My Version of Hell

Most have probably heard the Biblical description of hell: a place where the fire is not quenched and the worm never dies.

My version of hell is a bit different. Cold.

I like to inject humor into the things I write, both my books and my blog. But, honestly, I just don’t find cold or being cold funny.

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Cold was funny when we were kids. My siblings and I would throw lemon drops across the frozen pond and watch our Great Danes slip, slide, and skate across the ice to snatch the candy. We laughed like maniacs as the poor long-legged beasts sprawled time and again on the ice. But now…that seems cruel, not funny. What if the ice had broken and the dogs had drowned? What if they had broken their legs or sustained permanent soft tissue damage? Of course, we were out there slipping, sliding and falling right along with them.

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Seriously, how can one find humor in something like cold that can kill you? I remember the time we walked two miles to a neighbor’s house to get two adorable puppies with the idea that our parents would let us keep them once we had them. Wrong. They were the cutest bundles of fluffy brown and white that we had ever seen. We sneaked them past our house and stashed them temporarily in our neighbor’s barn. That meant walking through ice and snow several times a day to feed them, because it was an unusually cold winter. We all suffered frostbite. To this day, my fingers become numb and burn after only a short time in the cold—even when I’m wearing gloves, and my toes are not far behind. It was humiliating to be forced to return the puppies to their owner and admit that our parents would not let us keep them. We cried the two miles from our house to their house to take the precious pups back home. Yet what I remember being even more painful…was the cold.

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Another cold-induced misery I remember is when, as an adult, I went on a church outing in northern Nevada so Luke could have the joy of picking out his own Christmas tree. He had the proper coat and boots for the occasion, and although he got cold like the rest of us, I don’t remember him suffering. As a single parent, I had only been able to outfit one of us with water-proof boots. So while he tromped around in the snow with the other children, engaging in snow battles and building a snow fort while searching for the perfect tree, I walked around in tennis shoes. I think it was the next day before I could feel my toes again.

Oh, and not to forget the time I caught a snake at the pond to see if it was poisonous or harmless. It was venomous. The water moccasin took exception to being caught and bit me. So while the hospital waited for the anti-venom to be flown in from Atlanta, they froze my arm in a tub of ice water. Once they administered the shot, they thawed my arm. To this day I’m not sure whether it hurt worse to have my arm freeze or thaw.

Nope. I do not find snow beautiful, nor do I weather cold climates well. I’m amazed that after five years of almost never being warm, I’m still in Scotland. It is a lovely country with scenic views in every direction…but it is COLD.

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So keep your Biblical version of hell as a place of raging fire and worms feeding off flesh. That’s the way Jesus described it and Jesus is always right. But I will keep my personal version of a place where it never warms up, my teeth are clattering like ice cubes hitting a glass, and every muscle in my body is stretched painfully tight until I feel like I’m shriveling up like an abandoned pumpkin after Thanksgiving. Oh, yes…and there would be fire in my version of hell because my fingers and toes would burn.

Thankfully, I won’t ever go to hell to see what it’s like because I have Jesus in my heart and He promised, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” John 3:16.

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And, thankfully, readers—you won’t have to go find out for yourselves either. Sometimes the best knowledge and wisdom we possess comes not from sticking our hand in the flame to see if it really burns—but in watching someone else and making the decision not to follow their example.

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

Angel Bus

It wasn’t until I wrote about the experience later in the day that I was struck by the thought…had it been an Angel Bus?

Our rough collie has digestive problems and can only eat prescription dog food. As long as she eats that dog food – and that dog food only – she does well. Because of Angel Joy’s chronic illness, she can tolerate only one type of treat, which most stores don’t stock.

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I took a bus to Inverness, Scotland, and waited at the bus station at the designated stand for the connection needed. It never came. It was cold, rainy, and windy (imagine that in Scotland!), and my fingers and toes were growing numb. I finally asked the driver of another bus if his bus went to the retail center. He told me I would have to walk to the stand in the town center. So I went…and that bus never came. It was announced on the flashing sign and I waited through 30 minutes of changing promises that it was arriving in three minutes, two minutes, etc., but it never arrived.

