Nighttime Dragons

I fight dragons everyday living here in Scotland, a land not the land of my birth. The climate is horrendous. “Summer” in our part of Scotland is more like winter in the Texas Hill Country—plus it rains nearly every day. Grey skies and no sun for days to weeks at a time. But weather woes are small dragons.

Last night brought out the big dragons. It’s not just the weather that is different. I’ve changed light bulbs all my life…up until now. These light bulbs don’t screw in; they have tabs that fit into slots in the light fixture—except you must push up and turn at the same time—no small feat on a short, shaky ladder with a light fixture that hangs down on a slender wire and wiggles. Plus the ratings for wattage strength is totally foreign and most of the light bulbs are weak, mostly useless “energy saving” ones. And if you need a prescription refill, you can’t just go to the drugstore, hand it in, and pick it up after a short wait. One must tic the boxes of needed medications on a printed form, drop it off at the doctor’s office, and wait 72 hours to get it. And thus…the big boys.

I’m scheduled for cataract surgery in a couple of weeks. The surgeon won’t do the surgery unless my blood pressure comes down enough. Therefore, when I went to take one of my blood pressure pills yesterday and found the box empty…it was a big deal. How could I expect my blood pressure to go down if I missed two or three days of the medication? Yet, in customary Scottish style, I would need to wait.

That dragon snapped at me incessantly after I woke up at 1 a.m. to help Alan use the bedside potty and get back in bed. I didn’t know it at the time, but more dragons were hiding under the covers. The ulcer on the back of Alan’s leg had become sore and infected. The pain kept him awake. One dragon whispered; “Take him to the emergency room at the hospital now.” Another dragon argued, “Not at 1 a.m.! Wait and start calling the doctor’s office tomorrow at 8:30 a.m. to get an emergency appointment.” The third dragon piped in, “Just call the district nurse to come out again. Don’t panic over the infection and pain. Let her come and slap a new dressing on the leg. He will be fine.” And yet another dragon… “Savannah has quit eating her food again. It’s been three days. What are you going to do about that? And didn’t you get a bill from the vet’s office? Have you paid it yet?”

As I thrashed around in bed fighting dragons, a new story idea dropped into my mind. So when I was still awake at 3 a.m., I slipped out of bed, turned on the computer, and wrote until 4 a.m. When Alan woke up and called me, I went back to bed—and asleep this time—for two hours. The dragons were finally tired. They slept.

Me? I woke up embarrassed. I write blogs about slaying dragons. I post Jesus’ words, “Be anxious for nothing.” I post reminders on social media that the Bible contains 365 “fear nots,” one for each day of the year. And, yet, last night the dragons nearly won.

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Denying Fear

My co-author gave me a book idea more than a year ago. Not just the idea. I wrote the entire first page…then quit. Fear whispered all the “can nots” to my mind—and my mind listened.

My protagonist, a female pastor of a church, confronted the pastor of another church—a church many feared was a cult. A missing teenage girl, a murdered teenage boy, attempts on her life, and the weekly conflicts common to all pastors and churches. Enough excitement to hook and keep readers…except…fear whispered. Except, my mind echoed. I was not a pastor. I have never been a pastor. How could I possibly use a female preacher as my heroine and make the story believable?

So for more than a year, I had the title, I had most of the characters—and I knew where the story was going…nowhere, unfortunately—because I continued listening to my fear. I finally wrote up to Page 53. Then I put it aside and wrote “Grey for Murder” instead. When Grey for Murder was published, I went back to “Grace for Murder.”

Some of my books have written themselves. No, actually, my co-author has written them and I have typed furiously to keep up. Not so with “Grace for Murder.” My mind stopped at the edge of fear. Even by the time I finally got up to the first 100 pages, fear rumbled: “how can you write about something you don’t know anything about?” “You’re not clever enough to do this. Give up.”

What nudged me to tromp over the edge of fear and keep going was the story of Moses in the Bible. When he turned aside in the desert to see why a bush was burning but not consumed by fire, the Lord spoke out of the fire and told Moses that He was sending him to tell the Egyptian king to release his Hebrew slaves and let them go. Moses argued. He told the Lord that he didn’t speak well; he stammered. God asked Moses, “Who has made man’s mouth? Have not I, the Lord? Therefore go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall say.” Exodus 4:11.

Moses didn’t want to face Pharaoh. He was afraid. I didn’t want to finish “Grace for Murder.” I was afraid. But God kept His promise to Moses and I knew He would keep His promise to me. After all, He gave me the story. He’s my co-author.

“Grace for Murder” will be released within the next week or so.

Amazon.com: Stephanie Parker McKean: books, biography, latest update

Wise Fear – Foolish Fear

One of my favorite things to point out to folks is that God put 365 “Fear Nots” into the Bible, one for each day. We need to trust God and not fear the future. God is good all the time, and all the time God is good, and all things work together for good to those who love the Lord.

