“Charlie Brown Christmas Tree” from the Desert

As a single parent with a sick child, I couldn’t afford to buy a Christmas tree. I hadn’t been able to afford a turkey and all the fixings at Thanksgiving – we had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Trees of any size or kind were rare in the Nevada desert, populated by sagebrush, tumbleweed, coyotes, horned toads, bull snakes, rattlers, and antelope. I loaded my seven-year-old son, Luke, and our dogs into the truck and drove out into the desert to find a Christmas tree. We drove up and down dry washes and on such faint narrow trails that it seemed inevitable that we were going to get stuck even more in the middle of nowhere than where we lived. Finally we climbed a steep, dusty hill and found a few scraggly mountain junipers crouched between rocks. Luke was thrilled!

Luke examined each tree critically, scrambling over rocks and climbing up steep ledges to view each tree from every angle. Then he picked his favorite and cut it down. We bounced back home over rocks and through dry washes and carried the little tree into our mobile home.

The tree trunk was as twisted as egg beaters and the branches not much better. It was difficult to keep the tree in the stand because no matter which way it was turned – it over balanced and fell. Finally, I managed to wrap towels around the trunk tightly enough to make it stand and Luke joyously dragged out decorations and glorified the juniper with lights, bulbs, and handmade decorations.

I fought back laughter every time I looked at that scraggly tree weighted down with twinkling lights and colorful decorations. It reminded me of Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree.

Enter Missing Dad who had hardly seen Luke after his fourth birthday and who had never sent a penny of child support. MD immediately declared the little tree was the ugliest thing he had ever seen and berated me for not having bought a real Christmas tree for my son. Luke left the room in tears and MD stomped out the door and drove off – forever, I hoped. Sometimes things are not forever. MD was soon back with a large store-bought, pre-decorated Christmas tree. He moved Luke’s tree into the corner and installed the “real” Christmas tree in its place. Then he berated Luke for not being excited about the purchase and for insisting that he liked his Charlie Brown tree better.

Fortunately, MD did not stay in our lives long. He never had. Still criticizing us for keeping Luke’s tree in the house when we had a “real” tree, and still criticizing me for not having purchased gifts to put under the store-bought tree (even after I explained I couldn’t afford to buy anything), he drove away. We watched him until he was out of sight and shared a sigh of relief.

Eyes sparkling, Luke turned to me, “Mom,” he said. “I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but now that he’s gone, can we have the real tree back? Please, Mom.”

So we stuck store-bought tree out back and hung popcorn strings on it for the birds. We put Luke’s “real” tree back in its place of honor in our home.

Love, not money, makes things real. Luke loved his “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree.

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Peanut Butter & Jelly Thanksgiving

As a single parent who had saved up all my vacation time to write the best-selling American novel and live in the country with my seven-year-old son, I was virtually starving. All I could afford to serve for Thanksgiving Dinner was peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

I sat on the kitchen floor of the rented mobile home in the Great Basin Desert of northern Nevada and cried because people all over the U.S. would celebrate Thanksgiving with their families, digging into turkey and trimmings, followed by gloriously unhealthy desserts while all I could give my child – who happened to love turkey – was peanut butter and jelly.

A knock on the door brought me to my feet. I hastily dried my tears and answered the door. Our lone in-the-middle-of-nowhere neighbor stood on the porch. She invited us to Thanksgiving Dinner at her house. Since she was elderly, we went early to help.

Enter her family. Her son staggered through the door with six-packs of beer under both arms and an open one sloshing all over the floor. Without greeting his mom, he plopped down in her comfy chair and turned on the TV to a football game. His wife spewed profanity – mainly aimed at her husband – as she plopped down in the next most comfy chair in front of the TV. Enter the two teens. The boy had safety pins hanging off both ears, both eyebrows, both nostrils and tattoos and studs in other improbable locations on his body. He openly smoked a joint as he shouted profanity at his parents. The girl had multi-colored hair, earrings and nose hoops and wore a mini-skirt and a low-cut bodice in spite of the snow. Like her other family members, she failed to greet Mrs. Merika, but at least she didn’t enter the curse-them-dead feast. Poor Luke had never heard such foul language before and was shocked.

