Friday, October 18, 2013
A Taste of Friday: Janet Eckles and Simply Salsa
Today we welcome Janet Perez Eckles, reading from Simply Salsa.
Monday, October 14, 2013
Christian Author Lorilyn Roberts: Michael J. Webb's Inspiration to Write Infernal Gates? Guest P...
Christian Author Lorilyn Roberts: What Inspired Me to Write Infernal Gates? Guest P...: Ethan Freeman, ex-Special Forces Ranger, wakes up to discover he is the sole survivor of a fiery commercial airline crash that kill...
Friday, October 11, 2013
A Taste of Friday with Krystal Kuehn and 10 Keys to Happy and Loving Relationships
Today we welcome Krystal Kuehn to the blog.
The 10 Keys to Happy & Loving Relationships By Krystal Kuehn, MA, LPC, LLP, NCC
Krystal Kuehn, MA, LPC, LLP, NCC is a psychotherapist,
best-selling author, teacher, musician and songwriter. Krystal specializes in
helping people live their best life now, reach their full potential, overcome
barriers, heal from their past, & develop a happiness
lifestyle. For more information go to: www.Christian-Kindle-Books.com
Published by Maximum Potential, LLC
Key #1: Love is Esteem for Self and Others
- Why Loving Others Begins with Loving Ourselves
There is overwhelming evidence that the higher the level of
self-esteem, the more likely one will be to treat others with respect,
kindness, and generosity. ~Nathaniel Branden
You may have heard it said that you can’t love others if you don’t love yourself. Having self-love means you care about and like yourself in a healthy and balanced way. It means you have self-respect and believe you are worthy of love.
When self-love is lacking in a person’s life, it usually indicates that they have a low self-esteem. They do not “esteem” or value themselves as highly as they ought to. They might not really believe they are loveable. And the more they dislike themselves, the more hindered they become in receiving love from others. As a result, they are unable to love others as deeply as they would like to.
It is important to note that what appears as excessive self-love in some people is also indicative of a poor self-esteem. These individuals come across as arrogant and boastful. However, they yearn for admiration in hopes that it will satisfy their desperate longing for genuine love.
Loving and esteeming others fully begins with loving and esteeming yourself in an appropriate and healthy way.
When you.....
- Allow for mistakes
and forgive your flaws
- Are patient and
understanding with yourself
- Are not
self-deprecating or self-exalting
- Are satisfied with
your best effort
- Believe in yourself
and don’t give up
- Acknowledge your good
qualities and strengths and accept your weaknesses
- Learn to like and
appreciate who you are
Then, you will be much better able to do so for others. Love, respect, and appreciation will transfer to all other areas and relationships in your life.
The way you esteem yourself will be directly related to the way you esteem others. That is why a positive self-esteem is an important part of our experience of love. Self-esteem can be built and improved as you acknowledge and receive love in your life and as you love yourself and others as best as you can. In its own miraculous way love increases in our lives as we give it away. The more we give, the more we have to give. So you can start right where you are no matter how little you may feel you have to give. There is so much more love for you to experience.
Reflection:
Explain what esteeming yourself means to you and how you think it relates to loving others.
How can a low self-esteem make it difficult to receive love and to love others?
Review the list of examples of loving and esteeming yourself. How do they apply to you?
Is self-love lacking or excessive in your life? How can you bring it into balance?
Think about the way you feel about yourself. In what ways is it helping or hindering you from loving others?
♥ Empowering Thoughts & Affirmations
Everyone wants to be loved. Everyone is worthy of love.
I
can allow the power of love to work in my life.
I can accept myself and others as worthy of love.
I choose to
appreciate my inner strengths and value who I am.
Love is an expression and assertion of self-esteem. ~Ayn Rand
Love is an expression and assertion of self-esteem. ~Ayn Rand
You really
have to look inside yourself and find your own inner strength, and say, “I’m
proud of what I am and who I am, and I’m just going to be myself.” ~Mariah
Carey
You must
love yourself before you love another. By accepting yourself and fully being
what you are, your simple presence can make others happy. ~unknown
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
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Friday, October 4, 2013
A Taste of Friday with Lisa Lickel and Meow Mayhem
Lisa J Lickel
January, 2013,
Whimsical Publications
Mystery
Lisa Lickel is
a multi-published Wisconsin author, avid book reviewer and blogger, a freelance
editor, and writing mentor. Find her at LisaLickel.com.
Chapter One
The alarm next to my ear shrieked me awake at two forty-eight a.m. I
scrambled upstairs to my home office to catch the urgent summons. My messenger
service board light sputtered an angry red, signaling an incoming call for one
of my clients—ID code, the mayor’s office. I frowned. In the middle of the
night? This had to be a crank call. I hoped it wasn’t one of those angry at the
world verbal abusers. I was tired and not in the mood to be professionally
pleasant. I held the headpiece next to my ear and answered. “Office of the
mayor.”
