And That’s Love

The following review for my newest book is one of the best I’ve ever received on any of my books because of this: “When I read a cozy I like to try to figure out whodunit before the amateur sleuth or the law does. I was so, so WRONG this time. McKean had me fooled. (Palm to forehead when I look back at it!)”

As a writer of cozy mysteries, I endeavor to surprise the reader, but “All the Colors of Murder” does more than surprise. It also showcases love. The protagonist has never known love. Enter a man who accepts her even when she rejects him, even when she is rude to him, even when she mocks his beliefs, even when she engages in activities that he does not espouse. And that’s love.

All my cozy mysteries contain love stories, but “All the Colors of Murder” embodies the best description of love ever written within the lives and actions of the main characters. That description is found in the Bible. “Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself; is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.” 1 Corinthians 13: 1-8. And that’s love.

The matchless example of love was set by Jesus. “This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends. You are My friends if you do whatever I command you.” John 15:12. And that’s love.

MaCoy and Hayden’s love story doesn’t reach the pinnacle of the love Jesus showed the world by dying for it, but my prayer is that it will engage the readers’ hearts in hope and expectation and encourage them to believe in a love that never fails.

All the Colors of Murder – Kindle edition by McKean, Stephanie Parker. Romance Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

Lost Wedding Rings

Because pushing my husband in a wheelchair and pulling him around the house in his potty chair since he can’t walk has increased the size of my knuckles, I can no longer wear my wedding ring. My husband lost so much weight over the five months he spent in the hospital that his wedding ring was too large—and he lost it. So neither of us wear our wedding rings—but the missing wedding rings do not mean that we are not still married. The rings were merely a symbol of our marriage. A label.

Changing labels does not change reality.

William Shakespeare perhaps said it best in 1595 when he wrote ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Changing the name of the flower does not change the rose.

Geologists often abandon BC—Before Christ, and AD—After Christ’s Death, for BP—Before the Present. Astrologists often replace BC and AD with CE for Common Era and BCE for Before Common Era. These new labels do not negate the fact that we celebrate Christmas as the time that Jesus Christ, God’s own Son, came to earth to live as a man and experience everything we experience so He could understand our trials and temptations and deliver us from them, and so that we could see our God in human flesh. It does not negate the fact that more than 2,000 years ago, Jesus Christ died on a cross and was sealed away in a tomb that could not hold Him. He is Risen. Christians have no grave to visit and reverence. We have an empty tomb.

Labels are tricky things. Easy to change—but impossible to change.

God’s immutability: “It is impossible for God to lie. This hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast.”

Don’t let human applied labels and criticism wear you down. You are fearfully and wonderfully made and God loves you and has a plan and purpose for you.

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A Few Borrowed Pans

He was an alcoholic. One could find him nearly any time day or night stumbling out of a bar and thumbing a ride home. One of his best friends had just lost his life in a drunk driving encounter with a tree. Eddie was only 21.

My personal dislike of this disgusting waste of humanity was his treatment of his girlfriend. He was so indifferent to her and her feelings that I saw him reach across the front seat of his car and slip his hand under a girl’s skirt while his girlfriend was in the backseat. I despised him.

Then just like the Bible story of Paul on the road to Damascus when Jesus smote him with temporary blindness and told him to quit persecuting Christians—Jesus zapped him. When he quit traveling the bar route, his friends laughed at him. “He’ll be back.” “He’ll fall off the wagon.” “It won’t stick. He’s one of us.”

But it stuck. Instead of circulating around the bars, he circulated around his friends’ houses asking to borrow pans and utensils. He set up a rickety wooden counter on a vacant gravel lot in town and smoked meat in a 55-gallon barrel. He borrowed the barrel. Someone bought the beef brisket for him. He started selling barbecue.

People mocked him. “It’s just a passing thing.” “He’ll never make it. He’s too lazy.” “Have you ever seen such a mess?” “He’ll be out of business within a week.”

He stayed in business. The barbecue was outstanding. The rickety wooden counter became a handsome sturdy counter. The 55-gallon barrel became a professional barbecue pit. A building grew up around the counter on the empty lot, then expanded. He married a woman a few years older than he was. She had a son. It was a church wedding.

His wedding caused new speculation among the old friends he had left behind. “It will never last. She has a kid. He doesn’t even like kids.” “He’ll get tired of all that church muckety-muck.” “Him? He’ll never be faithful to a wife.”

But he stuck with church. He stuck with his wife. He watched their son graduate from high school. When his wife became ill with a rare blood condition he sold his business and moved to Kerrville so she would be close to the hospital.

