Broken Sticks…

One day that bat-fowled fiend satan was smarting off to God and God asked him, “Have you considered my faithful servant Job?” That ornery ole devil smarted off again and said that the only reason Job worshiped God was because God had blessed him so much. So God allowed that mean ole devil to take away everything Job had except his nagging wife. Job said, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away and blessed be the name of the Lord.”

So that cursed serpent said, “Let me at him again! Then he’ll cuss you up one side and down the other.” So God allowed slimeball, sleeze satan to touch Job’s body. I mean to tell you, that poor ole boy had boils from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. He was so messed up he had to take his boots off to scratch. Job still blessed God.

Then along comes these three friends to comfort Job. Let me tell you: when you’ve got friends like these, you’re up to your armpits in enemies. They started in on Job something fierce about how he must have done something powerful bad to get punished by God and how he was a terrible secret sinner. After a bit, Job had had about all the comforting he could stand from these fellers.

So Job says, “How long will you torment my soul, And break me in pieces with your words?” (Job 19:1)

I challenge you. Take a stick and break it. Put it back together. Does it fit right? Is it as strong as it was before you broke it? Can you put it back together perfectly so that you can’t tell it’s been broken?

Your words can break people or heal them. When you get angry and break people with words, an apology never quite does the job of mending the relationship. There is always that jagged, hurting shard of memory that spoils the symmetry of the friendship and mars its previous flawless beauty.

Proverbs 18:21 says, “Death and life are in the power of the tongue.” Choose to speak life with your tongue instead of breaking sticks that will never mend.

At the end of Job’s story in the Bible, God held Job’s three friends accountable for their stick-breaking words. He told them they had not spoken what was right and true and ordered them to apologize to Job and have Job pray for them. Then…”the LORD blessed the latter days of Job more than his beginning.”

Words are powerful. Communication is a gift from God. Use yours to build, not break.

Broken Dreams

When it was completed sometime after 1893, Rosehaugh House in Avoch, Scotland, was a mansion built to glory. Hundreds of people were employed and provided with the best and highest quality materials to complete the three-story, 60-room mansion with 365 windows, marble floors, Persian rug carpeted walls, painted ceilings, carved wood, and a car-sized fireplace in the billiard room.

The fabulous mansion was demolished in 1959.

Broken dreams. It seems unbelievable that such a rich, historic, and glorious mansion could be razed. The foundation, steps, overgrown gardens and out buildings are all that remain of one man’s dream to build the most splendid mansion in the world. What went wrong?

Death went wrong. Rosehaugh was already a magnificent home when James Fletcher died in 1885. Son James Douglas Fletcher hired famed Scottish architect William Flockhart to take the mansion from splendor to unmatched glory. Then James Douglas Fletcher died. His widow sold the estate in 1953 – and by 1959 – James Douglas Fletcher’s dream mansion had been demolished.

People die. Dreams die. Sometimes we kill our own dreams by poisoning them with drugs, alcohol, gambling, or other risky and dangerous lifestyle choices. Sometimes they die of natural causes.

I am thankful that God has given me the blessing of leaving behind a shelf of dreams when I die: Christian mystery-romance-suspense books like Bridge to Nowhere, published by Sunpenny Publishing, and Love’s Beating Heart, Shadow Chase, Heart Shadows, Until the Shadows Flee and the soon-to-be-released Fear of Shadows. But the fact is, I will die. I will follow James Douglas Fletcher off the stage of life and slip into a shadowy memory.

Unlike Fletcher’s dream, my dream won’t break or die. My dream is eternal. It is simply to follow Jesus and live for Him. The Bible promises that whatever I do for Christ here on earth will follow me to Heaven. It will be stored and waiting for me in a treasure chest where no one else can steal it and where it will never rot, tear, tarnish or age. When I get to Heaven, I’ll be able to lay it at the feet of Jesus and hear Him say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Rosehaugh Estate is still a lovely place where dreams shimmer in the shade of ancient trees. The current owners are restoring the buildings that are left and many of them are rented out as holiday homes. It’s a lovely place to take dogs on a walk and capture something lovely and unique through the lens of a camera. But it is also a sorrowful, haunting place of broken dreams and trampled glory. I’m so thankful that my glory doesn’t rest in even the finest, most glorious mansion built by human hands – but rather in Heaven – created by the Eternal Hands of Jesus, the Creator of the universe.