“Mm—get—call—mmm—”
I couldn’t make anything out through the crackling static and so I
boosted the gain. I tried to turn the outside antenna with the automatic
control, but another burst of static rocketed me out of the chair. I whipped
off my earpiece. “Oww!”
I sat down again slowly. The light blinked balefully now. I checked the
caller ID. Chicago. Summersby Building. “Hello? Can I help you?” I flicked a
switch up and down. All I heard now was a soft buzz. Then a distinct click. At
least the recorder had been on. I yawned. Summersby Building was probably a
construction company doing work for one of the new businesses coming to Apple
Grove. That’s why I was here, too, invited on behalf of the mayor’s new
community growth incentive. I yawned again and hung my earpiece on a hook.
Maybe some cleaning crew accidentally hit redial. I went back to bed.
The next evening, after my third attempt to reach my friend Donald, the
mayor of Apple Grove, Illinois, I ran my fingers across the rows of red and
yellow and green blinking lights of my servers. I usually found them cheerful.
Comforting. But sometimes my system of eight blinking bubbles reminded me of
all I hated about Christmas. In the gloomy twilight of early fall, they felt
sinister.
When I moved here two months ago, April Fool’s Day, to be exact, the
phone and cable companies had wondered
Usually, I took messages. This evening, I needed to give one. One that I
dreaded. I took a deep breath, plugged in my headset, and dialed.
“Apple Grove Police. Officer Ripple. How can I help you?”
“Hello, hello? I need to
report a kidnapping.”
“Kidnapping? Name?”
“Ivy Preston.”
“Right. High Vee? Could you
spell that, please?”
“I-V-Y. Preston.”
“And where are you now, ma’am?
Can you see any weapons? Do you know the name of your kidnappers?”
“Oh, no, Officer. It’s not me.
It’s the mayor.”
“Mayor? Got that. First name?”
“Donald.”
“Donald Mayor. And is he a
relative? Is there a note?”
“No…you’ve got it all mixed
up. I’m calling about somebody kidnapping Mayor Donald Conklin.”
“You think someone’s going to
kidnap the mayor? That’s a pretty serious charge.”
“Not going to. I think they
already did.”
“We’ll send someone over to talk to you. What’s your address?”
“Three-twelve Marigold.”
“Ah, yes. The Pagner house. And
you have some sort of evidence?”
“Well, I received the
strangest message last night and now he won’t answer his private number. I’m
worried.”
“Message?”
“I’m the new messenger service in town. McTeague’s. Donald invited me.”
“Okay. Sit tight. I’m sending
Officer Dow over to you to take your statement.”
“Thank you.” I hung up and
wondered what kind of a statement I was expected to give. I had the recording,
but unless one knew the context, it could mean anything. Maybe I should call
someone. How did I know I could trust the police here? You saw it all the time
on TV. Sometimes, the bad guys aren’t who you thought. My mental contact list
was pretty slim. My neighbors, who I didn’t know all well. Mom, who lived a
couple of hours away.
A knock on the door saved me from a slide into self-pity. I let in
Officer Ann Dow. And smiled politely at the little wisp of a blond who looked
like the east wind would carry her away if she hadn’t been anchored by her
sturdy shoes and even sturdier holstered shiny black weapon. “Thank you for
coming.” I wasn’t huge, but I looked down a couple of inches on her.
“So, tell me about this
alleged kidnapping.” The officer got out her pad and pen. She shushed her
shoulder mic.
“I believe the mayor is
missing.”
She didn’t say anything at first. “And you believe that because…?”
“I received this strange message late last night. On my business line.
You know, I’m hired to reroute phone, fax, and electronic mail service from the
mayor’s office while he’s out?”
“I’m not privy to the mayor’s office practices,” she said,
straight-faced.
I ignored her implication and instead led her to my office, explaining
she could hear for herself. “This message came in, cued for the mayor’s office,
but it was all staticky and garbled. I couldn’t make anything out, except ‘get’
and ‘call.’”
She listened. “Get what? And you think it came from the mayor?”
“I don’t know for sure. The caller ID said Summersby Building in Chicago.
I just thought you should check it out.”
Officer Dow tapped her pen on her pad. She shook her head and returned to
the kitchen, me following like a lost puppy. “I’ll make a report,” she said,
reaching for the door. “Maybe you should notify the FCC. If you get threatening
calls, you should call the telephone company. We’ll talk to Mrs. Bader-Conklin,
who’s been in the office all week covering for her husband. If that’s all, I’ll
let you get back to…what you were doing.”
“Thank you. But—”
Click. She shut my door.
And I thought Apple Grove seemed like such a nice town.
I let out a sigh of pure exasperation and tapped my size seven-and-a-half
sandal on the tile floor. Last night’s message…I just couldn’t get it out of my
head. I get mistaken numbers, of course, but I had a funny feeling. And that
was a new one—Donald’s wife had been in the office? Why did he need me? Calling
the police wasn’t the best first move. But what else could I have done?
Donald, or the city I guess,
hired me to take messages this week while he went to court another incubator
business to start up in Apple Grove. He was nice like that, paving the way for
other people to trust my business, just like he did.