Without leaving the stand where the sign promised a bus would arrive imminently, and walking some distance in the rain (it hadn’t been raining when I left home, so I was unprepared) to my bank, I didn’t have enough money for cab fare. But I was so cold and miserable that I decided I would either take a taxi – or just go back home without the treats.

Then an old white bus limped to a stop in front of me. It was not painted or marked like a city bus. It resembled a bus from a third world country, like the one in Walt Disney’s 1964 “The Moon-Spinners,” with Hayley Mills. The door opened. I peeked inside the empty bus and asked, “Does this go to the retail center?”

The driver smiled (a rarity for Scottish bus drivers) and said, “If that’s where you want to go.” So dismissing the idea that I might be kidnapped as writer’s imagination (I don’t make enough with my writing to be worth kidnapping), I climbed aboard the empty bus and arrived at the retail park. When I was ready to leave, there were a plethora of city-marked buses coming to collect passengers and take them back to the main bus station.

Had it been an Angel Bus? Hebrews 13:2 advises, “Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some have unwittingly entertained angels.” And Psalm 91:11 says that God will give His angels charge over us to keep us in all our ways.

Not all angels take a human form. I remember the lovely golden retriever that followed Luke home one day and stayed on our porch all night. The dog tackled a drunk intruder and chased him away…then vanished. We could never find the dog or the dog’s owner to thank them.

I think of two of my high school English teachers as angels. Both encouraged me in my writing, no matter how many misspelled words I had or how messy my handwriting was. Miss Greene’s statement, “Stephanie, I believe I will be reading your books someday and teaching them in my literature classes,” kept me going for years no matter how many rejection slips I got on manuscripts. I wanted to prove Miss Greene’s confidence in me had not been misplaced.

Was it an Angel Bus? I’ll never know for sure, but I do know it’s important to be angels to other people. Who can we encourage today? Being an angel is as important as entertaining one.

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

Cotton Candy Wolves

A viewer condemned the producer of a wildlife documentary for showing a wolf catching a rabbit and tossing the squealing victim into the air before tearing it into pieces and eating it. The viewer would have been pleased if the production team had taught the wolf to eat cotton candy instead.

While I might sound like I’m condemning the clueless viewer, I understand. I refuse to watch Old Yeller ever again and I know when to close my eyes during movies and wildlife documentaries.

Just think of a cotton candy world where everything is soft, fluffy, and sweet! Unfortunately, this isn’t it.

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It’s strange even to me that I write mystery-romance-suspense books with unhealthy doses of murder included. Perhaps it’s because my experience in the world so far—starting when I was a child rape victim—has included evil. Writing or reading cotton candy stories doesn’t appeal to me. Evil is real, alive, and lives in this world. Thankfully, so does good – and God gives everyone a choice. The battle between good and evil and the triumph of good is infinitely more fascinating to me than a diet of feathery sugar. And as Evan says in Texas Miz Mike’s Bridge to Brigadoon, “Aye, murder is nicer in books. We are safely distanced from it.”

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Dixie lived next door. She eschewed God and mocked Christians for reciting “do nots” while she “had fun” hanging out in local bars. She was seldom home and her young daughters often called out-of-town grandparents to rescue them when their mother vanished with a new conquest – often a just-released felon from prison. Dixie left this world at 34 in a motorcycle crash just down the road from her favorite bar.

Author Alan McKean’s mom recently turned 100 and received a birthday card signed by Queen Elizabeth II. God holds life and death in His hands. Only He knows the secret of longevity. However, I find it noteworthy that Alan’s mom reads from the Bible, sings hymns, and prays every day.

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Cotton candy wolves will exist in the future. Isaiah, Chapter 11 promises that after Jesus returns, “The wolf shall dwell with the lamb. The leopard shall lie down with the young goat. The calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze; their young ones shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play by the cobra’s hole, and the weaned child shall put his hand in the viper’s den. They shall not hurt nor destroy in all My holy mountain, for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD.”