Luke set the table while Mrs. Merika and I put out the food. The visiting family fell on it like a pack of coyotes – not even thanking the Lord or their mom/grandmother. Luke, Mrs. Merika, and I clasped hands and prayed together. After the meal was devoured, Mrs. Merika and I put up the leftovers, did the dishes, cleaned up the kitchen. Then Luke and I walked home through the snow.

“Mom,” he said after a moment. “I would rather eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the rest of my life than to go to a feast with people like them.”

A Thanksgiving lesson never forgotten. It grieves my heart that he is celebrating Thanksgiving in Heaven this year instead of with us, but he lives on in the prophetic poem he wrote a year before his airplane crash. It’s in the opening pages of Bridge Beyond Betrayal.

Happy Thanksgiving, Luke. I love you, Son!

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Broken…

Broken, shattered, splintered, smashed, disintegrated, destroyed – my exploded world on November 17 last year when my son USMC Major Luke Parker died in a plane crash at age 37.

A newspaper reporter interviewed me about my newest Christian mystery-romance-suspense book, Bridge Beyond Betrayal. “I see that the book is dedicated to your son and includes the prophetic poem he wrote a year before his death. You seem to have been close to your son. How did you get over losing him?” she asked.

I haven’t. I didn’t. I won’t. Memories play over in my mind like a DVD with no off switch. His smile. He always had a smile – even in photos his buddies took of him in war zones.

His faith; praying for a truck as a four-year-old because we were without transportation and I lacked enough faith to pray – the Lord gave us a truck the next day. The time the truck got stranded in the Nevada desert and Luke prayed, then insisted that the man who came out of nowhere to help us was an angel. I disputed that. Until we attempted to take a thank you card and some home-baked cookies to our rescuer. We never found him, nor did we find a house, a driveway, or even a dirt trail that explained how he had reached us.

His kindness. Luke’s animal rescues included a one-legged raven; a three-legged dog; a one-eyed possum; and a mentally challenged possum that lived in the closet and used a litter box because it wasn’t smart enough to figure out how to get out the open door. His people rescues. The way Luke stood up to bigger and older students who bullied younger students.

His determination. From starting out in life with hearing loss, a speech impediment and learning disabilities, Luke went on to learn and excel at everything that he wanted to do; playing a trumpet, playing a piano, scuba diving, rock climbing, training horses, flying airplanes, restoring WWII jeeps. He got a college degree in spite of his weakness in math. He went into the US Marine Corps as enlisted and worked his way up to major.

I’m most proud of Luke because his men in Iraq wrote in the newsletter that they respected his Christian example and added, “No matter what we do, we can’t make Captain Parker curse – not even when we hide his gun.”

I’m most proud of Luke for refusing to drink with other recruits in basic training. Already drunk, they threatened him with a knife. He crawled into his bunk, pulled the sheet over his head and ignored them. When he woke up in the morning, his mattress was slashed all around his body.

I’m most proud of Luke for the worn, highlighted, underlined Bible that went everywhere with him.

I’m most proud of my son for walking with God. And because he walked with God, I know he is not dead. He left the USMC to report to duty in Heaven under his Commander for all eternity – Jesus.

So, no, newspaper lady – I’m not over losing my wonderful son. But I will not sorrow like those with no hope because I know Luke lives still and I will see him again. Jesus is in the business of fixing the broken and restoring wholeness to shattered lives and hearts.

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

Signs, Purple Penguins & Sex

Humans attempt to make their own laws and ignore God’s laws.

Some human-made laws make sense and make life better for everyone: don’t let aggressive dogs run free; don’t clutter the landscape with junk; don’t smoke in public places and expose others to the health risk of second-hand smoke; don’t drink and drive.

However, these laws are already covered by God in the Bible. We have dominion over animals and are instructed to treat them with kindness. We are to be good stewards of God’s creation. We are not to do anything that defiles or destroys our bodies, which are God’s temples. Not smoking or drinking alcohol, for example, would eliminate an enormous number of health, social and safety issues.

Rocks thrown up by the sea in front of a “No Dumping” sign reminded me of the futility of ignoring God’s laws and attempting to impose our own. No joke…a school has decided to call students purple penguins instead of girls and boys. The Bible says that in the beginning, God created humans as male and female. Yet this school will call students purple penguins to be “gender inclusive.” If there is any need to refer to a student’s gender, he or she will be called “the G word,” or “the B word”…or perhaps pizza or hotdog.