What Tree are You?

If someone asked you what kind of tree best represents you, what would your answer be? Tall, straight and reaching to the sky like a mighty pine? Squat and thick with olive green foliage like a Texas live oak? Branched with diversity like a grafted fruit tree? Showy and spectacular like an ornamental cherry or pear tree? Or fruitful like a trustworthy apple?

Me? I’d be like most dogs. A mongrel. Past trials and testings have twisted branches and stripped them of leaves and fruit. I’ve never been able to grow straight enough for long enough to reach up an tickle the clouds. I attempt to live a Christian life as evidenced my the fruit listed in Galatians 5:22: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. Yet, sometimes I grow weary. Sometimes the fruit of the Spirit falls to the ground.

The tree of my life is bent, twisted, bare-barked in spots – a unique creation shaped by God. I am so thankful for that! Every bend, broken branch and naked barked limb wrote its way into the books God has given me to author. Bridge to Nowhere, Love’s Beating Heart, Shadow Chase, Heart Shadows and Until the Shadows Flee are all knobs on that tree. The soon-to-be-released Fear of Shadows was written by a childhood memory too painful and frightening to recall.

I like my shape! God created it for His glory. A tall pine tree pinching the sky stands in its own glory. I need God to clothe me with every measure of joy and beauty He can give.

You might want to thank God for your shape; your kind of tree. It’s unique. No one else can do a good job of being you.

Real Time Tortoise & Hare Story

I’ve always loved the Aesop’s Fable about the slow tortoise beating the boastful, confident hare in the race because the hare stopped to snooze. The other day, I experienced my own Tortoise & Hare moment.

I’m a slow runner. People watching me “run” might even call me a fast walker! But I can keep going for 4.2 miles, an accomplishment for someone over 60. Still, I’m slow.

Dressed in baggy jeans and sweaters – resembling no doubt a lumpy sock puppet – I went running. She passed me in a flash. She wore trendy, skintight running clothes and looked like a model that had been pulled off a magazine page and prodded to life. Feeling old and slow, I kept running.

At my turnaround point, there sat trendy glamor girl, talking on a cell phone and drinking a bottle of water. Feeling rather pleased with myself, I passed her. I ran down to the end of the trail, turned around and passed her again. By the time I had finished my two miles and was making the turn up toward the house, I saw her in the distance, her effortless, graceful run defeated by the slow-moving sock puppet who never stopped.

Life is often like that. I remind folks often not to give up on their dreams. I had 150 rejection slips before becoming a successful writer. Some of the publishing companies who rejected my manuscripts now follow me on Twitter! My published books include Bridge to Nowhere, by Sunpenny Publishing, and Love’s Beating Heart, Shadow Chase, Heart Shadows and Until the Shadows Flee. The newest mystery-romance-suspense book, Fear of Shadows will be out soon, and Sunpenny has committed to another Miz Mike “Bridge” series in the near future, Bridge Beyond Betrayal. So no matter how slow you think you are in life…never stop. Never give up.

Or as Hebrews 12:1 states, “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.” Running with Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, guarantees victory every time!

Orkney, Guns & Collies

Just got back from a lovely trip to the Scottish island of Orkney. Even though Orkney’s history was written in spilled blood from Viking longboat invasions along the coast, the island is quiet and peaceful now and you don’t need a gun.

