Lost & Found

When friends of ours from Texas came to visit us here in Scotland they rented a B&B that they were somehow able to find. We, on the other hand, got lost.

Ironic that friends who had never been to Scotland before found the idyllic guest house, and we—with our six-year background of living in Dunoon—got lost. Our poor little car survived the experience of falling into such deep potholes in the road that it bottomed out and stalled. We survived the experience of being lost on a winding, wooded wilderness dirt road in the dark. And—out of that experience was born Christian cozy mystery-romance-suspense book number 43, “Lost for Murder,” which has found its way to 32 ratings and a 4.5 rating.

Often in my life, circumstances that seemed difficult or impossible have actually been God’s hidden blessings. When son Luke was four, we were walking around Carson City, Nevada, and an ugly black dog started following Luke. When we went into a restaurant to eat and came back out again, the dog followed Luke. When we started to drive away—the dog ran down the street after the truck. My impulse was to gun the engine and outrun the irritating critter, but Luke became hysterical. “Mom, stop! A car will hit him.”

We stopped and took him with us. I put up posters and ran an ad in the paper to let his owner know we had the dog. I penned the ad something like: Found: ugly short long-bodied male black dog with white star on chest and bat ears…Call…

No response. Carson was one of the stupidest dogs ever. He couldn’t learn anything. He got loose one day, ran down the street, tackled a Doberman, and came home dragging a back leg. The vet set the broken bone, but it didn’t heal and subsequently, the vet removed it. When we were driving home from the vet with our three-legged dog, Luke suddenly burst into tears. “Mom, we have to get another dog. There isn’t much left of Carson.”

About a year later, I moved to Great Falls, Montana. The area had such a depressed economy that even college professors who went to our church and taught in Luke’s Christian school worked two to three jobs to support their family. As a single parent—I had three jobs, one of them an all-nighter in a restaurant. It was nearly impossible to rent a place that allowed dogs. But one duplex owner looked at our three-legged dog and said, “Well, I guess I’ll make an exception for that one—no one else would want it.”

I didn’t want Carson either, but I couldn’t get rid of him. Praise the Lord for that. I had to leave Luke alone at night while I waitressed. I couldn’t afford a babysitter. The people on the other side of the duplex opened the connecting door when I left for work in case anything bad happened—but they wouldn’t watch Luke. Carson accepted the role of babysitter. Even though he was a small, totally worthless dog who wouldn’t have attacked any danger—except a Doberman (or buffalo—he chased a herd of buffalo once causing a stampede and sending tourists fleeing for the safety of their cars)—he made Luke feel safe enough to stay alone.

Sometimes lost becomes found.

A couple of years after our brief stint in Montana, I moved back to Lovelock, Nevada, during a blizzard to help friends of mine who owned a gold mine in the desert 40 miles from town. One day they sent me into town to pick up the mail. I parked in front of the post office and the gear shift fell through the floorboard and landed on the pavement. The truck wouldn’t move. A man from the church we attended came and fixed the truck. Some weeks later we were married. When Luke, Carson, and I moved into my new husband’s home, his large grey cat streaked down the hall and tackled Carson, sending him rolling across the floor. Four years later, Carson still would not venture any further in the house than the front room where the cat blitzed him. Two years after the cat died, Carson still refused to leave the front room.

We moved home to Bandera, Texas, Carson still in tow. When that stupid little dog died—it messed with my eyes and they watered for hours.

Many times in my life what I thought was loss and lost have actually been God’s hidden blessings. One reason my favorite Bible verse is: “All things work together for good for those who love the Lord.” Romans 8:28

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Never Poor

I’ve lived under a bridge in the back of a pickup truck and washed myself and my clothes in the river, but I’ve never been poor.

I’ve lived in an open-sided garden shed with no indoor toilet or plumbing, sleeping on wooden planks on top of concrete blocks with a lawn chair mattress on top, but I’ve never been poor.

I’ve lived in my pickup truck, using cold water from a garden hose to wash my hair and public bathrooms for washing my face, under my arms, and my private parts, but I’ve never been poor.

To me, “poor” is a label written in a foreign language. How can one be poor when they are free? How can one be poor when flowers splash the path with beauty and stars fill the nighttime sky with wonder? How can one be poor with clothes on the back—even though not designer labels—and food in tummy—even though not preferred?

I love Irving Berlin’s musical “Annie Get your Gun.” Like the lyrics in one of the songs, no matter how “poor” I’ve ever been, I’ve always had a healthy balance on the credit side: “Got no mansion, got no yacht, still I’m happy with what I’ve got; I’ve got the sun in the morning and the moon at night. Sunshine gives me a lovely day; moonlight gives me the Milky Way.”

And even if I were to live in a concrete drainage pipe instead of a bridge—a place where the sun didn’t shine during the day and moonlight didn’t gladden at night—my future is living in Heaven with Jesus. Heaven is a place with no sin, no sorrow, no illness, no pain, no death, no parting. And once one has the gift of eternity living inside them—no one and nothing can steal it or take it away.

“The blessing of the LORD makes one rich, and He adds no sorrow with it.” Proverbs 10:22

I’m not poor. I’m blessed.

Year Without Fear

As we journey through 2016, it’s a good resolve to live the New Year without fear. There are 365 “fear not”s in the Bible, one for every day of the year.

When I arrived in Scotland from Texas four years ago I was told “Don’t talk about your Christian faith openly because UK folk are reserved and expect others to act with the same restraint. Advice I ignored.

Four years later I have told countless people, “God bless.” I have stopped to pray with complete strangers. I have exclaimed repeatedly, “Praise Jesus! A beautiful day!” I’ve suffered only two verbal rebukes, one from a woman who said she wished I hadn’t asked God to bless her, and one from a person who informed me, “We don’t want any of your American Fundamentalism over here.”

Had I blindly accepted the advice to keep quiet, I would have missed both blessings and opportunities to share God’s blessings with others. God has provided occasions to pray with others for healing; the healing of pets, recovery from alcoholism, rescue from depression, mending after the loss of a loved one.

Fearing what people might say or think above what God had directed would have robbed the past four years of meaning and blessing.

There are other ways to walk in God’s love. The Christian walk is a designer walk. Tell the maintenance person he or she is doing a good job. Thank the post person. Thank the folks who come to pick up the garbage. Compliment a person on his or her parenting skills. Commend a teacher for a job well done. Tell the cashier to have a lovely rest of the day. Smile. If words freeze between the brain and the lips…just smile.

Live the New Year without fear. Smile! A smile is the same in every language, easily given and almost always returned.

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

chapel at night