Maybe I should have been mad
at him instead of concerned. With my ringless fingers, I tucked a loose spiral
of my dishy-blah hair back into its sloppy bun. Donald would never have ignored
me this long. And he’d want to talk about the next CAT
convention coming up. That was Cat Association Titlists—the group where we met
years and years ago. We both had silver Egyptian Maus.
I have never been a whimsical
person, and this was a big deal in my life, but I’ll get to that later. Let’s
just say his request, that I move McTeague’s—that’s me, Ivy Amanda McTeague
Preston—Message Service to Apple Grove happened to fall at a good time. Pun
intended.
If the police thought Donald
was perfectly safe, I should just wait until tomorrow and then see if Mrs.
Bader-Conklin had some notion about what was going on. I could go visit her at
the office and ask, casual-like, if she’d heard from him. And offer to leave
his messages.
***
My next hint that something was wrong was that Donald’s secretary, Marion
Green, was not at her usual post. If the mayor’s office was open for business,
Marion at least should be here, even if she supposedly had the week off. Donald
joked that she was the one who really ran the town. The stern-looking
black-haired woman who infringed on Marion’s space made me wait fifteen
minutes. Donald usually came out of his office when he heard my voice. The
light was on; I could see it shining under his door. I suppose Margaret—Mrs.
Bader-Conklin—could have been making an urgent call.
I heard a distinct sneeze from inside the office. Then the tap of high
heels.
Why had I waited so long before getting concerned enough about Donald to
call the police? Final registration for CAT
was in two days. Donald never missed. He hadn’t registered yet—I checked. And
he told me before he left town that it was the one thing he looked forward to
all summer. He could take his cat, Tut, out of his wife’s hair for awhile, and
since she claimed she was allergic to animals, she didn’t insist on coming
along. He never said anything negative, but I got the impression the vacation
was a three-way blessing between him, his wife, and Tut.
A woman opened the door to the mayor’s office. I recognized her from a
photo that Donald had showed me—Margaret. She studied me over half-glasses
perched on a razor-thin nose; Joan Crawford eyebrows raised toward her
curled-under bangs. I shivered.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Preston. Please.” She gestured to me to
follow her. And then she invited me to sit in the ugly straight-back chair on
the opposite side of Donald’s desk instead of the comfy one in front of the
computer. Donald had never done that.
I warily started a conversation. “I hope Marion isn’t sick.”
“I gave Mrs. Green the week off. My personal assistant is with me.” The
wife of the mayor of Apple Grove leaned back in her husband’s leather chair.
“Now, what can I do for you, Miss…Preston?”
I swallowed hard. “Uh, well, Don—the mayor asked me to take messages as
he was going to be out of the office all week. I wondered…if you’ve heard from
him?” Dang, I tried hard not to squeak with nerves at the end. I couldn’t help
it, yet instinct told me that I must not show fear. I hoped she wouldn’t get
the wrong impression.
“May I know the nature of your business with the mayor?”
No wonder Donald needed an annual break from this woman. Did she act like
such an iceberg at home, too? Margaret sneezed again and took out a dainty lace
handkerchief. “Something in the air,” she muttered, sniffling. “You must have a
cat or a dog at home. I’m allergic.”
“Oh?” I said, stopping before I mentioned I already knew that. Wrong
impressions and all.
“I recall Donald speaking of you,” she said. “From that little group he
goes to, right? So, did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Bring the messages you’ve been supposedly taking.”
“Sorry.” I handed over eight yellow and green carbons. I kept the pink
copies locked in a safe for three months, per contractual agreement. “Mrs.
Lendler wants her neighbor’s box elder tree cut down as a public menace because
of the bugs—”
“Thank you. I can read. Was there anything else?”
“So, am I still on the job for the rest of the week? And Don—the
mayor—will be back on Saturday? He’s all right?”
“Of course he’s all right. Why wouldn’t he be? Letty can handle
business.”
Letty must be the battleaxe up front. Margaret stood and I had to follow
suit. She was taller than me. I supposed if I had on heels instead of tennies,
I could have looked at her nose instead of her chin. She had three black hairs
sprouting under her makeup. I pressed my lips tight to hold in the grin while
she turned to open the door to her office.
“How’s Tut these days?” I asked, testing her out on a whim.
“Tut? Oh—fine, just fine.”
Mmhmm. “Mem’s just fine, too.”
“Mem? Memo? I don’t underst—” She looked over my shoulder. “Oh, ah, good
to know. Excuse me while I, ah….”
I followed her line of sight to see Letty in the doorway, frowning, while
her left hand came to rest on her folded elbow. We locked brown-eyed stares.
Her irises had weird little gold flecks in them. She blinked first. She went
back to her desk.
“I’ll be glad to care for Tut,” I said, a bit giddy with my victory in
the stare down, “since you’re allergic and all, while the mayor’s away. Our
cats get along swell.”
She bit the corner of her lip, just for an instant, but enough to give me
the feeling that something was amiss.