However, God put the capacity of fear into us when He created us—good fear. Good fear warns us of imminent danger and gives us the wisdom we need to stay clear of danger.

Looking back at the foolish things I’ve done during my lifetime has given me empathy for our rough collie Savannah and her obstinate fear.

Folks in the UK have long memories—like Savannah. She never forgets anything. Back in 1605, a man named Guy Fawkes was involved in a gunpowder plot to blow up parliament. The plot was discovered and Fawkes was executed. So every November 5—the sky lights up with fireworks for Guy Fawkes Night, a night to celebrate the failure of the gunpowder plot. Or perhaps just for an excuse to have a good time and make a lot of noise.

In any event, animals don’t like fireworks, and some animals—like Savannah—are terrorized by them. With the absence of the usual rain this year, the sky lit up with fireworks and the boom-booms echoed around our neighborhood. Not expecting the intensity this year, I was taking Savannah on a long walk when the displays started. She ran to the end of her leash and continued running as I held her to a walking pace. She attempted to pull me up into the hills—which is the complete opposite of where we live. I had to drag her to get her home and her harness nearly pulled off several times.

It is now 25 days and counting since Guy Fawkes Night. Savannah will not go outside after dark. Every night I put her harness on, put my coat and rain gear on (it is nearly always raining), and try to walk Savannah. She will finally go from the side door to the front of our house. Period. End of walk. So I have started leaving her behind and taking myself on a walk in hopes that she will feel abandoned and decide to come with me. Of course, by the time this works—the sky will be lighting up again for New Year’s and the boom-booms will be thundering all around our house.

I will continue sharing one of my favorite reminders from the Bible: the 365 “Fear Nots.” I will continue trusting God and losing my fears in His power and goodness. But I must admit that in a way I admire Savannah’s obstinate fear. When I remember the silly, dangerous stunts I’ve pulled during my lifetime and the resulting pickles—I’m wishing I had possessed some of my dog’s obstinate fear. Sour pickles are good on burgers—but there’s a limit to how many one can pull out of the jar and eat.

The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom. Psalm 111:10. Fear should be spent wisely, not foolishly.

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Fear of Orange

My late brother Gregory with our “pet” lion Ebenezer

I’ve faced a lot of fear in my lifetime. Bitten by a water moccasin snake; accidentally found a bear’s den in Florida; unknowingly ran over a fallen tree in Georgia—with a black bear under it; attacked by a400-pound “pet” lion; kicked in the face by my horse when I fell off while he was bucking; spent a lot of years working two and three jobs to support a child as a single parent, never knowing if there would be a next meal; back surgery, knee surgery, hip surgery, 2 ½ month stay in the hospital with an infection—and yet—out of all these—the color orange scares me to death.

I love orange as a color. The favorite place where I ever lived was a mobile home in the desert of Lovelock, Nevada. The kitchen was frosted orange and touches of orange were repeated in every room. It was a clean, refreshing color and I inhaled a deep breath of satisfaction every time I walked into my home. Even now, I remember it as a place of dreams—both the desert and the trailer with the orange decor.

Orange flowered dresses and clothes; orange cars and vans; orange handled kitchen appliances; orange fruits and veggies; orange doggie toys; orange towels. No problem. It’s when the orange creeps outside that I panic—orange flowers on the wild lilies; orange leaves on the trees. The end of summer.

I hate winter. I hate cold. No matter how adequate my clothes or how many layers I don—I hate winter weather. Yet, every year—the wild orange lily blooms and the trees release their beautiful verdant leaves and go orange…and I go scared.

It’s that time of the year again, the flowers turn orange, my heart turns sad—and I wish I could bring back the childhood fears of facing bears and lions instead of facing another winter.

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Fear Mongers Seek New Material

My counting is far from quintessential, but I think we’ve had three days of “summer” in this part of Scotland—meaning three days of sunshine where it has gone over the 70-degree mark. Fear mongers’ numbers differ. They say pets and people are calculated to die in the current killer heat wave sweeping across the UK. “Beware! Stay inside. Stay hydrated. Don’t walk your pets in the heat.”

I talked to a few fellow dog walkers who had bought into the ridiculous hype. They were wearing lightweight jackets, yet made the following statements: “I’m just taking him on a short walk because of the heat”; “she didn’t really want to go out because it’s so hot”; “I waited until it cooled down before taking Maxi on her walk”; “I’m thinking about getting some doggie booties for his poor little feet to protect him from the hot pavement”, and—“isn’t your dog (a rough collie) suffering in this heat?”