A cotton candy world! Meanwhile…I’ll keep writing mystery-romance-suspense books with an unhealthy dose of murder thrown in because evil is real and present in this world and wolves don’t eat cotton candy…yet.

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

We Are Not As Free a Country As You Think

Shattering. WE DO NOT HAVE THE FREEDOM TO SAVE CHILDREN.

A Big October Scare

Mistakes!

Mistakes. We all make them. At least, I do.

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Not all mistakes are bad. Naval engineer Richard Jones dropped a tension spring, watched it bounce – and invented the Slinky toy.

Sir Alexander Fleming was searching for a “wonder drug” when he found penicillin – by accident. He had discarded a contaminated Petri dish. He noticed the contamination was dissolving the bacteria around it.

One of my favorite mistakes was made by Ruth Wakefield, owner of Toll House Inn. She was attempting to make regular chocolate cookies – but had run out of baker’s chocolate. So she broke sweetened chocolate into the dough…and invented Toll House chocolate chip cookies.

George Crum lost his temper over a hard to please customer and invented potato chips from a plate of fried potatoes. Silly putty, the microwave oven, pace maker, and saccharin were all birthed by failure – mistakes.

I love the legend about a cook in China who was experimenting in the kitchen – and invented fireworks! It seems that charcoal, sulfur, and saltpeter were common in kitchens 2,000 years ago. The cook accidentally mixed these substances together and compressed the mixture into a bamboo tube. BOOM! It exploded. I’m not sure what happened to the unnamed cook.

I recently read a book where a male calico cat is one of the heroes. Due to genetics, almost all calico cats are female. The book portrayed opossums as cat-eaters. Opossums are non-aggressive and will play dead rather than attack. Cats are far more likely to kills possums than possums are to kill cats. In the Texas Hill Country, possums came up regularly and shared the cat food with the cats. No one ever had a spat or got hurt. Sometimes books and authors get it wrong.

I love the Bible account about men bringing an adulterous woman to Jesus. “The law says she should be stoned. What do you say?” If Jesus said, “Let her go,” they would condemn Jesus for disregarding the law. If Jesus said, “Stone her,” His followers would leave Him because He preached mercy and grace. Jesus said, “Let the one without sin throw the first stone.” The accusers left. Jesus told the woman, “go and sin no more.”

It was easy for me to forgive the author’s mistakes about calico cats and opossums – especially after “Captive of Fear” was released and I read the kindle copy. BOOM! Desert instead of dessert – twice! (Now corrected.) This after professional editing & me reading the edited copy.

Authors should be forgiving and humble. You never know when a cat-eating possum might stumble into your book!

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https://www.amazon.com/Captive-Fear-McKean-Stephanie-Parker-ebook/dp/B01M1KLFRE/ref=sr_1_1_twi_kin_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1474965703&sr=8-1&keywords=captive+of+fear+stephanie+parker+mckean

Bucket List

Making “bucket lists” is trendy. I don’t have a bucket list.

Since I was in the fifth grade my enduring dream has been to write books. I write books. I’m happy.

I would love to make money writing books – enough money that I could keep writing more books. But several of my books have made the Amazon Best Seller’s List (albeit briefly), so I’m happy.

It would be great to visit my hometown of Bandera, Texas, “Cowboy Capital of the World,” and say howdy to my friends. Needless to say, I’d love to visit all my family members. Family is more fulfilling than writing books.

It would be fantastic to take a Christian cruise to warmer climes. I can’t think of anything more enjoyable than spending days eating food you don’t have to cook, swimming, working out at a gym, and relaxing in the sun – except writing books.

There are fascinating places in the world to visit with strange and exotic landscapes and animals. But I’ve traveled to many of those places already through reading books. I’ve researched and written some of them into my books. I’m happy.

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Our rough collie Angel Joy had a one-item bucket list. She wanted to meet a cat and sniff it to see what it was. Our friendly birds outside let her sniff their feathers, but cats have always run. Finally, a cat not only let her sniff – it followed her across the parking lot and tried to jump into the car with her. She’s happy.