“Tut’s all right, isn’t he? Or is he with Donald?”
She frowned when I said Donald. Oops. “I mean, the mayor.”
She pushed forward, forcing me to move to the door. “Of course. If you’ll
excuse me, we have a great deal of work. Good-bye, now. Take care.”
I nodded to Letty on my way out. I got turned around in the maze of
staircases and hallways and ended up leaving city hall by the back door. In my
muse, I had to dodge a dark-colored delivery van squealing right up to the back
door before I found the walk that went around to the side parking lot where I
had left my car. What on earth would Mrs. Bader-Conklin do in her husband’s
office?
How I got home, I’m not sure. I don’t think I ran into anyone on the way.
I paced my tiny kitchen, three steps forward and back, as the evening wore on,
deciding how much further to get involved in this business.
Judging by the officer’s response to my initial phone call, I wondered if
I would ever rate any respect for my theory that the mayor needed help. I only
hoped it would not be too late for Donald. I needed to find a better way to
explain my dilemma to the police if I felt like I had to call again.
I could talk to someone else. Of course! Someone else. True! He’d know
what to do. How could I have forgotten Truesdale Thompson, Donald’s other pet project?
I grinned. True had moved to Apple Grove not long after me. Mea Cuppa, his
little bookshop and fancy coffee joint, needed more prep time than my machines,
so he’d only recently opened. I spent my odd hours helping him sort merchandise
and stock shelves.
I drove through downtown, chased by an occasional scrap of newspaper or
leaf swirling in the spring breeze riffling up from the river through alleys. I
knocked on the front door of the closed shop. I didn’t think True heard me at
first, as he took some time coming down from his apartment.
“Ivy. What’s wrong? Come on in. Sit down.”
A solid comfort, True. I babbled. “I don’t know where else to turn.
Please, listen to me!”
“Of course I will.”
I looked around, feeling vulnerable through the huge plate glass window.
Any passerby could see us clearly. “Not here.”
He seemed unfazed. “Okay. Come on up. I wasn’t exactly expecting
visitors, though.”
And clearly, he wasn’t. He tossed aside a pile of towels and picture
hangers and bade me sit on his recliner while he went to fix tea. I felt antsy
and couldn’t sit still. There was little room to pace with the floor so covered
with boxes and bubble wrap. I could barely tell the color of the carpet.
He smiled and put a steaming cup of ginger tea in my hand. “I told you it
was a mess.”
I inhaled. “Thank you.”
He looked around the room and grimaced. “Let’s go in the kitchen, shall
we?”
His kitchen was a different world. Neat and cozy. I could see where True
felt most comfortable. We sat. I sipped while appreciating his patience. I
mulled over a couple of ways to tell my tale and decided direct was best.
“Donald’s missing. I think he’s in trouble.” I stopped, and took a deep,
whimpery breath. True put one of his gigantic warm hands over mine and anchored
me with his calming gray stare. I had no idea what he thought, but I knew I
trusted him.
“Ivy. Donald told us that he was going on a business trip. In fact, I
thought you were on the job.”
“I thought that too. Until the police told me that Margaret was in the
mayor’s office.”
True’s eyebrows went up with comforting incredulity. He shook his head;
his eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“When I called the police, he said he saw the mayor’s car leaving the
parking lot. Wouldn’t he have taken his car on his trip?”
“Not if he was flying. Ivy, you called the police? Based on what?”
I twisted my mouth to the side and jiggled my foot. “Um, well. A feeling,
I guess. Donald hadn’t registered for CAT
yet. I knew he wanted to go, so I tried his emergency number. Three times. To
remind him. He didn’t answer. Then, later, I started putting this strange
garbled message—I could only make out what sounded like ‘get,’ and ‘call,’ I
think, from some number in Chicago—together with Donald’s absence, and wondered
if the two might be related. So, what do you think it means?”
True sat back, not saying anything. Then he got up and walked over to the
sink. I admired his height and flexed back muscles, the efficient way he moved
and the deliberate way he thought before speaking—so unlike my scrambling
around and blurting out the first thing I thought. He was older than me—I’m
almost thirty-two and single, thank you to my ex-fiancé Stanley—but I wasn’t
sure how much. His wavy black hair was slightly salted at the temples, and his
nose looked like it had been broken at one time and fixed, but best of all, he
wasn’t married. “Donald’s business wasn’t in Chicago.” The tone of his voice
made me feel that he wanted to take me seriously but was finding it difficult.
“I suppose he’s just busy,” I said. “Or out of cell range. And the other
call could have been some wrong number or something. It happens.”
“What do you think might be going on?”
“I don’t know. Donald is my friend. If he’s in trouble, I want to help.”
True’s mouth twitched. “What kind of help?”
I sighed, thinking how ludicrous my actions had been. “I thought I’d just
go over to city hall and visit Margaret. You know, just ask if she’d heard from
Donald. So I did. But Margaret wasn’t talking. Marion wasn’t even there.”
“She might not spend all day in the office if Donald was out,” True
reminded me.