Insane. Attempting to supplant God. Just as the “No Dumping” sign is powerless to stop the sea from hurtling rocks along the shore, so are humans powerless to change male and female by re-labeling. God made us male and female. He made penguins – also male and female.

Imagine romance writers like me in a world of purple penguins. We would never sell a book. Gender-inclusive, gender-neutral purple penguins would never read a Christian mystery-romance-suspense like Bridge to Nowhere and Bridge Beyond Betrayal. They would be shocked by cowboy Marty’s male appeal and Miz Mike’s female attraction to it. The same for other books written by other authors. Those poor pitiful purple penguins would miss out on some good books!

Thank Jesus that He is still in control – no matter how many signs we put up and how many labels we change.

Celebrate, all you authors and writers! Calling boys and girls purple penguins won’t stop these future readers from growing up and wading into the thrill of books that showcase characters who are unashamedly male and female…and sexy.

God made sex. Like everything else God created – sex is good!

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The good in Goodbye

One Meredith Wilson song in the 1962 film “The Music Man,” starring Robert Preston and Shirley Jones, is “Sincere.” Singing it, The Buffalo Bills lament, “where is the sin in sincere, what is good in goodbye?”

Goodbyes can be good.

This is the time of year in Fortrose-Rosemarkie, Scotland, when adult seagulls say goodbye to their young. Hearing the frantic, anxious calls of the abandoned youngsters rips my heart. The baby seagulls don’t understand why parents that have so lovingly cared for them suddenly leave and ignore their agonized cries. Big, fluffy, grey baby gulls walk along the edge of the water and sit on rooftops calling their absent parents. But this time, no matter how gut-wrenching the cries – the parents don’t respond.

I wonder if it is as hard on the parents to ignore the hurt cries of their young as it is on me. If so, they ignore the sharp, biting heart pains and distance themselves – using the wisdom God instilled in them – so the babies will be forced to exercise the feeding and flying skills that the parents have so diligently taught them. If they continued to care for their babies, the babies would continue to live on handouts and never learn self-sufficiency. A winged example of the popular cliché “tough love.”

All parents experience the hurt and learn the benefits of goodbyes when their children are still young. Goodbyes are a part of sending children to school to learn, sending them to visit grandparents and friends, sending them to summer camps…sending them away to universities, jobs, and distant locations. Without the goodbyes, children would never grow into their full potential and learn God’s will for their lives. Goodbyes can be good – but they still hurt.

The longest, hardest goodbye is when someone we love “dies.” It’s been nearly a year since my wonderful, talented son, USMC Major Luke Parker, “died” to this world. Perhaps my deep inner hurt and emptiness magnifies the anguished cries of the baby seagulls and makes me hypersensitive.

Everyone who has ever said goodbye to a loved one who departed from this world, however, has an advantage over those confused, lonely baby gulls. If we are Christians, we know that the separation is temporary. We will join our loved ones again in Heaven with Jesus lighting the way. What an awesome comfort! Death is not an end, it’s the doorway into eternity and the beginning of living a life without pain and loss.

As for the gulls…they are forced to use the life skills they have been taught. They will pass them on to their youngsters. But will they ever see their parents again? I hope so. I really hope so.

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Building with Spaghetti

It wouldn’t make sense to build a house with spaghetti. Cooked, the spaghetti would be too limp, uncooked it would be too brittle – and either limp or brittle, a spaghetti house would not last.

Yet too many times in life – we resort to spaghetti building.

Scottish National Party First Minister Alex Salmond resigned his position following his party’s unsuccessful bid to gain Scottish independence from the United Kingdom. Prior to the election, those pushing for independence and those pushing against it spent a ton of money, energy, effort and publicity pushing their agendas. In the end, they were engaging in spaghetti building.

Wherever we live, we need to become involved in our government and voice our concerns and choices. If we don’t, someone with a louder voice takes over. We need to stand up for what we believe in and be willing to expend time, energy and effort to make that stand. But we also need to remember that much of what we do in this life – no matter how impassioned and well-intentioned – is simply spaghetti building. This life that we live right now on planet earth is not intended to be the end of the story. No matter how much money we spend on our health and appearance and how much success and fame we garner down here on earth – in the end, we shatter like broken spaghetti.

