Where Is That Girl?

DSCF7038Where is the little girl who chased fireflies through corn stalks and thought at least some of them were actually fairies? Where is the little girl who believed in princes and knights and happy ever after endings? Where is the little girl who searched the skies for rainbows believing in that pot of gold at the end? Where is the little girl who scanned the night skies for UFOs and saved her money to build a hot air balloon and look for the Loch Ness Monster? Where is the little girl who held an injured sparrow in the palms of her hands and watched in wonder as the bird’s transparent blue spirit rose above the bird and shot upward when the bird died?

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Sometimes it seems that little girl who believed in a world of miracles died. Then something as simple as soap bubbles rising over the sink in rainbow colors when she does dishes brings her back to life.

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The miracle of flaming colors streaked across the sky to announce a new day, the miracle of a curious robin in the garden, the miracle of a child’s laughter, the miracle of ebbing and flowing tides, the miracle of changing seasons…life is a miracle. God is a constant Miracle Worker and every breath, every season of life is a gift.

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http://www.amazon.com/Stephanie-Parker-McKean/e/B00BOX90OO/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

I Used To Think…

I used to think I was patient. I taught preschoolers for more than seven years. I parented a hyperactive son before ADHD became a buzz word. People who saw us thought I was a bad parent, unable to discipline my child.

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I used to think I was kind. I’ve rescued grasshoppers, snakes, lizards, frogs, possums, and tried to befriend people who find themselves a target of unkindness. When I was eleven, I hit an adult three times my size with a metal fence post because he was savagely beating his runaway pony on our property.

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Now I know I am not patient. Suffering brutal pain for so long from a huge bulging disc in my back that is pressing directly into my spinal cord has robbed me of patience. I feel like limping to the nearest hospital on my crutches and refusing to leave until the problem is fixed – or until I get arrested and forcibly removed. I’m not suicidal – yet – but death doesn’t scare me: it means the pain would stop.

Now I know I am not kind. Pain that takes my breath away and makes me fall down on the floor if I happen to sneeze or cough when I’m standing up has robbed me of kindness. Some days I think I would walk over the back of my grandmother to get to the operating table first.

I am thankful for this pain. It has been an opportunity to learn – really learn. Never judge another person. Never. You don’t know what storm of pain or difficulty they are passing through. Next time, it could be you.

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I am thankful for this pain because it has humbled me. “Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, rather soberly as God has dealt to each one a measure of faith.” Romans 12:5

With the Lord’s inspiration, I’ve written a lot of books. (Without Him I could never have written even one.) Yet, how do my books benefit the world if I am impatient? Or unkind?

I am a broken person inside and out. But with this self-knowledge comes the opportunity to change and get things right.

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http://www.amazon.com/Stephanie-Parker-McKean/e/B00BOX90OO/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Whilst watching the news……

Excellent post from author Phill Syron-Jones.

P. S. Syron-Jones

This morning while watching the news there was a piece on Sexual harassment. Now, this is something that has been going on for years and is utterly wrong. What these poor women that have to endure the inappropriate advances by work colleagues or worse still bosses, is unfathomable.

Yes, more should be done to help these women. It is a form of abuse which should not be shrugged off.It should have a voice, they should have a voice.

However, as they interviewed women in the street to get their opinion, it became apparent most women don’t understand what unwanted advances mean. And unfortunately, this in itself can lead to a massive cry wolf situation and get many innocent people marked. But worse still get the attention drawn away from people who really are abused and need help.

PEOPLE…did he just says, people? Yes, because, believe it or not, men can…

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Looking for Gold in All the Wrong Places

It was 1982, and I knew all the warnings about picking up hitchhikers. But this was a couple at the edge of the dreaded 40-mile desert between Fernley and Lovelock, Nevada – and surely picking up a couple was safe, right?

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My six-year-old son was with me in the cab of our little Ford Ranger truck, but Danni and Sam said they would ride in the back. I felt even better after that. How could they present a danger riding in the back?

They explained they were homeless and working their way to California where they hoped to start a Christmas tree farm. I told them I could take them only as far as Lovelock.  I was working for friends at their gold mine. Danni and Sam insisted that they would love to work there, too. Ed and Clo were in their 70s and welcomed all the help they could get. Their mine was 14 miles from a paved road and 40 miles from the nearest town. No electricity or running water. So…I took Danni and Sam with me.

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Luke and I could only spend the weekend. I had to return to my regular job, and he had to return to school. Two weeks later, we returned to the mine. Not seeing Danni and Sam, we asked about them. Ed and Clo chuckled, then Ed sat back in his chair and roared with laughter.