I took another deep breath. “But there was someone else there. Someone I
didn’t know sitting at Marion’s desk.”
“Ivy, you wouldn’t know many people here anyway, remember? We just
moved.”
I liked the “we” part of his comment. “Right. But did you know that
Margaret’s allergic to cats? I thought she just hated them.”
“That’s one of the reasons Donald was so interested in that new company.
Happy Hearts Bioengineering? They’re working to produce a hypoallergenic breed
of animal.”
“I thought he was…well, maybe I hadn’t been paying attention. I thought
he was going after a pet food company. Fel-feli—”
“Feli-Mix. He told me they signed an ‘intent to build’ contract based on
getting the zoning approval.”
“Oh. Good.” I scratched my ear. Isis wandered in from a dark hallway to
curl around True’s ankles. True’s Mau smoke female was daintier in looks than
disposition. My Mem had been at the receiving end of her ferocity since they’d
been introduced two years ago at a convention. Poor Mem had only tried to be
polite.
True nudged me back to the present topic at hand. “What did Margaret
say?”
“She wouldn’t talk to me.” I saw him wipe a hand over his face. “I didn’t
think I was nosy. So I asked her if I was supposed to continue taking messages.
She said her assistant could handle it.”
“Oh?”
“Then I asked Margaret about Tut. You know. I was concerned. She said he
was fine. I asked if I could take care of him while Donald was gone. She didn’t
answer me. Not really.” I looked toward the lopsided drape that hung over the
kitchen sink.
“But you’re still worried.”
“Yes, about both of them. I wish now I hadn’t called the police first.”
“What exactly did you say to them?”
My lip protruded again. “That I wanted to report a…a kidnapping.” My
voice had dropped to a too-low whisper on the last word. I sounded perfectly
ridiculous and I knew it.
“Based on a message you couldn’t understand? And after the police officer
stopped laughing?”
“He didn’t laugh at all! He sent a lady cop to check on me.”
“And?”
“She said she’d report it.”
True uncrossed his arms and got up from the table. He gently removed the
mug from my hands and raised me to my feet. I liked the feel of those hands. I
liked the confidence he exuded even more. “Ivy, I can tell you’re concerned
about this. Why don’t you let me go talk to Margaret tomorrow, see what I
think. Okay? I’m not dismissing you, but I have to think about this.”
I nodded. “I know it sounds wild, True. I need to do something, but I’m
not sure what.”
True walked me to the door and down the steps. The moccasins he wore
silenced his path across the floor of the shop. “You drove. You want me to take
you home?”
I appreciated his thoughtfulness. “I’m all right.” I caught my reflection
in the window of the door. Shoulder-length corkscrew hair in all directions,
eyes wide—I looked like a nutcase. No wonder he had been concerned I couldn’t
drive. I stopped and turned. The top of my head came to his shoulder, giving me
a good view of his throat. His turtleneck shirt hid most of the scar that I
knew snaked around his neck and across his right shoulder. I never asked about
it and I was too shy around him yet to pry, but I hoped that would change in
the near future. “Thank you, True, for listening. I hope it’s just some kind of
mental lapse on my part.”
“We both care about Donald. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He flashed a grin
and closed the door behind me, staying at the window to watch until I sat
safely in my car.
I did not expect to sleep much, so after checking my client list and the
current work orders in my office, I settled on the couch with my pet Memnet
nearby and popped a movie into my player.
Mau owners give their friends names popular in ancient Egypt for obvious
reasons. Mem was a beautiful black-spotted registered silver male running past
middle age. We garnered tons of compliments for his personality and outstanding
looks, and he was as devoted to me as I was to him. He had been a staunch
friend when Stanley decided he did not want to marry me—after we’d ordered the
invitations and my dress and rented the hall.
Memnet’s scratching woke me sometime later. Cold and stiff, I came to my
senses abruptly when I heard a loud crack and tinkling sound from the kitchen.
Mem was not as cautious as me and streaked toward the sound, a silver shadow in
the blue glow of the television screen. His screech was primeval.
My hand shook as I dialed the number of the police department with a
legitimate complaint this time. After being assured they would send someone
immediately, I peered into the kitchen to see the broken window panel of the
door and the swinging chain. Mem sat guard, his tail twitching and ears
forward, his paw resting on top of a stone with something tied to it.
“What have you got, Mem?” I crouched, wary of glass. With a low growl
pulsing from his furry throat, he reluctantly let me examine the rock. I
supposed it was evidence, but it was in my house. And Ripple had laughed at me
earlier, after all. With one eye watching for the police car, I hurriedly untied
the string and read the attached note.
“Busy-body’s don’t belong in our town.”
I hated misused apostrophes.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Friday, September 27, 2013
A Taste of Friday with Cheryl Rogers and Lost in the Woods
Swayed by her
love of Nancy Drew Mysteries, Cheryl Rogers decided as a child to become a
writer. Her Bible Camp Mystery series encourages youths to seek God early.