And he stuck with Jesus. Always, he stuck with Jesus.

I’ve lost track of Donald Busbee over the years. But the business he built on a gravel lot in Bandera, Texas, stands as a testimony—not to Donald—but to his Jesus. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

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Before…and After

Since my first book was published in 2012, I have attempted to write a weekly blog. I have not always succeeded in that goal. There are weeks that go blog-less.

When a friend sent me a picture she took of me – probably 57 years ago – I realized that I could write the shortest blog ever. I didn’t recognize myself in the picture she shared. In fact, the face rather scared me. It was taken before Jesus came into my heart and my life. Looking at that picture, I could understand why I had so few friends in school. I looked grim.

When placed beside a recent picture of me – a picture after Jesus came into my heart and life – the contrast is astounding.

As with everything in life that is important, the explanation is found in the Bible. “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation, old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.” 2 Corinthians 5:17.

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Crutch-free 2022

I’ve heard atheists say of Christians, “They are so weak that they need a crutch.”

As someone who has spent most of the past five years on crutches—I laugh. There is nothing easy about moving one’s body weight on a couple of sticks. It takes strength, determination, and grit.

My first experience motivating everywhere with crutches was prior to back surgery. Next it was a two-year wait for a knee replacement. Now it is recovery from hip replacement surgery. One of my nurses laughed at me for having my name written on my crutches. She didn’t understand that they were the dependable tools that enabled me to get up, get down, and move around putting one foot in front of another. They were my lifeline to freedom of movement.

Still, after my recent hip replacement surgery, I am looking forward to a crutch-free 2022. I think my sticks have earned a rest!

I’ve been asked what I’m going to do with my crutches when I no longer need them. I think I will keep them as a reminder to cultivate an attitude of gratitude. Jesus has done so much for me. Yes, He is my Crutch. He is my Weight Bearer. Because He lives, I am not afraid to die. When a person does not fear death—there is nothing left to fear.

Because Jesus lives, I am unmoved by the fear-mongering over the pandemic. With Jesus bearing the weight, I can walk through life unafraid, leaning on Him when I need to lean, and letting Him pick me up and carry me when I am weary. Because Jesus is my Crutch—One whom I will keep not only through 2022, but through the rest of my life—I have peace and joy that passes all understanding.

Yes, I have a Crutch. And I am so proud of Him.

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Christmas In All Of Its Colors

My husband complains that it is hard to shop for me. I don’t wear jewelry. I don’t want more clothes. I am blessed. I have everything I need. My favorite gifts are rocks and chocolate—and I’m picky about the chocolate.

When son Luke was in USMC basic training in San Diego, a street vendor approached him with a tray of jewelry and said, “Son, buy one of these beautiful necklaces for your mother for Christmas. She will love you forever.”

Luke replied, “My mom doesn’t wear jewelry, sir. What she really wants is a bag of cement for her garden.”

My favorite thing at Christmas is giving. From working two and three jobs at a time as a single parent to other adventures in life, I’ve never had much money to spend at Christmas (or any other time of the year) to enable me to give freely. This year presents even less opportunity for giving, because while recovering from hip replacement surgery—perhaps going back to the cement and rocks?—I can’t drive for six weeks.

So this year, especially, I am thankful that Christmas is not about shopping. It is, however, about giving. It is about One Gift from God. All the colors of Christmas are written in these words:

“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.” Luke, Chapter Two.

This is Christmas.

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

Leaving Leaves

Some people hate autumn because leaves falling off trees remind them of death and dying. I hate autumn because it leads to winter. I hate cold.

Some people wax poetic about the beauty of leaves changing colors. I love color and beauty, too, but what I love most about fall leaves is their passionate dance with the wind.

Leaves are born to a single tree in the spring. For the first half of their lives—they are stationary. They are held captive by the tree. Wind can tickle them and make them tremble or shiver—but the leaves can’t go anywhere. They are dependent on their attachment to the tree.

Fall arrives. The leaves turn lively colors and die. Trees release them. The wind catches them up—and suddenly—they are no longer “dead.” They have new life, new adventure, new purpose. Piles of fallen leaves warm the ground and protect it from winter cold. Creatures bury themselves under the leaves finding shelter and food. Eventually, the leaves decompose. They enrich the soil and coax new life into existence.

What a marvelous parallel to our lives as humans on planet earth. We live. We “die.” But, because of Jesus—we never really die. Our “death” is a freedom ride to eternity.