“Well, girl, it was like this,” he finally said, wiping tears off his leathery face. “Danni and Clo got along real good. Sam and me…not so good. He didn’t want to haul water, dig fence posts, run the dozer, drive the dump truck, or shovel gravel into the wet washer. He complained ‘bout not getting run to town. Didn’t understand why we couldn’t make that 80-mile round trip ‘cepting a couple of times a month. Didn’t like watching out for rattlers, using the outhouse, or listening to the coyotes at night.

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“Clo and me had to run to Lovelock to get family when their truck broke down. Felt sure them kids would want to go with us, but Sam said they’d stay here and work.” Ed rumbled with laughter. “Oh, they worked!

“You know the shed where I do all the welding? Well, Sam snooped around in there while he was lazing off and found brass dross on the floor from welding. Thought it was gold. So them kids scrapped up every bit of dross they could find. They got the keys to that old truck that don’t hardly run, and headed to Winnemucca to sell their gold. Truck broke down on ‘em, so they left it sitting on the side of the road and went by foot until they could catch a ride. When they showed up in Winnemucca to sell their gold at the assay office, they got arrested on outstanding warrants from Reno. Breaking and entering, theft, burglary…reckon they won’t be coming back here to work for quite a bit, girl.”

The funny part about this story is that there was gold – real gold at the mine. Ed kept a big locked box under their bed. It was full of gold, including the 10-ounce gold nugget with embedded crystal, worth a huge chunk of money. Sam and Danni could have been rich…but they went looking for gold in the wrong places.

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Sadly, had Sam and Danni stayed with Ed and Clo, they would have garnered real riches. Ed was generous and paid well. Anyone who visited the mine was handed a metal detector. Any gold they found, they could keep. With no electricity, nights were spent laughing, talking, and playing board games under a kerosene lantern. So far out in the desert without city distractions, the feeling of health and freedom was so poignant that it brought tears to the eyes. That was real gold.

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Sam and Danni turned their back on real gold for worthless brass doss and prison bars. But not to judge them. So many do the same thing by choosing this world’s temporary wealth over eternal riches that will never rust or corrode or be stolen.

Real gold is found in God. “Command those who are rich in this present age not to be haughty, not to trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who gives us richly all things to enjoy.” 1 Timothy 6:17.

http://www.amazon.com/Stephanie-Parker-McKean/e/B00BOX90OO/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Rain…And Then Some

Joyful that it was out, I spun around to look into the sun…and found it was a streetlight. It was nine o’clock in the morning and so rainy and misty that all the street lights were still on. Rain. And. Then. Some.

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A worker was out diligently mowing a huge expanse of grass with a handheld weed eater. Here in Scotland, they call them strimmers. I was astonished. I had never seen anyone out mowing the grass before in the rain. Then I remembered: it rains here every day. Rain. And. Then. Some.

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Sometimes our lives are filled with rain—and—then some. Illness, pain, relationship problems, financial worries, tragedy…unremitting storms rock our lives and threaten to capsize our joy and scuttle our desire to keep on sailing.

When that happens, it is easy to distance oneself from God and question His existence. Why would an all-powerful, all-knowing, always-present God let bad things happen? Why would He allow bad things to happen to us?

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Rain. And. Then. Some. But every raindrop, every dreary day presents an opportunity to draw close to God and build our faith. Without storms to strengthen them, tree roots would not dig into the soil and tether mighty trees. If our lives were easy, filled with fun, sunshiny days, we would never mature and grow equal to the task of living full, abundant lives.

The same rain that makes us groan when we focus on our discomfort sends a shower of beauty across the land and provides life-giving moisture for all of God’s creation. Rain. And. Then. Some.

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http://www.amazon.com/Stephanie-Parker-McKean/e/B00BOX90OO/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Falling Into Joy

tall fall foliageMy mother’s favorite season was fall. With seven children, she had little time for her own pursuits, but when she did – she loved to do paint-by-numbers of autumn-stroked trees.

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I hate autumn. Some folks say they don’t like this time of year because it reminds them of death. Not me. It reminds me of COLD. I hate cold. I hate being cold. Out of 16 published books, I think only one is set in fall. The rest are set in spring or summer. Winter gets exactly zero.

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Still, God’s Word says, “To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1. Daniel 2:21 states that it is God Who changes the times and the seasons. I know better than to fight against God. I never win.

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So I will adopt my mother’s example of appreciating the glorious changing colors of fall. Instead of thinking ahead to the cold winter, I will let the warm colors of autumn ignite a fire in my soul to rejoice and celebrate every day God gives, every season He dictates.

http://www.amazon.com/Stephanie-Parker-McKean/e/B00BOX90OO/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Seeing is Not Always Guaranteed

Out across houses and trees, a lovely green pasture shelters a herd of sheep. The sheep calmly wander through the grass and into the trees exhibiting no fear, anxiety, or worry – totally unaware that they are being watched.