If I had a bucket list, one animal I always wanted to meet was a hedgehog. I got to meet one the other night. It let me crawl around on the ground and take its picture and touch its stiff bristles. I’m happy. I wrote a hedgehog into “Bridge to Brigadoon,” which is set here in Scotland. It was fabulous to meet one in person – so to speak.

The apostle Paul said in Philippians 4:11, “I have learned in whatever state I am, to be content.” Paul lived for Jesus even after being beaten and stoned for his faith, and after having survived shipwrecks. He knew the secret: “The joy of the Lord is my strength.” I don’t think Paul had a bucket list. He lived each day fully engaged – and he was a writer. He was happy.

Bucket lists are cool. They really are.

But, I have my books. I’m happy.

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

Directions Are Overrated

Directions are not all they’re cracked up to be. Send me into the country. Tell me to take a left past the first cottonwood tree after the low water crossing, follow the fence to the third gap, turn right and stay straight until I see a crooked fence post, turn left at the old tire and go along side the pond until I see a shed on the hill, then turn right at the sheep pen—and I can find it every time. But send me into a city building with rooms on both sides of the corridor and I need an escort to get out again. On city streets, I have been known to turn into a gas station, fill the tank, then pull out and drive the wrong way for miles before I snap to the mistake.

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Directions like east, west, north, and south are the worst. We learned in school that north is in front of us, south is behind us, east is to the right, and west is to the left. Try using that information to navigate. You are always headed north unless you walk backwards or crab walk to one side or the other.

The Highlands of Scotland may not be the worst place in the world to find destinations—but it’s close. The roads aren’t marked. Alan says directional signs were purposefully removed to confuse German paratroopers in the war. Folks, the war is over.

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Additionally, signs are small; street signs are erected so high up on buildings that they are above eye level; they are faded almost beyond legibility, and road signs are in both Gaelic and English making them too crowded to read. And roundabouts. The map may tell you to take the B999351 at the next roundabout. Four roads spin off in four different directions and not one of them is marked.

When I first arrived here five years ago, Alan and I headed to a memorial service. We never got there, in spite of following lines of cars on a one-lane road in two different directions and stopping to ask two different people out walking their dogs how to get there. It’s a good thing Alan wasn’t preaching—five years later, we still haven’t found the place.

Oh…and the death blow, “You can’t miss it.” Perhaps no one else can miss it. But I can. Trust me.

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Yesterday we embarked on a trip the map said would take 29 minutes. Two hours later, we arrived at our destination. Today, we headed out on a 30-minute trip and made it home again within three hours. The road was not marked, so we took it to the end in both directions. Nor were there any numbers on buildings. Nor did the building we were searching for have a sign. So while Alan and I are both directionally-challenged…sometimes it’s not our fault that we get lost.

We have learned to enjoy the scenery while lost. We may be the first folks, for example, to know that the leaves are already turning.

I’m so thankful the directions God gives in the Bible are easily understood. Even a directionally-challenged person can understand, “Do not covet, Do not steal, Do not commit adultery…love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and soul.

Can’t miss it.

You Don’t Have to be a Rose to Smell Sweet

A few nights ago, our rough collie Angel Joy walked into the backyard and stood sniffing the breeze. It hit me too, the sweet fragrance of wild honeysuckle on a fence across the lane.

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We have roses in the garden. They smell sweet when you bend over them and inhale, and they are lovely in appearance—but they cannot out-fragrance a honeysuckle, even though some people label the vine “a weed.”

You don’t have to be a rose to smell sweet.

Like honeysuckle, truth can be deceptive. Sometimes the rosy blossom of a lie looks more attractive than the stalwart form of truth—no matter how pure the truth smells and how badly the lie stinks.

When a friend called for clarification about three Bible verses, one of which seemed to contradict the other two, I was reminded of this. King Saul knew God had rejected him as king and had anointed David. For years, Saul sought to kill David. Twice, Saul was delivered into David’s hand and David could have killed his enemy and become king. Instead, David said, “I will not raise my hand against God’s anointed.” David wanted to do things right and wait for God’s timing.

Both I Chronicles 10:4 and I Samuel 31:4 say that Saul was wounded in battle. He asked his armorbearer to kill him so the enemy would not capture and abuse him, but the armorbearer refused to lift his hand against the king. So Saul fell on his sword and killed himself.