The good news is that Jesus Christ, Son of God, is eternal. He is forever. He has built a forever place for us out of gold and precious stones to replace the earthly spaghetti houses we are building. The body shells that hold us on this planet and return to dust like crushed spaghetti get left behind when we “die.” We don’t need them anymore because we get new heavenly bodies that never grow old, never hurt, never sorrow – never lose their perfection.

So when things don’t turn out the way you think they should, don’t get discouraged. Take a handful of spaghetti, crush it and say, “This setback is temporary. It doesn’t matter. God’s plan for me is perfect and it’s eternal.”

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Shell Decorating

A pub in our area is welcoming students back to university with shell decorating contests and cocktails.

Contest categories include best fingernails, most glitter, most unique tattoos, wildest hair, and most body art – all of which will be left behind when we die. Our bodies are mere shells to hold the part of us that really matters while we’re alive. When we die – the us that is really us – escapes into eternity. Shells are buried. What a sad waste of expense and energy is reflected in decorating shells that will return to dust when we die.

The Bible advises in 1 Peter 3:3, “Do not let your adornment be merely outward…rather let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God.”

There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make the best of the bodies that God gave us by taking care of them. It honors God when Christians set themselves apart from the rest of the world by separating our appearances from non-believers. But the Bible tells us in 1 Timothy 6:7, “For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out.” With that in mind, does it make sense to spend time and money decorating shells?

Shell decorating contests are vain, useless, empty events. As for the cocktails? Alcohol poisons the shells that we spend so much money decorating.

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Dust Bunny Danger

The problem with writers – or at least me – is that we would rather sit and write than do anything else in the world…especially cleaning and housework.

If the dust bunnies under the bed hadn’t grown so large that they were thumping the floor and keeping us awake at night, I might have left them. Having a long-haired dog like a rough collie seems to exacerbate the danger of dust bunnies. Make no mistake – dust bunnies can be dangerous. I found that out the hard way.

Two years ago (yes, it had been two years since I vacuumed under the bed – I don’t clean, I write) I got down on my hands and knees and used the hose on the vacuum cleaner to clean under all the furniture in the bedroom. That praiseworthy achievement ended in pain and shame. Following it, I did something that I never do, something that I hadn’t done for 10 years before cleaning under the furniture, and something I haven’t done since. I went to the doctor.

My left arm became horribly swollen and discolored, not to mention painful. It was so severe that I made a doctor’s appointment. That’s when I learned about the danger or dust bunnies. They might not bite – but they sure can thump.

Certain that I had been bitten by a venomous spider that had been lurking under the dresser, I took pictures of my swollen arm from all angles. I planned to post the pictures on Facebook to warn others of the danger. The doctor, however, told me in no uncertain terms that I had not been bitten by a poisonous spider. First, he said, there are no venomous spiders in Scotland. Second, there were no spider fang marks on my arm – a point of entry for the poison. The swelling and discoloration was caused by a huge, blood-filled bruise.

Now the only two things hiding under the furniture were dust bunnies and spiders. So that pretty much establishes the culprit, wouldn’t you say? Yeah, I think so, too – dust bunnies. They hide and reproduce and live their entire lives outside the healing touch of sunlight and open air. No wonder they become grumpy and dangerous.

Without Jesus, the Light of the Word, even upright-walking, air-breathing, sun-worshiping humans can become grumpy and dangerous. We are all born with a sin nature and a natural inclination to take the easy path even when it’s wrong.

Asking Jesus to come into our hearts and be our Lord and Savior protects us from the danger of spiritual dust bunnies. Darkness cannot abide with Light and the Light of Jesus chases evil out of our lives and seals us for eternity.

Jesus did everything necessary for our spiritual cleaning when He died on the cross in our place to forgive our sins. We still have to clean under the furniture.

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Mind Your Step

Mind Your Step. Simple advice that saves lives.