Cheryl Rogers
October 14, 2012
The boys were
talking loudly as they waited for their leader, Chet Harrigan, to make his big
announcement.
Without revealing details, Chet had been dropping hints for a couple weeks that they didn’t want to miss tonight’s church meeting. There was lots of excitement in the air when Chet appeared before them as they sat on folded chairs in their church hangout, The Boy’s Den. The chatter stopped quickly as the boys turned their bright eyes, filled with exuberance, on Chet. The room became silent, as they waited expectantly.
Obviously
enjoying their reaction, Chet began, “Have I got your attention? Then he laughed.
“Well this is it,
guys. The moment you’ve been waiting for. …
It’s been in the works for about three months now, but I’m planning our
first ever Bible camp.”
Chet, a
29-year-old former gang leader, led the Boy’s Den at Living Water Community Church. It was a great group of youths from
varying backgrounds, who met regularly for encouragement in their faith. Until now,
most of their activities were either at the church or in town.
But Chet was
planning to change all that with this outdoor adventure. And so this was, for
this small group, a pretty big deal.
“We’re going to
go deep in the woods far away from everything, pitch our tents and spend some
time hiking and canoeing,” he told the boys. “If you’d like to go, sign up
before you leave today and we’ll give you all the information.”
Excited, the
boys resumed talking. Thirteen-year-old Zack immediately turned to his friend
Jeff, who had been attending church with him and participating in the Boy’s Den
for as long as he could remember. “Wanna go?” he asked excitedly. “I’ve been
wanting to go camping for a long time and nobody has taken me.”
“Sure,” Jeff
replied. “Sounds like fun. I went canoeing once and I liked it. You get to swim
and eat. It’s real quiet and peaceful. That’s unless you see some alligators.”
“Alligators?”
questioned Zack, almost whispering.
“Sure, the
gators like to sun themselves on the fallen trees alongside the river,” he said.
“They don’t bother anybody. We’re just not supposed to feed them.”
“What’s this about
gators?” asked Danny, another long-time pal.
“Aw, nothing
Danny,” replied Jeff. “I’m just telling Zack here a little bit about being in
the woods and canoeing. There are going
to be gators. They won’t bother us if we don’t bother them.”
“That’s right,”
Chet reassured them. “We’ll tell you all about staying away from the gators
before we head out. If one of them comes near you, I’ll let them have it!”
Chet was six
foot three inches and relied upon his tall frame to keep the sometimes rowdy
crowd in line. To him, a gator was just another untamed creature, except this
one stretched itself out horizontally instead of vertically. And Chet knew a
lot about untamed creatures, having been one many years ago.
“You tell him,”
piped in Bill, son of Youth Pastor Chuck Holden. “No gator is going to mess
with us.”
“Yeah, Bill is
going to help me lead this expedition, guys, so he knows what he’s talking
about,” Chet grinned. “How many times did you say you’ve been out in the wild?”
“A couple of
times,” Bill said hesitantly. “I’m just going to do the cooking, though. Gary,
he’s the assistant leader. By the way, I’m accepting assistant chefs, if any of
you want to volunteer.”
“Hey man, if you
want I can ask my Uncle Carlos if he can join us. He knows how to cook a pig in
the ground,” Peter said. “We can probably catch a pig in the woods, y’ know.”
“Yeah, I was
thinking we might see some feral pigs,” Chet said pensively.
“Yeah, yeah,
that’s what I mean,” Peter said, “Feral pigs.”
“Now just what
is a feral pig? I hope you don’t expect me to cook a feral pig when I don’t
even know what it is,” Bill protested.
“Let’s not plan
on a pig roast just yet,” Chet said. “Thanks for suggesting it, Peter. Unfortunately,
we just might have to put off the pig for another trip.”
“You’re not kiddin’
when you say tasty. My Uncle Carlos can cook the pigs real good,” Peter
continued. “Well,” he shrugged, “it’s your loss.”
“Hey Zack, maybe
you and Danny want to help me with the cooking?” Bill asked pleadingly.
“I’ll think
about it,” said Zack, mumbling. “I think I’d rather just eat.” He laughed a bit
nervously.
“I heard that,”
announced Gary. “We also have latrine duty, if you’d like to sign up for that.”
He gave Zack a broad smile.
“Oh, no,”
mumbled Zack. “Cooking sounds pretty good, actually.”
“What’s a
latrine?” he asked Jeff in a hushed voice.
“I dunno,” Jeff
shrugged.
“We’ll get the
chores assigned later,” Chet said, herding them towards the door. “It’s getting
late tonight. Just be sure to sign up before you leave. We can only take about
ten this first time.”
“Hey, can I
bring along my 3DS and some games?” Chang asked, pulling his from his pocket as
he waited in the signup line.
“Wow, what a
great idea!” exclaimed Zack, who stood behind him. “Be sure to bring your Mario
Kart 7 game.”
Chet overheard
the boys and interrupted. “As much as I know you love video games, we’re not
planning to allow them,” Chet announced abruptly. “One of the reasons we’re
going to the woods is to get away from all the distractions in our lives! We
want to focus on God and his creation.”