It was pointless to point out to the loving pet owners—although I did—that it wasn’t that hot and, after all, they themselves were wearing jackets. The fear mongers had shouted on newscasts and in paper headlines that climate change had resulted in a heat wave and folks and pets were going to pay for it by dying. Me, scratching my head, “I thought ‘summer’ was supposed to be hot.

The heat wave hype was expected. Fear mongers needed new material; new focus. Most folks who have had covid a couple of times in spite of flocking to get vaccinated twice and then getting a booster are no longer living in fear of covid. Some aren’t living at all. Some at age 40-something have died abruptly from heart attacks and strokes. Some are living with life-challenging neurological conditions from having followed the fear mongers’ insistence that they had to take the jag for their country, because even if it didn’t stop them from getting covid—it would protect others, and it make covid milder if they did get it.

Between the heat wave and covid, of course, there was the cost of living hype with “heat or eat,” and dire predictions of how no one was coming out of the current financial situation alive. Yeah…it’s tough. We’ve been impacted just like everyone else. But I remember hearing what extraordinary challenges folks faced during the Great Depression—and I feel blessed. And I feel cold. It’s ‘summer here and all the way up to 55.4 degrees with the typical canopy of clouds. And I feel angry because my husband was one of those who followed the lure of the fear mongers and took the jags—and now has Parkinson’s Disease. While the fear mongers try desperately to make the killer heat wave last…I watch my husband stumble through the house and catch the door frames between rooms to keep from falling. I see him struggle, making up to five failed attempts to get out of a chair. I see his inability to get in and out of bed at night; zip his jacket; get out of the shower; fasten his seatbelt, get out of the car.

Meanwhile, I think of all the Bible truths that the fear mongers could shout to the world to help instead of scare. Like the 365 “fear nots” in the Bible. Like trusting God in all circumstances. Like Psalm 91: 9, “Because you have made the LORD, who is my refuge, even the Most High, your dwelling place, no evil shall befall you, nor shall any plague come near your dwelling, for He shall give His angels charge over you, to keep you in all your ways.”

No fear here.

Amazon.com: Stephanie Parker McKean: Books, Biography, Blog, Audiobooks, Kindle

Shadows

There is one place along our street where the shadows across the sidewalk look so real that—even knowing they are shadows—my feet pause. They look like metal bars across the concrete.

Walking rough collie Savannah at night presents me with an intimate introduction to neighborhood shadows. That bulky man at the corner watching the street and everything that passes—nothing more than two signs a short distance apart that meld together into a menacing form. The guy who is always at work at the back of a parked trailer—actually a large plastic chute from scaffolding and a black trash bag at the end that blows in the wind. And that big dog that I expect to bark at us—really an overturned trash bin next to an empty planter.

Under the covering of darkness with street lights punching holes in the night—neighborhood shadows look real. Some look intimidating. Some look menacing. Some—like the hedgehog that never moves—look interesting. But whatever the size and shape of the shadows, one fact remains; they are not real. No matter how intimidating, no shadow will roar into life and shout. No matter how menacing, no shadow will attack. No matter how interesting, no shadow will lead to an intriguing adventure like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Shadows are illusions. They. Are. Not. Real.

Shadows fascinate me. They play a predominate role in my book “Fear of Shadows,” and the first three books I wrote all have the word “shadows” in the titles. Shadows are deceptive. Some folks go through life fleeing from shadow to shadow.

If we remember that this earth is not our home and we are merely pilgrims passing through and if we do not fear death—shadows lose their ability to haunt us.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” Psalm 23 declares.

Shadows are not real. God is real.

The Positive in the Negative

savannah in grass 6 month

With all the hype, fear mongering, and panic buying caused by the Coronavirus, one thing is positive. With prime ministers, Hollywood stars, and sports figures getting cases it underlines human sameness and frailty—and the need for God.

World leaders get Coronavirus. Rich people get it. Famous people get it. No amount of power, riches, or fame stops the Coronavirus.

Same with God.

World leaders need God. Rich people need God. Famous people need God. No amount of power, riches, or fame deletes the human need for God. We all need God.

“Give us help from trouble, for the help of man is useless. Through God we will do valiantly, for it is He who shall tread down our enemies.” Psalm 108:12

“My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth. He who keeps you will not slumber. The LORD is your keeper; He shall preserve you from all evil.” Psalm 121

And of course the Psalm so many are quoting now, Psalm 91: “I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him will I trust. Surely He shall deliver you from perilous pestilence. You shall not be afraid.”

Do not fear. Everyone who is reading this survived Y2K.

God is the positive of every negative.

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Not Worried

GregEb (2)

I lived through Spanish Influenza when I was four. My sister Leslie and I were so sick with exodus from both ends that we lived in the bathroom.

My horse kicked me in the face. I spent my birthday and Christmas in the hospital. I’ve been thrown from horses. Once our pony bolted, tossed me over his head, and landed on me. Leslie was happy. I protected Smokey from broken legs.

I’ve survived a poisonous snake bite and an attack by an African lion. I ran across a fallen log over a creek not realizing a black bear was under it. I nearly fell into a rattlesnake den when I was hiking. I escaped from growling Texas feral hogs that threatened to attack.

I survived child abuse, rape, and two forced backwoods abortions before I was fifteen—both of which put me in the hospital after I nearly bled to death.

I spent seven years as a single parent working up to three jobs at a time. I traveled from coast to coast in a pickup truck with all my belongings in the bed. My son Luke and I climbed up on top of the mattress on top of the load to sleep at night when we stopped at rest areas. I couldn’t afford a motel.

More recently I underwent major spinal surgery.

I am not afraid of Coronavirus.

While 125,000 babies are being murdered in abortions daily around the world—I refuse to worry about Coronavirus.

There are 365 “Fear Nots” in the Bible, one for every day of the year.

“Because you have made the LORD your dwelling place, no evil shall befall you, nor shall any plague come near your dwelling; for He shall give His angels charge over you.” Psalm 91.

Coronavirus does not scare me.

https://www.amazon.com/Stephanie-Parker-McKean/e/B00BOX90OO/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Weight Loss Plan

me pccs rope best

Yeah, I’m a sucker for those commercials, too. “Lose weight by drinking this.” “Ten Secrets to weight loss.” “How I lost four stone (don’t ask me how much that is—I don’t do math) in one month.”

Most folks want or need to lose weight. It’s one of life’s mysteries, surely, that weight can accumulate and hide until suddenly one day a person takes a sideways look in a full-length mirror and says, “I’m fat.”

Fortunately, when an orthopedic surgeon figured out my body-weight index, I qualify for a knee replacement. I’m not too fat for surgery. But I need to lose weight…again.

The only weight loss plan that has ever worked for me physically is the unpopular and uncomfortable eat less, exercise more. It works—but it is never easy or enjoyable, especially the eating less part.

My Aunt Edris died young of an illness that doctors never diagnosed until her death. Cancer. After that, I obsessed over every lump, bulge, or pain I had, convinced that it was cancer. I even obsessed over other people who experienced unexplained pain. When my son was four and suffered from a mystery illness I was so convinced it was cancer that I quit my job and took him out to the desert so he could experience country living before he died. But when Luke died at age 37, it wasn’t cancer. It was an airplane crash.

I’m still working on the physical need to lose weight, but not the spiritual weight of fear, worry, or anxiety. The Bible addresses those. It’s easy to lose weight spiritually—just read and pray it away.

God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. 2 Timothy 1:7.

Cast all your care upon God, for God cares for you. 1 Peter 5:8

Jesus said in Luke 12:29, “Do not have an anxious mind.”

Spiritual weight? No problem. Just read and pray it away. Physical weight? Eat less. Exercise more.

https://www.amazon.com/Stephanie-Parker-McKean/e/B00BOX90OO/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Shadow Distortions

dead tree and shadow laredo

Where we walk Savannah at night a street light hits a metal railing so strongly that it creates bars across the sidewalk—and they look real. I find myself stopping and looking ahead to make sure the path is not blocked, even though I know the shadows are mere distortions—illusions that lie.

Funny videos show small children and dogs playing with their shadows—attempting unsuccessfully to catch them. When we were kids, we loved shadow displays on the wall. But shadows aren’t real. The shadow of a car can’t run over anyone. The shadow of a wolf can’t bite. The shadow of a snake can’t constrict. The shadow of a knife can’t cut.

When I was a child I loved “The Shadow” by Robert Louis Stevenson. I still do. I love all his poems in “A Child’s Garden of Verses.”

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;

And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;

For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India-rubber ball,

And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all.

He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.

He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see;

I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;

But my lazy little shadow, like an errant sleepy-head,

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

Like Robert Louis Stevenson’s shadow that stayed asleep in bed when the sun was up, shadows vanish. They are not real. They cannot hurt.

Psalm 23 in the Bible says, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me.” We need not fear death for two reasons; one, God is with us, and two, death is a shadow and shadows are illusions. They are not real. They cannot hurt us.

Death is like the period at the end of a sentence. It’s a stopping point in our lives before we move on to the next sentence, the next chapter, the next page—our eternal home in Heaven where God has written our name in His Book of Life.

A shadow did hurt me once. My spooky horse jumped over a red clay bank and his shadow hit the road before he did. He threw me and ran home in a fright, leaving me to walk two miles. That horse got spooked by an illusion. We have more sense. Shadows are not real. They cannot hurt us.

The shadow of death is a reflection of the light of Heaven on the other side.

bright sun yellow