 liver cancer. God healed her, but she fought against the killer disease with unwavering prayer and positive thinking—declaring herself healed even when she was so close to death that she could feel it reaching out to touch her.

Perhaps I should let this trust issue go and comfort myself with the fact that my intelligent dog has remarkable faith and/or is a positive thinker.

Proverbs 23:7 says, “As a person thinks in their heart, so are they.”

So we will continue to stand there in front of the gate every Saturday waiting for it to open. And someday—maybe it will.

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Poetry Lost?

My brilliant sister Leslie Garcia has always been a great poet. Here’s a link to her poetry book, “Always the Moon,” which has a perfect 5-Star rating; https://www.amazon.com/Always-Moon-Leslie-P-Garcia-ebook/dp/B0196OK5AK/ref=sr_1_14 .

Because I have now written 51 Christian Cozy Mysteries (number 51 will be released soon), people often ask me if I write poetry. I did write poetry once. While I was still in school I used to carry a folder around with me that contained all my poems. They were typed on a manual “Royal” typewriter that had such stiff keys that typing on it strained my fingers. Over the years I’ve lost the poems—but I retain the memory of sore fingers!

While I was sorting through paperwork preparing for Alan’s memorial service, I found two poems I had written for him in 2010. I probably haven’t written poetry since then. I share them in memory of my late husband, Alan Thomson McKean.

The Grand Prize

I’ve never found a treasure chest at the bottom of the sea,

Never found a pot of gold at the rainbow’s end—

Yet with your love, I’m richer in the end.

I’ve never won a contest or claimed the grand prize,

Never been the best at anything I’ve tried.

I’ve never won a million dollars or a fancy new car—

Yet with your love, I’m richer by far.

Give someone else the millions, the car, the grand prize—

All I want in life is the love reflected in your eyes.

Let someone else follow the rainbows, find gold and stake a claim—

Your love is more precious than riches or fame.

What I See in You

What do I see in you?

I see all the wonder of the world in the framework of the person God created in you.

You are apple blossoms going from spring promise to autumn fulfillment.

You are the crystal rushing waters of a mountain spring feeding a thirsty river. You are a gold nugget nestled in a gold-flecked sandbar with mindless green and blue-spangled waters splashing patterns over your bed—yet the shadows of the water cannot hide your shine.

You are a cloudless blue sky. You are the warm wonder of the sun. You are a storm cloud sweeping over the face of the mountain to feed the grassy meadows and rioting wildflowers with gentle rain.

There is moonlight in your eyes, the soft touch of love in your smile. You are a walking poem, a love song, a living, walking promise of joy and happiness.

You are my life.

Poems end. Life continues in a different pattern. As long as God is in it, nothing is ever truly lost. Everything we see—or write—is temporal, even poetry. God alone is eternal.

“For the things which are seen are temporary, but the things which are not seen are eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:18

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