One misstep is all it takes to walk into the path of danger or sustain injuries. Physical missteps have sent me tumbling off a ladder; sliding down a cliff; treading in wet cement; tracking wet paint across a wooden floor; encountering a rattlesnake; falling on ice; plummeting into cold water; getting trampled by a runaway horse; tearing a muscle in my thigh; breaking my ankle; getting lost.

Health and safety regulations abound in an attempt to prevent misstep injuries. Ladders carry warnings not to stand on the top step. Barriers are built along drop-offs on mountain roads and paths. Workers erect signs to warn pedestrians away from paint and wet cement. Emergency radios broadcast ice warnings. Signs along wildlife areas warn to watch for snakes. Missteps still happen, but warning signs and barriers frequently save lives and prevent injury.

Mind Your Step warnings seem incapable of keeping me from getting lost.

When the paint dries, when the cement sets – physical Mind Your Step signs come down. Spiritual Mind Your Step signs have no expiration date. Psalm 37 states, “The steps of a good person are ordered by the LORD and the LORD delights in that person’s path…none of their steps shall slide.” When we keep in step with God, He keeps us from falling down or getting lost in the chaos of life in this fallen world. He keeps us safe. Our outward circumstances don’t change; we still face the same illness, heartbreak and disappointment – the same trials – as other people. Becoming a Christian doesn’t safeguard against suffering. Becoming a believer installs a coping mechanism. With Jesus living inside us, we have the strength and endurance to get up and keep going every time life knocks us down.

Becoming a Christian does not equate to financial and material blessings either. The Bible posts another Mind Your Step sign in Psalm 73:”My feet had almost tumbled; my steps had nearly slipped…for I was envious of the boastful when I saw the prosperity of the wicked…until I went into the sanctuary of God; then I understood their end. Surely they are in slippery places and are brought down in a moment.”

The closer we get to God, the less we will care about obtaining physical comforts that stay behind when we die. The less time we will spend comparing ourselves to what other people have and envying those who have more.

I worked for a veterinarian. Neither he nor his wife was a believer. They told me they didn’t need God because they had great lives and had done it all themselves without help from God or anyone else. They owned an ostentatious home on the lake and drove pretentious cars. They had the best of everything. He became an alcoholic; she became addicted to gambling. Within four short years, they were divorced and had lost everything. They stood in a slippery place and lost their footing.

Next time you see a sign that warns, Mind Your Step, look past the temporary physical danger and contemplate your spiritual safety. Heaven is forever.

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Life is About Weight

Life is about weight.

A few nights ago, I crossed my arms across my shoulders before going to sleep and realized that my shoulders were thicker than before. Frantically, I began clasping other body parts. They were all thicker! I still wore the same clothing size, but the clothes were tight. I had gone from the clothes wearing me to me wearing the clothes.

The frightening thing about the weight gain is that I can’t put a date to it. I know our dog’s birthday. I know family members birthdays, our country’s birthday, the date of my marriage, the date of my last move – I even know the time of year when the swallows arrive and leave. I don’t know when I started putting on weight.

Weight is insidious and stealthy. It sneaks and creeps up on victims and overtakes them by utilizing the element of surprise.

Jesus knew about weight. Paul knew about weight. Paul said, “Let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us. (Hebrews 12:1)

Jesus said, “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) Jesus knew that the weight of sin can sneak up on anyone.

When God wrote the Bible for us, He wanted to be sure we knew about weight – how sneaky, dangerous, and life-threatening it is. Like sin. No alcoholic ever said, “I want to become an alcoholic.” No druggie ever said, “I want to be a druggie.” No ill person ever said, “I want to get sexually transmitted diseases.” No married couple ever said, “We got married just so we could get divorced.” No abusive parent ever said, “I wanted to have kids so I could release anger by beating them up.” Sin, like weight, takes on a life of its own and grows proportionately to how much we feed it.

The secret to living a joyful, productive and contented life in this world and celebrating eternity in the next world is staying slim. Outrun, outsmart, outdistance sin. Read the Bible, pray, invite Jesus into your heart, listen to His Holy Spirit when He speaks. Jesus won the victory over death and the grave. He gives us the power to win the victory over the weight of sin. “The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” I Corinthians 15:56&57.

Both spiritual and physical health are vital to live well in this world.

I can’t put a date to when the weight arrived…but today is the right date for outrunning, outsmarting and outdistancing it!

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