Then, in 2 Samuel 1:10, one of the enemies ran to David with Saul’s crown and bracelet and said that Saul was wounded and asked to be killed, and he killed him as requested. This was a lie. A rose-colored version which the unfortunate Amalekite hoped would bring him honor and rewards from David. After all, Saul had stalked David and attempted to kill him for years. Now David would be king. Surely David would reward him for killing his enemy. Instead, David said, “How was it you were not afraid to put forth your hand to destroy the LORD’s anointed?” David had him executed.

To the Amalekite, his lie held the beauty of a rich, blooming rose. It proved to be his death flower.

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Truth does not always hold the beauty of a rose, but it always holds the fragrance of the finest flower blooming in God’s garden. Jesus said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Then He died and rose victorious to show that we, too, can have everlasting life.

From weed to flower, whatever shape the Truth of Jesus assumes, its fragrance is always unmatched.

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Seagull Attack

I love getting attacked by seagulls when I run around the grass track next to the school. Not because I’m a masochist—but because the attack seagulls are good parents.

The gulls take their babies out into the field for flight lessons. When I run around the periphery of the field, one parent herds the babies into the middle of the field while the other parent tries to frighten me away. They love their offspring and are courageous when it comes to protecting them.

Wouldn’t it be a wonderful world if all parents loved and protected their children as fiercely as seagulls do? There was a great example of parents who do recently in Idaho when a cougar grabbed a four-year-old girl and her parents stormed the mountain lion and made if drop the child and flee.

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Since my son’s birthday is August 19, this blog is in memory of him. There are some doctors who probably would have advised me to abort Luke: I was a single mom working two and three jobs to support him for most of his childhood; he was hyperactive, had learning disabilities, a speech impediment, and serious medical problems. From childhood, Luke had unshakable faith in Jesus and in prayer. He lived a victorious life, graduating in the top five percent of seniors in the State of Texas and delivering a speech at graduation. He learned to play the trumpet and piano, sky dive, scuba dive, rock climb, train horses, and fly an airplane. Luke was also kind and loved rescuing animals.

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When he was four years old, I had no job, no place to stay, no money, and no vehicle. I was a new Christian. Luke and I had just started attending church. Luke was hearing Bible stories for the first time. He said, “Mom, pray for a truck. The Bible says that Jesus can do anything. Ask Jesus for a truck.” I was afraid to pray. I was afraid that if I prayed, Jesus wouldn’t answer, and that if Jesus didn’t answer, Luke might lose his faith—and that I might lose mine. Luke had no such qualms. He knelt beside the bed and asked Jesus for a truck. The next day…we had a truck!

Luke invented “wind surfing.” He tied ropes to a black plastic tarp and let the wind skate him along the ground. We had an alcoholic living in the trailer next to us. We had invited Wallace to church and told him that Jesus could help him quit drinking, but Wallace never came—and he kept drinking. One day Luke was wind surfing in front of our house when a strong gust of wind picked him up and flew him through the air. He smacked into Wallace’s kitchen window. Wallace was sitting at the table drinking and looked up to see an airborne kid crash against his mobile home. A few days later, we met Wallace at the store. “I’ve quit drinking,” he said. “I figured it was time. The other day…I was sitting at my kitchen table drinking and I saw a kid fly past the window.”

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Most people think it’s impossible to see the wind. I used to tell Luke that he couldn’t really see the wind—only what the wind was blowing. Then he took me up on a hill and made me look out across forty miles of desert. He described the wind—the patterns it made across the sagebrush…and I saw it. Luke was right. He could see the wind. He taught me to see the wind. It is one of the many priceless gifts in life that he gave me.

Just as the seagull parents had to teach their babies to fly and let them go, I had to let Luke go so he could fly—literally in his case. I was blessed to call Luke “Son.” Others knew him as USMC Major Luke Parker. He enlisted in the Marine Corps and worked his way up to Major. On November 17, 2013, age 37, Luke took his last flight straight into the arms of Jesus.

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