“We want you to
have time to build friendships, too,” added Gary with an encouraging smile.
Chang was new
and his Mario Kart 7 game might be a great icebreaker, but it could interfere
with serious sharing and fellowship on a trip like this.
“Maybe you could
come over to my house, Zack, you and a few of the guys?” Chang asked
cautiously.
“Sure, sure.
Maybe we can hang out and play video games sometime. Why don’t you talk to your
mom?” Zack replied.
After the last
boy had signed up, Chet and Gary were alone in the room. “It’ll be two whole
days and nights of that,” Chet said, a tiredness creeping over him after the
long evening. “Are you sure you are up to it? I know I can’t expect to do this
single-handedly.”
“I KNOW you are
not going to want to carry those pup tents by yourself,” Gary said smiling.
“It’ll be fun. It’ll be a chance to get away from it all for a couple days in
the woods.”
“Away from it
all,” retorted Chet. “I wouldn’t go that far. I think we’re taking it all with
us.”
They smiled at
each other. “But I’m looking forward to it,” Chet added.
“Me too,” said
Gary, “I didn’t figure on those gators, though. Did you?”
“No, neither did
I. Didn’t think twice about ’em,” said Chet, turning serious all of a sudden.
“I’m wondering if the parents are going to go for this. Gators like kids,” he
said.
“You didn’t
think about them because you can fight ’em off with your bare hands,” Gary
grinned.
“I used to rely
on my own strength, but you know I don’t do that anymore,” Chet said somberly.
“I’m going to have to trust God to keep ’em safe. It’s his deal. He’s the
reason for the camp. But I’m still going to have to convince everyone I can
handle this.”
He stopped,
looking Gary directly in the eyes. “Do
you think I … we can?”
Gary looked at
his feet, momentarily uncomfortable at the thought. “We-ell, I wouldn’t trust
myself with any of this, either. I’m not much of a camper after all. But ...
we’re doing this for God, like you said. He’ll take care of us, right?”
“Of course,”
Chet replied matter-of-factly as they walked toward the door leading outside.
“Of course, God’s got it. Let’s go home.”
Chet turned off
the lights in the Boy’s Den and locked the building. He smiled at Gary, as they
walked toward their cars. Deep inside, Chet knew he’d need to do some serious
praying to be sure, absolutely sure, this was God’s idea, and not his own...
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Win a Copy of Food for Thought: Quick and Easy Recipes for Homescooling Families on Goodreads
Goodreads Book Giveaway
Food for Thought
by Lorilyn Roberts
Giveaway ends October 01, 2013.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.
Friday, September 20, 2013
A Taste of Friday with Tracy Krauss and Wind Over Marshdale
Tracy Krauss is an author, artist,
playwright and teacher with several published novels and plays. She holds a
B.Ed degree from the U of S and now resides in British Columbia.
by Tracy Krauss
Astraea Press (2012)
Chapter One
A whispered breath skimmed across
the long prairie grass like a giant, invisible hand stroking the fur of a
silken feline. The screech of an eagle echoed through the valley as it dipped
and glided above the river. The rounded slopes of the bank rose above the
swiftly flowing water while small clumps of trees clustered nearby, but for the
most part, the land stretched uninterrupted toward the horizon.
In the distance, a faint rumbling
could be heard. It began to shake the earth as it drew nearer. A cloud of dust
accompanied the approaching barrage. Hooves pounded. Nostrils dilated. Eyes
reddened with fear. The musky stench of sweat mixed with the heat and dust.
The huge beasts moved en masse
toward the precipice. Thousands of shaggy heads bobbed in unison as the herd of
bison stampeded forward. As if in slow motion, they continued on, up and over
the sharp bank of the river into the ravine below. One by one, they hurtled
forward, oblivious to the fate that awaited them, as they toppled headlong to
their deaths.
Thomas shot up in bed, panting.
The T-shirt he wore clung to his body with sweat. It was not the first time the
dream had come to wake him.
He took a deep breath, disentangled
himself from the sheets, and rose to get a drink of water. No point going back
to bed now. He wouldn’t sleep anyway. He padded down the narrow hallway,
passing the half closed doorways that sheltered his sleeping children. Ducking
to avoid hitting his head as he entered the tiny kitchen, he paused for a
moment to look at the expanse of landscape beyond the window. Mostly flat, with
a rise of gently rolling hills in the distance, it was clothed with a carpet of
rippling grass except for the odd patch of dry fallow. Just like in the dream.
The early morning sunrise was just
beginning to filter in, reaching to shed some light in the shadowed corners of
the room. Thomas had managed to rent a house near the outskirts of town.
Correction. It wasn’t exactly a house. The realtor called it a ‘double wide’.
Okay, it was a trailer, but it was the only property for rent in Marshdale at
the moment. At least, that’s what the realtor had said. It wasn’t the nicest
place – rather dingy if truth be told – and it was farther from school than
Thomas would have liked, but it was still within walking distance. Better than
the overcrowded and dilapidated homes he’d been used to as a child.