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We may not realize it, but from near or close – people watch us. They note the words we use, the facial expressions we wear, how we handle stress, tragedy, and even success. We are walking books that other people read. We should make ourselves a good read.

Christians need to realize that our words and walk are the only Bibles that some people will ever read, but Christian or not – we are all being read wherever we go.

I Just released a novella, “Growing Your Monster.” I wrote it a few years ago for the Three Day Novel Writing Contest over Labor Day Weekend. It didn’t win, but I like it enough to unpin its wings, set it free from my desktop, and see if it can fly. Many thanks to my sister and editor Vicky Potter for pulling the pins out of the wings and tossing it into the air along with the outstanding cover she designed.

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Growing Your Monster is unashamedly Christian and NON-politically correct. Kevin, 7, sees and recognizes sin. The rest of his family remain blind to the concept of right and wrong.

Shape-shifting Sinny, a monster, or an ALT (Alternative Life) lives in the new house Kevin’s parents purchase. Sinny grows, entertaining everyone except Kevin, who understands why the monster is growing. But the child is invisible. Will anyone in his family ever notice him long enough to listen or believe him? And while Kevin struggles with what he believes is his invisibility, his family falls apart.

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“Growing Your Monster” is set in the Nevada Desert, an extraordinary scenic and surprising land that few are fortunate enough to experience. I love my memories of the unique landscape, and so did my son, USMC Marine Corps Major Luke Parker. I never think of the desert without thinking about him, another reason I love “Growing Your Monster.”

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B075QPPDQY/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1505800331&sr=1-1&keywords=growing+your+monster+stephanie+parker+mckean

Lucifer, the bad boyfriend

So who is satan anyway and is he real? Insanitybytes22 answers that question.

See, there's this thing called biology...

satanI found this meme to be darkly comical, tragic in the sense that indeed, there probably are Christians who have gotten much of their spiritual education from watching TV shows like Supernatural. “Supernatural” for those who don’t know, is a TV show about a couple of cute guys who hunt demons.

Darkly comical meme too, because I’m pretty sure no teacher that actually wants their job would dare to even suggest that Lucifer is bad, let alone speak of God.

Lucifer is quite popular where I live. Like, what could possibly go wrong there, right? I call him the bad boyfriend. Terribly seductive, very beautiful, he has a powerful draw and attraction. Somebody smart once said, “if your eyes meet across a crowded room and you feel that magnetic charm…..run.” Those aren’t the butterflies of love you’re feeling, that’s your gut telling you to get the heck out of there…

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Why do so many Muslims hate America?

Mustard Seed did not print this to stir up hate or violence against Muslims, merely to point out the fallacy of Leftist thinking on appeasement.

Mustard Seed Budget

why-muslim-countries-hate-americaWhile floodwaters threatened innumerable lives in Houston, Muslims half way around the world rejoiced openly on social media that calamity had befallen the “infidels” in America.

“Allah, destroy them more and more because they destroyed our countries,” Bushra Atwani commented on a Facebook post showing flood waters flowing.

Muslim-Hate-for-America“I had fire in my heart against America,” wrote Ali Albaghdadi. “But when I saw this video, all the fire is gone. I’ve become very happy. America is the head of the snake. We prayed for that. We asked Allah to destroy America like they destroyed our country.”

The outpouring of hate, the disturbing gush of glee among Muslims who see the devastation in Texas, makes one wonder what kind of religion they have.

“We ask Allah to protect the Iraqi people there and kill everyone else,” wrote Qasim AL Gohrabi. Houston has a sizeable Iraqi population.

“This is Allah’s punishment for…

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Non-Verbal Communication

Our dog Angel Joy is skilled in non-verbal communication. Without using words—or even her voice—she chooses directions on walks, tells us when to refill her food dish, when to stop everything and spend time with her, and when it’s bedtime. Sometimes she uses her voice to remind us of when it’s time to take her pills or when she deserves a treat, but those reminders are elucidated without benefit of words.

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Words are not needed to convey the emotions behind a child’s tears, a smile, a hug, a kiss. Without words, a person’s face transmits messages: a grimace of pain, a glimmer of amusement, joy and expectation, despair and disillusionment. Words are powerful, the swords of our spirits, but non-verbal communication can be equally powerful.

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Even silence speaks. The quiet of an enchanting forest, the sparks of glory in a sunrise, the rolling splendor of an unspoiled landscape, the marvel of flower faces.

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As a writer, I love words. It’s hard to admit that the world can survive and continue without the addition of my words. Foolish pride. No matter how much time I put into crafting a perfect sentence, my words fall short of describing or explaining this marvelous universe created by God.

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“The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows His handiwork.” Psalm 19:1. A witness without words.

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Yet, as writers, we use our words. Words keep us alive. Thankfully, sometimes they are needed.

http://www.amazon.com/Stephanie-Parker-McKean/e/B00BOX90OO/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0