Jesus promised those who believe in Him, “And I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish, neither shall anyone snatch them out of My hand.”

Built on Rock

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(Photo credit Wikipedia)

Happened upon a fascinating TV documentary about the Cape Romano Dome House along the Florida coast. What fascinated me was the aesthetic architecture with its dome shape and wide windows on all sides. I wanted to live there. Until I heard the rest of the story.

Sitting out in the water 300 feet from shore, the six self-sustaining white dome structures on stilts were constructed from sand and island shells in 1979 by retired oil producer Bob Lee. The three-bedroom, three-bathroom house was solar powered and gutters collected rainwater, which was filtered and stored in a cistern. The dome construction resisted hurricane damage—until Hurricane Andrew in 1992.

Even Category 5 Hurricane Andrew with 175-mile-an-hour winds did not destroy Cape Romano Dome House. But erosion did. The house stood on the beach before Hurricane Andrew. Now it sits in the water, with only four of the six modules remaining. It was built on sand.

Jesus said in Matthew 7:24, “Whoever hears these sayings of Mine and does them, I will liken him to a wise man who built his house on the rock: and the rain descended, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house; and it did not fall, for it was founded on the rock. But everyone who hears these sayings of Mine and does not do them, will be like the foolish man who built his house on the sand: and the rain descended, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, and it fell. And great was the ruin.”

Bob Lee’s vision of his dream home was brilliant. Viewing it makes the spirit soar. But the house was built on sand.

We face decisions each day about building our lives. We can build on sand—then something like Covid-19 comes along and strips away all pretense and lets us know that nothing on this earth is eternal—except God.

Or we can build on the Rock of Jesus where not even Covid-19 can steal from us. This life is not the end—it’s just the beginning. If we have God, we have everything we need.

Real Danger

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From the start I’ve known that the real danger is not coronavirus. The real danger isn’t about how many people get it. It isn’t about how many people die. It is about opening the door for political and police overreach of powers. That is happening here in the UK.

The Derbyshire police have issued citations to people for purchasing “non-essential” items at the grocery store. They told a store not to sell Easter eggs. They have informed people they are allowed only one hour of exercise a day. They have filmed dog walkers with drones. They dyed the Blue Lagoon near Buxton black on the premise that less attractive would keep folks at home.

The overreach of powers shouldn’t surprise anyone who has read the Bible from cover to cover. It’s right out of Revelation, the last chapter. It’s one step away from Chapter 13: God’s enemy satan exercises “all authority in the earth…and causes those who dwell in it to worship the beast…and he deceives those who dwell on the earth…and causes as any as will not worship the image of the beast to be killed. He causes all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on their right hand or on their foreheads that no one may buy or sell except the one who has the mark or the name of the beast, or the number of his name. Here is wisdom…the number of the beast is 666.”

Scary times. Not because of Covid-19. Because of the overreach of police powers.

But there is a reason God has put 365 “fear nots” in the Bible, one for each day. Those who have read to the end of the Bible will know that Jesus won the victory. If we live and die in Him, victory belongs to us too.

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away…I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give of the fountain of the water of life freely to him who thirsts. He who overcomes shall inherit all things, and I will be his God.” Revelation 21:4-7.

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The South Gets it Right

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While researching for my next book I had the pleasure of walking in the steps of my childhood and revisiting a world that was so real and embracing to me that I forgot I’m currently living in Scotland. I went back to the South, read things only folks in the South say, and realized…they got it right.

What could be more descriptive than, “she fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down.” And realizing that when “that possum’s on the stump”—that’s about as good as it gets.

How about, “He thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow.” Or, “He squeezes a quarter so tight the eagle screams.” “I’m so poor I can’t afford to pay attention.” “It’s so dry the trees are bribing the dog.” “He’s as happy as if he had good sense.”

And on laziness, “They won’t hit a lick at a snake.” “He’s about as useful as a wheel on a mule.”

Not truthful? “You’d call an alligator a lizard.” “You talk with your tongue out of your shoe.”

“If that politician had a good idea it would die of loneliness.” “If his brains were leather he wouldn’t have enough to saddle a Junebug.” “He’s so dumb he could throw himself on the ground and miss.”

“I’m so hungry I could eat the north end of a south-bound polecat.” “I’m so hungry my belly thinks my throat’s been cut.” “That sticks in the throat like hair on a biscuit.”

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit.”

The South got it right.

And in the South, we praise Jesus.

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Have a great day, all of y’all. And if you want to read a Christian Cozy Mystery-Romance that reads as good as biscuits with gravy taste, visit me here: