From the absurd to the possible, “news” headlines shout for attention in both written and media forms.
“Trump Seals Deal With Aliens from Outer Space,” “Trump Hides Conversation With Space Aliens,” “Virus Worse Than Covid,” “Keep Windows and Doors Shut for the Next 72 Hours,” “UK Warned of Meningitis Epidemic,” “Prepare for World War Three,” “Steps to Take After Nuclear Blast,” “Dogs May Be Taken from Owners by Authorities,” “New Driving Laws Punish Older Drivers,” “Late Winter Storm Set to Bury UK with Snowfall,” “Mysterious Space Phenomenon Early Warning for Britons”…
And then I spot two birds playing tug-of-war with a tuft of our collie’s hair to use to line their nests.
And then I see daffodils blazing their sunshine glory in front of a rock fence.
And then I notice buds creeping over the bare limbs of a tree.
And then I lose myself in wonder at the first traces of spring green unfurling in a new leaf.
And then I watch moms and dads walking their children past our house on the way to school.
And then I celebrate a splash of sunshine making it over the top of grey clouds.
And then I marvel in the hills rising behind us, the sea rolling at our feet, the friendly greeting of complete strangers along the path we both take, and the giggle of a baby testing grass with bare feet for the first time—and I remind myself that this is still God’s world.
“Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.” Philippians 4:8
If manufacturers depended on me to watch their commercials and buy their products—they would go broke. I ignore commercials. I simply don’t notice them, either in printed form or on television.
When I need something, I go to a local store and buy it. Just it. I’m a big believer in supporting local businesses. And I hate shopping. I’m not one to wander through stores going “ooh” and “aw” and deciding that I need something because it is attractively packaged.
Conversely, I have a friend who is a sucker for commercials. She simply has to have everything advertised as “new” and “improved” including toothpaste. She has an unopened box on her bathroom shelf. Details on the box shout how exceptional it is. It declares that it will whiten teeth, repair enamel, improve gum health, and stand on its head and play brass instruments. I may have added the last part.
The point is—the toothpaste is on the shelf. It is available. Yet my friend has not opened it. Her teeth are still discolored from drinking copious amounts of coffee and tea. She complains that her teeth hurt when she eats ice cream. She complained this morning that her gums bled when she brushed her teeth. Yet the new, improved, exceptional toothpaste sits on her shelf unopened. The toothpaste may work all the miracles it advertises—but it has to be opened.
When my aunt Edris died she left me her colorful family Bible. It sat on the coffee table in the living room when I still lived at home. No one ever opened it. We were being raised as atheists. The Bible maintained its focal point in the family room only because the pictures on the cover were colorful and beautiful. I know now what I didn’t know then. The answer to every troubling question people face is in that book. But it must be opened.
Lonely? Jesus is a friend that sticks closer than a brother. Tempted? Resist the devil and he will flee. Fighting fear? Jesus says, “Do not fear. Do not worry. God takes care of the birds, animals, and flowers—He will take care of you. Problems in a relationship? Women are instructed to revere their husbands and husbands are instructed to love their wives as Jesus loved the church. Jesus died for the church. A relationship with that much love will not fail. The Bible guarantees that a three-fold cord is not easily broken. When Jesus is in the marriage equation it always comes up with the right answer.
If you are looking for answers, they are in the Bible. But you have to open it. Don’t wait for it to stand on its head and play a trombone.
The hat in the photo belongs to my son Luke Parker, known in Marine Corps as Major Luke Parker. I bought it for him when he was eleven and we lived in the Great Basin Desert of northern Nevada—39 years ago. Some of my favorite photos are of him playing in the snow wearing that hat.
Since moving to Scotland fourteen years ago I have worn the blue wooly hat nearly every day—winter and summer, because compared to Texas—Scotland has no summer.
When I say I have worn the hat nearly every day, I should add…every day that it hasn’t been lost. I’ve lost count of the number of times the hat has been missing—sometimes for as long as a month at a time. God always brings it back.
Still, even though I’m wearing the hat now, it is a lost hat. Lost because the hat belongs to my son. He left it behind when he moved from our Texas address to his eternal address in heaven. The hat is lost to him. He is lost to the hat—and that’s the point of this blog.
No matter our age, we are all travelers. This earth is not our home. We are just passing through. No matter how many homes we own and how opulent they are; no matter how splendid the furnishings—some day they will be lost to us. They will join the ranks of lost along with Luke’s insignificant wooly hat.
“For we know that if this earthly house, this tent, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” 2 Corinthians 5:1.
A lot of folks give thanks for financial rewards, new vehicles, new clothes, vacations, trips abroad, dining at fine restaurants. I thank God for a wonky seatbelt.