My past was written in the western drama of Texas. My Christian mystery-romance-suspense book Bridge to Nowhere (Sunpenny Publishing) is set in the imaginary Texas town of Three Prongs, much like Bandera, “Cowboy Capital of the World” – a place where misfits fit. Guns are important to folks in Bandera. If you find a rattlesnake in your driveway, a wild pig killing livestock, or a rabid coyote chasing your dog – you’re gonna want a gun.

Fish Soup (Sunpenny Publishing) author Michelle Jayne Heatley, from Brixham here in the UK, inquired about becoming an honorary Texan. It was suggested that she get a gun, an answer she quickly negated. To folks in the UK, including picturesque Orkney, guns are not needed and are despised. They are not written into the fabric of the country.

I never owned a gun in Texas (but I can shoot one) for the same reason I don’t train collie dogs. You have to be smarter than the dog to train it. And if you’re using a gun for protection, you better be smarter than your attacker – or he will get the gun away from you and use it against you. Why make it easier for him? I know the sum of my intelligence. I failed high school math.

But not owning a gun doesn’t mean that I can’t protect myself. I have a mobile security company on the job. I own stock in the company. “God is our refuge and strength a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear.” Psalm 46:1. “I will lift up my eyes to the hills – from whence comes my help? My help comes from the LORD, Who made heaven and earth.

So I would encourage you wherever you are in the world to seek your protection from the Source of security Who will never let you down. You don’t have to be smart enough to train a collie or own a gun and you don’t have to live on an idyllic island like Orkney. Only one condition is demanded for 24/7 security…faith.

My Running Coach is a Dog

With Alan in the ministry, we’re a low budget family. Kindhearted folks in our church realized that when poor Little Red got smashed by a Glasgow Taxi and couldn’t be repaired. In an amazing, touching, and heartwarming gesture, they gave us a car. It has half the mileage that Little Red had and it’s simply awesome in every way. We are truly blessed. We call Red’s replacement “The Jesus Car,” because Jesus provided it.

Low budget or not, exercise is vital for good health. So I insist on keeping my running coach. She’s simply awesome and amazing. She doesn’t work for peanuts, but she can be bribed with treats. My running coach is our dog.

I didn’t want to run today. It was one of those rare Scottish days of sunshine and warmer than usual temperatures. Our garden had a surplus of dandelions. I love the cheerful yellow flowers that God plants everywhere. Our neighbors don’t. To keep peace, the dandelions must go. After a day of crawling around on my hands and knees pulling up the nearly impossible to uproot “weeds,” I didn’t want to go running. I’d had enough exercise.

Along came my running coach. “Woof, WOOF,” right into my face. Loosely translated, that meant: “get off your computer and go running. You need the exercise. I’ll supervise.” So we ran. As we ran, I began to feel guilty.

This is the weekend that the United States celebrates Memorial Day. Son Luke Parker is in the U.S. Marine Corps and has given up more than anyone other than God will ever know to serve his country. He and others like him have joined the military and fought for the freedom that allows me to sit at this computer and write. My freedom has been purchased with their blood, tears, heartbreaks, lives. With all the sacrifices they make on a daily basis, how could I possibly think I was “too tired” or had “worked too hard” to run? My sacrifice compares to theirs like dandelion fluff to an oak tree.

Thank you, U.S. Troops. God Bless and Keep You. May your sacrifice be rewarded with the attainment of every dream you cherish and every goal you set. Thank You, Thank You, Thank You. May Jesus be your constant Guide, Protector, Healer.

And if any of you need a good running coach, I can recommend one. She’s relentless – and affordable. If you don’t mind four paws and long strands of dog hair sticking to the carpet, she’s perfect!

Bathroom Humor

Still remember when public restrooms switched from single roll holders to big locked canisters with the serrated edge. That serrated edge used to be metal. I have a scar to prove it.

Bathroom technology and improvements have flushed my life with dirty water. Take the restroom in an upscale Dallas, Texas, restaurant. Sat down to relieve myself. Stress, not relief. Every time I moved on the seat, water spewed upward, hitting every exposed part and wetting the back of my skirt. Toilet water wet clothing. Am I alone in thinking this is not amusing? When I yanked the paper, I cut myself on the serrated edge (not badly this time – it was plastic – no scar). The paper stuck to my bleeding hand. With used toilet paper in the bowl, the auto-flush suddenly decided I had used my quota of flushes. It would flush no more – not even when I bounced up and down on the seat. With embarrassment, I exited the stall. The next person in line shot me a dirty glare when she saw the wet toilet seat and unflushed paper.

Set my purse on the counter so I could wash my hands. Couldn’t figure out how to get soap out of the dispenser. Couldn’t figure out how to turn on the water. Every time I moved, the automatic paper towel dispenser reeled out yards of paper towel. More dirty looks from upscale Dallas residents who would never dream of wasting paper.

Hearing a hum, I looked in horror to see soap filling up my purse and spilling over the top. How could a country girl from Bandera, “Cowboy Capital of the World,” be expected to know that everything in fancy Dallas restrooms was automated!

I grabbed my purse and ran. Soap bubbles burped out of the top. Paper towels streamed after me like drab kite tails. My purse was so slippery that I dropped it three times before I could stash it under the posh table with the posh dinner settings – brightly colored cloth napkins blooming out of stemmed wine glasses like rose bouquets and more knives, forks and spoons than anyone could use at one meal. My posh host looked over the gilt edge of his menu at me. Nothing worse could happen to ruin the evening, so I pulled a Miz Mike from Bridge to Nowhere. With a bright smile, I announced to the horrified waiter, “I’ll just have a burger, fries and ice tea.”

Less stress – but no less danger – is involved in going to the bathroom here in Scotland. At least now that I know that “WC” on a building stands for Water Closet, which means Public Restroom…although you sometimes have to pay. The restrooms are usually old and since many of them are solid rock buildings, no effort has been made to hide the plumbing. The hardware is usually metal, stiff and much painted over, and the stalls go from floor to ceiling. Suffice it to say that I never lock myself in and the few times I’ve tried…you guessed it. Injuries.

Loved visiting one of the islands and finding a real water closet. Even if it was a bit confusing to find a WC in a building that was labeled “Restroom.”

Directionally Challenged

I’m so thankful that God can find us more easily than we can find ourselves.

Since big Taxi wiped out little car, we took a bus into Inverness to look for a new car. We had a map. Alan read the map. He stopped along the sidewalk every few yards to consult the map and make sure we were going in the right direction. Once he stopped in the street and I had to pull him to safety.

We briskly and confidently walked four miles, never realizing we were lost until approaching the same roundabout for the third time from the third different direction. Looking at the map again – this time in the rain since we had lost the sun as well as ourselves – we realized that while we had already walked four miles, we needed to go at least four more miles in the opposite direction to get to the car dealership. We gave up.

I laughed all the way back to the bus station. It was so funny that Alan had diligently followed the map, only to be lost. Besides; becoming physically lost is a minor and temporary frustration when the soul has found God.

God gave us the Bible as an infallible map through life. When we follow it, we circumvent lifestyle choices that can steal our health, peace of mind, and rob us of our joy. With the Bible as our guide, we can never lose our most important and valuable possession – our soul.

But here on earth…don’t walk or ride with us unless you have a good sense of direction and aren’t in a hurry. You might just wind up in the very Brigadoonish Luss. We did!

Island Awry

Our plans showcased a great weekend trip that included visiting favorite friends and spending the night on a lovely, peaceful island. The host at the bed and breakfast cooks an amazing breakfast with eggs from his hens that are so fresh you can still smell the chicken.

We started out in Glasgow visiting Alan’s 96-year-old mother and his brother. Both are remarkable folks. Alan’s brother is a dedicated street preacher, working nearly every day. His mother still reads the Bible, prays, and sings praises to the LORD. In fact, she sings and hums all the time. Even in moments of quiet reflection, her face wears a cheerful smile. So the problem with our trip wasn’t how it started out, but rather how it ended. Clearly, we were meant to stay in Glasgow and it took three tries for God to message us.

We left early Saturday morning to keep our afternoon appointments. We were a couple of hours down the road when we realized we had forgotten Alan’s insulin and left it in the refrigerator. We went back for it. Thinking we were gone, Alan’s brother had gone to work. Wisely, their lovely mother has been instructed not to answer the door when she’s alone. So it was a two-hour wait to get the insulin and start out again, this time running late for the afternoon appointments – but still determined to keep them.

What stopped us that time was a taxi that didn’t. We stopped at a red light and the taxi behind us kept going. Our poor little car was severely crunched. The back window shattered, the hatchback sprang open, glass rained down on all our cases in the back…That disaster stopped us. We went back to Glasgow and spent the rest of the weekend with Alan’s family. I hadn’t seen them in two years and Alan hadn’t seen them in a year. Sunday was Mothers’ Day in the U.S., which made it even more special for me to be spending time with Alan’s mom.

Two Bible verses frame my life: “In everything give thanks,” and “All things work together for good to them that love the LORD.” We have already sorted out some of the things that are working together for good in our lives because of the accident. And our time here on this earth is short, no matter what our present age is. How precious to have spent that extra time with Alan’s family.

I came back on the bus and began answering emails about our books: Bridge to Nowhere, Love’s Beating Heart, Shadow Chase, Heart Shadows, Until the Shadows Flee and Alan’s The Scent of Time and his newly released The Scent of Home. Emails included a request for a press release for The Scent of Home. So as I labor over the keyboard in an attempt to catch up on everything, I realize that an island awry stole a weekend of writing. Instead of following The Scent of Home, I was following the scent of fresh eggs.

Be Abused

Love shouldn’t hurt. If you’re in a relationship with someone who mentally and/or physically abuses you – get out. You are worth more than that. You are so valuable that Jesus died for you. He doesn’t expect you to suffer hurt and abuse at the hands of someone who has been entrusted with your love. There are shelters and kind people who will help you. If you have children, especially if they are involved in the abuse, get them out immediately. Prisons are overflowing with adults who began life as abused children. The streets are filled with teens who have run away from home to escape abuse. They often wind up as drug addicts prostituting themselves to survive. Then AIDS, then death. Stop it now before it begins. Get your children and get out.

But, if you’re a Christian, allow yourself to be abused for your faith. Non-Christians will often hate, despise and abuse you for your Christian beliefs. Don’t be surprised! Look at what religious leaders did to Jesus: they slapped Him around, spit on Him, mocked Him, hammered a crown of thorns into His head, beat His back until it looked like hamburger meat, then nailed Him to a cross and stuck a sword into His side to make sure He was dead. With the exception of John, Jesus’ disciples all faced horrible, painful deaths because they refused to deny Jesus as LORD, the Son of God. So if you get abused for your faith, take it as a compliment. You’re in good company!

I’ve discovered that sometimes when people mock Christian faith and target a Christian for abuse, they really want to hear more. Remember, if you get abused for your Christian faith, the abuser may be jealous. They may see something in you that they realize is lacking in themselves. They may actually want to hear more, know more. So keep witnessing Jesus to them. It doesn’t always have to be words. Just ask yourself in every situation, “What Would Jesus Do?” and do it. Continue your friendship with that person (if possible) and always remain calm and kind no matter how much abuse they throw at you. It’s impossible for you to suffer more than Jesus, our example, did. And remember, you don’t have to know all the answers. Don’t stop talking about your faith just because they ask you questions you can’t answer. No one can know or answer everything about God. Mysteries belong to Him. Just keep reading your Bible and walking through this life as the only Bible some folks will ever read.

Walk in love, joy, peace, kindness, patience, goodness, gentleness, self-control, faith and truth – the fruit of the Spirit. Take the abuse and share the fruit. It can change the world, one hurting person at a time.