When the seatbelt first malfunctioned—I was irritated. The tongue no longer stayed at the top where it belonged, but instead, dropped down to the floorboard. Since our car is so small, this means opening the door—almost always into blinding rain and punishing wind—to reach down and retrieve it. It’s difficult to be thankful for uncomfortable and awkward situations.
There are many things in my life for which I am thankful. The wonky seatbelt is a new addition.
My dream since childhood has been to write to write books. I have now written 49, and I am extremely thankful. Before my first book was published I was privileged to write for several different newspapers. I am extremely thankful for that. The situations I faced and the characters I met live again inside my 49 books.
I am thankful to have been born in Texas. I am thankful for the different states I have had an opportunity to reside in or visit: Georgia, Alabama, Nevada, California, Montana, Arizona, Florida. I am thankful for having been born in the United States, and now for my time in Scotland. Enrichment for my life. Fodder for my books.
God has blessed me with a marvelous family; marvelous memories; marvelous pets…and a marvelous life. I am thankful.
Not everything has been good. Not everything has been easy. I survived years of childhood sexual abuse and forced abortions that nearly killed me (performed by the perpetrator who had no medical knowledge or training but was determined to hide his crime). I survived an abusive, alcoholic spouse and divorce in my first marriage. I survived the cancer death of my second husband, and then an annulment from a conniving druggie who left me thousands of dollars in debt. A plane crash separated me from my wonderful son Luke. I have now spent several years as a care giver for my Scottish husband. Hard times, hard things.
Leaving my country was hard. Learning to drive on the wrong side of the road and use roundabouts; the difference in pronunciation of words like garage, aluminium, controversy, schedule, and dozens more—some of which still catch me by surprise. Different spellings. Flavour instead of flavor; programme instead of program; colour instead of color; tonne instead of ton; favourite instead of favorite.
Learning Scottish words like blether, braw, shoogily (shaky), haver (imagine), bairn (child), greet (to cry), stoor (dust or dirt), glaikit (fool or stupid) has been difficult, but these words figure richly in my books that are set in Scotland.
Learning that “tea” is the evening meal—or then again—it could just be tea. Learning that folks who ask to “clap” your dog do not intend abuse—they want to pet it.
I am thankful for all the things that have gone wrong in my life and all my unanswered prayers—which were actually answered. “No” is an answer.
It hurts to see my cancer, Parkinson’s Disease-stricken husband continue his slow decline. It’s hard. But I am thankful that I am here to take care of him.
And I am thankful for the wonky seatbelt.
When I get into the car and the seatbelt tongue is at the top where it belongs, I say, “Thank You, Jesus.” However, it is usually not in the proper position for fastening, so now I say, “Thank You, Jesus,” even when it is on the floorboard and I must fish for it.
And that is why I am so thankful for that wonky seatbelt. It reminds me on a daily basis to thank God. To thank God for the good, and to thank God for what does not appear to be good at the time.
My two favorite Bible verses are, “In everything give thanks for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you,” 1 Thessalonians 5:18, and “All things work together for good to those who love the Lord,” Romans 8:28.
God blessed me with an amazing and wonderful son, Luke, known by the Marine Corps as Major Luke Parker. Luke was everything in a son than any mother could ever imagine, yet, I always wanted more children.
I now have 49 kids. The second kid (book), “Dead Body in a Pickup Truck,” is dedicated to Luke and includes the prophetic poem he wrote a year before flying into the arms of Jesus when his plane fell out of the sky.
They can never replace Luke, but I am proud of all my kids. Still, I rarely dedicate a blog to them. “Hell to Hole Mystery” is different. For one thing, it uses the childhood sexual abuse that I suffered as background for the protagonist. For another thing—satan didn’t want this book published. I know that because problem after problem came against it, pushing the publication date ahead weeks at a time—a month in total by its publication today. If satan is against it—God is for it. There are only two gods in this world; the Lord God Who is all good and the Author of everything good, and satan who is all bad and the author of everything bad.
Like my other kids, “Hole to Hell Mystery” is a Christian cozy mystery. I would like to think that all my books are powerful and that readers leave the pages with more than what they brought into them. “Hole to Hell Mystery” is, however, more powerful and thought-provoking than my other cozy Christian mysteries. It is definitely different. My prayer is that it will enrich readers and bless them. That’s what I pray for all my kids, but even more for my newest one since God’s enemy fought so hard against its publication.
Thank you for loving my kids. May they always be welcome in your homes and lives. God bless.
I dress up for church. I put on a clean pair of jeans. I put on an old green T-shirt that says, “God’s Got This.”It’s faded, but it’s clean. And this being perennial cold Scotland, I pull a clean hoodie or pullover over the T-shirt. I slip into my grey shoes. They are just like my everyday slip-on shoes—the same color—but they are newer. Then, the most important part of adorning myself.
I don’t wear makeup or adornments on the outside, but I dress up the inside. I snap on a genuine smile. I shovel out any negative thoughts and imaginations that have piled up during the week. I search my heart for any bad or wrong things banked inside me for which I have not sought God’s forgiveness. I ask God’s Holy Spirit to wash me inside and polish the lamp of God’s Word so it shines brightly with Jesus’ love and forgiveness. Jesus, the Light of the World.
Still, there is one more important aspect of dressing for church. I thank God for everything, past, present—and future. Everything—even the bad and sad things that build my strength and endurance.
A final check in the mirror. The mirror of my soul. Is everything clean and bright and attractive? If I am to have any positive impact on others and be a winning witness for my Savior, I must mirror His beauty.
Off to church. I help with the children—thus the jeans. Some Sundays are chaotic. Some are messy. Some are challenging. They are all blessings. Children are a heritage from the Lord. I am mightily blessed to be entrusted with them on Sundays.
Sometimes I am weary when I get home. I want a nap. But there is a meal to fix, a dog to walk, an immobilized husband who needs constant care. So I go through the dressing up for church again and give thanks to God for everything as we are instructed in 1 Thessalonians 5:18, “In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
Thanksgiving; the garment for everyday that never grows old or goes out of style.
“Oh come, let us sing to the LORD! Let us shout joyfully to the Rock of our salvation. Let us come before His presence with thanksgiving; let us shout joyfully to Him with thanksgiving…”Psalm 95:1.
With thankful hearts, we are always dressed right for church.
I’ve had a blog written to share for a couple of weeks. Ironically, it is about all the hindrances that have come against the publication of my new book—which still has not been released. But, that’s okay—because Christmas should come first.
The Christmas Story, as told in Luke, Chapter 2, is matchless.
And it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. So all went to be taxed, everyone to his own city. Joseph went up from Galilee to Bethlehem with Mary, his betrothed wife, who was great with child.
So it was that while they were there the days were completed for her to be delivered and she bought forth her firstborn Son and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths and laid Him in a manger because there was no room for them in the inn.
Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields keeping watch over their flock by night. And behold, an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid.
Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign to you, you shall find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths lying in a manger.”
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”
And no book, no blog, no surfeit of words that I can write could compete with that beautiful story. God came down to earth so we can go to heaven.
A woman who clawed her way to fame and fortune by becoming ‘the human Barbie Doll’ spent $42,000 on 27 plastic surgeries. She is dead at 31.
Global basketball icon Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash in 2020, at age 41.
TV icon Steve Irwin died in 2006, at 44, after he was stung by a stingray.
Princess Diana died in 1997, at age 36, in a vehicle crash.
Actor River Phoenix died in 1993, of a heroin overdose. He was 23.
Musician Kurt Cobain died in 1994, from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. He was 27.
They chased tomorrow. Tomorrow came. Youth, beauty, fame, riches—nothing kept them from death.
Nor will wisdom, education, and learning defeat death when tomorrow comes.
Karl Patterson Schmidt, 67, was a world renowned herpetologist. He had handled thousands of snakes over forty years and traveled around the world presenting lectures and identifying snakes. He excelled in wisdom, education and learning.
Schmidt was contacted in 1957, to identify a small, colorful snake that no one else could identify. When he saw it, Schmidt immediately knew what it was; a juvenile boomslang, deadly in adulthood but usually harmless as a juvenile. The snake’s fangs were located in the rear of its mouth and its mouth couldn’t open wide enough to inflict a bite on a person—so Schmidt calmly explained as he handled the venomous reptile. The snake bit Schmidt. Twenty-four hours later—he was dead.
The popular cliché “tomorrow never comes” is false. Tomorrow comes. So does death.
Nothing we can accomplish in this life on earth can stop tomorrow. Beauty will not paralyze it. Money will not purchase relief from it. Fame will not faze it. Knowledge, wisdom, and education will not outsmart it.
Our victory over tomorrow is to outlast it by living for God so that when tomorrow comes it brings the sweet victory and relief of heaven with it.
“And this is the testimony; that God has given us eternal life, and that life is in His Son Jesus. He who has Jesus has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life.” 1 John 5:11.
As a three-year-old, I made an amazing discovery. The old, worn, torn, smelly couch on the debris pile next to my house hid the most delicious, desirable treats; brightly colored orbs with chocolate inside. I didn’t know what chocolate was—I just knew I loved it. I didn’t know the name of the candies—M&Ms.
An adult would have been scandalized to see me digging the candy out of a couch on a trash pile and eating it. They would have screamed words at me that I wouldn’t have understood—nasty, germs, bacteria. To me the candies were delicious and delightful. A matter of perspective.
I worked at a Christian preschool with a woman named Norma. Norma was just over six-feet tall and weighed close to four-hundred pounds. Her daughter, 12, nearly hit the six-foot mark and weighed close to two-hundred pounds. Norma drove a little Ford Courier pickup truck. One day Norma pulled into the parking lot and the tire on the driver’s side exploded. Instead of being embarrassed by his severely overweight wife and daughter, Norma’s husband laughed gleefully. “Look at that!” he exclaimed. “My wife and my daughter just popped a tire.” A matter of perspective.
When son Luke was eleven and we lived in the Nevada desert, I sat on the kitchen floor crying on Thanksgiving Day. People all around the country would celebrate the special holiday with turkey and all the trimmings. Thanksgiving was the only meal that Luke—a picky eater—really liked. He loved it. But as a single parent—I had no money for a Thanksgiving meal. We would have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
There was a knock on the door. Our next door neighbor, a woman in her eighties, invited us to share Thanksgiving Dinner with her family. I was ecstatic. So was Luke.
Luke and I helped Mrs. Merca set the table and put the finishing touches on the feast. Enter her family; parents swigging cans of beer and toting 12-packs because Mrs. Merca didn’t drink; their son and daughter with wildly colored hair and metal junk sticking out of unrealistic places. This was nearly 40 years ago. I had never seen “body jewelry” before. The boy had a row of safety pins in both ear lobes. Luke couldn’t quit staring at him.
However, it wasn’t the outward appearance of Mrs. Merca’s family that was so shattering—it was their actions and attitudes. They barely bothered to greet their mother/grandmother. They piled onto the couch and turned on a football game. No effort or offer to help the 85-year-old carry heavy dishes to the table. And when the food was on the table, they converged on it like starving wildlife—no prayer, no mention of things for which to be thankful. They filled their plates, and plopped back down on the couch to watch the ballgame leaving Mrs. Merca at the table with Luke and me.
When we got home after helping clean up after the meal, Luke was sad and pensive. I asked what was wrong. “Well, Mom. It was nice for Mrs. Merca to invite us to Thanksgiving and everything, but I wish we had stayed home and had our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so we could have prayed and thanked God.” A matter of perspective.
“Make a joyful shout to the LORD…Serve the LORD with gladness; come before His presence with singing. Know that the LORD, He is God; it is He who made us, and not we ourselves; we are His people and the sheep of His pasture. Come into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise.” Psalm 100.
I’m thankful for my elementary school education. I had excellent English teachers and since all I ever wanted to do since I was a kid is to write books—that was the most important thing for me. However, I also learned things that proved detrimental.
I was taught in school that Pluto was the ninth planet. One of our class projects was to draw the nine planets in their orbits, but in 2006, Pluto lost its status as a planet and was re-labeled “dwarf planet.” Learning that Pluto was a planet when it isn’t hasn’t hurt me. I don’t care. It’s too far away to have an impact on my life.
Being taught in school that snakes don’t come out at night might have harmed me—because they do—especially in the desert, and I used to run through the woods and fields carelessly at night with confidence that venomous snakes were tucked into their beds.
What has negatively impacted me in life is the teaching of my ninth-grade gym teacher. She taught us to “walk like Indians” toe first with one foot in front of the other and bragged about how silently we could walk like that. Her style of walking is great for balance beams and narrow ledges, but detrimental for every day walking as I have learned through painful falls resulting in broken bones.
Due probably to the back, hip, and knee surgeries I’ve had—or perhaps a childhood injury—I’ve developed something called “drop foot.” I’ve included the condition of drop foot in the book I’m working on now. My natural gait is to step forward toe-first as I walk. Frequently, however, one of my feet (and it can be either one) suddenly dips down and digs into the pavement. I’ve had some painful falls as a result.
So now at age 73, I am learning to walk again. It’s tough. My muscles rebel at the physical strain of putting my feet down heel first instead of toe first. I’ve walked toe-first for 60 years.
For the first 23 years of my life I was taught that God is not real. I was taught that God doesn’t exist. I even wrote an essay supporting that fact when I was in my first year of college. The professor gave me an A+ on the paper. I was wrong and he was wrong.
Some folks believe that the key to improving the world is found in education and learning. Falsehoods can be both taught and learned.
The answer is found in the mystery of God, “both of the Father and of Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.” Colossians 2:3.
A person can learn to walk through their life again at any age as long as they reach out and touch the mystery of God.
Stephanie Parker McKean 