But that was another time. Another
life.
He was here now, for better or for
worse, and the people of Marshdale would just have to accept it. He was Thomas
Lone Wolf, proud of his Cree ancestry, and determined to do something about it.
As a community liaison, he’d worked with dozens of indigenous groups all over
the western provinces trying to set up business propositions. This time was
different, though. It was personal.
With practiced fingers he undid
his nighttime braid and shook out his hair, which fell well past his shoulders.
Even at forty, there was no sign of graying or hair loss. It was straight,
coarse and black, just like his ancestors’ - the perfect picture of a Cree
warrior.
Now that he was awake he allowed
himself to replay the dream in his mind – at least the parts that he could
remember. Like most dreams, the initial clarity soon faded after just a few
waking moments. There were buffalo – always buffalo. And they seemed bent on
suicide, careening to their deaths before he could stop them somehow.
He was going to start writing it
down. The theme was too familiar; the mixture of fear and power too real. Some
people said you dreamt in black and white. Thomas wasn’t sure about that. He
also knew there was blood in his dream – and lots of it. The redness of it
stood out in stark contrast to the muted prairie landscape. And the stench.
That unmistakable metallic scent filled his nostrils to such a degree that he
could almost swear he still smelled it. Almost. But that was ridiculous and he
pushed the memory of the coagulating stains out of his mind.
With a sigh he turned back to the
cupboards and started readying the coffee. It would soon be time to wake the
children and get ready for work himself. Another grueling day of lobbying something
that should be rightfully his to begin with. Reality didn’t stop for dreams.
#
Rachel Bosworth pulled her car
over to the side of the road; gravel crunching under her tires, and came to a
rolling stop. She put the car in park, pulled the emergency brake into place
with a jerk, and stepped out of the confined yellow compact. She inhaled a deep
lungful of the late summer air, surveying the picture of pastoral serenity
below.
Marshdale. This was to be her new
home. Surrounded by a patchwork of gold and brown earth, it was an oasis of
clustered houses and well established trees cocooned in a desert of wide open
prairie landscape. Stretched out to the horizon, the summer sky met with
rounded hills.
“Not very big,” Rachel’s friend
Sherri noted, joining her on the outside of the vehicle. “You sure you’re going
to manage way out here all by yourself?”
“I think it’s perfect,” Rachel
said with a satisfied smile. “Just the change I needed.”
“Just the escape, you mean,”
Sherri teased.
“Maybe.” Rachel turned to her
friend. “Come on, Sherri. I’m feeling scared enough as it is. This is a big
move for me. Besides, you’re the one who convinced me to move out west in the
first place.”
“Yeah, I know. But I meant for you
to move to Regina with Dan and me, not out to some backwoods hole in the wall.
They probably don’t even have cell service for Pete’s sake!”
“It can’t be as bad as that. The
hiring committee said Marshdale was a totally modern town with all the basic
amenities.”
“Yeah? Let’s hope so.” Sherri
shaded her eyes with her hand as she surveyed the town below them.
“Come on, Sherri. You’re my best
friend. I need you to be excited for me.
Tell me I made a good decision and that I won’t regret it,” Rachel begged.
“You’re right, kiddo,” Sherri
agreed, putting on her most encouraging smile. “It will be nice to see you more
often, even if it is a two hour drive.”
Rachel nodded. “What’s a two hour
drive compared to thousands of miles all the way back to Toronto?”
“Who knows? Maybe you’ll meet some
cute farmer and end up getting married or something,” Sherri shrugged.
“Not interested in men right now,
remember? I am here to become the best Kindergarten teacher Marshdale has ever
seen.”
“Sorry. That was insensitive of
me. I know you’re still hurting over Rotten Ronny.”
“Who?” Rachel grinned, raising a
brow.
“That’s the spirit!” Sherri
laughed. “Who needs men, anyway?”
“Better not let Dan hear you
talking like that,” Rachel warned with a chuckle of her own. “Come on. Let’s
get going. I can hardly wait to get my stuff unpacked.”
“I can’t believe you brought so
little stuff with you,” Sherri observed, climbing into the passenger seat.
“I wanted to start fresh,” Rachel
shrugged, putting the small standard vehicle in gear and rolling forward.
“Besides, moving a whole lot of furniture and stuff seemed pointless. I’ve
rented this really nice little basement suite. It’s fully furnished. And that’s
what you’re here for, remember? I need your expert advice on what stuff I need
to buy in the city before school starts next week.”
“Now, shopping is one thing I’m
very good at.”
“I know.” Rachel nodded with a
grin. “It’s why I brought you along.
“Thanks. I thought it was for the
company.”
“Of course. That too.” Rachel
laughed again. She sobered quickly and glanced over at her friend. “Thanks,
Sherri. For everything.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sherri waved a dismissive hand. “I’d be some friend if I didn’t come to your
rescue when called.”
“I mean about Ronald. I don’t know
how I would have coped without you there.”
“I know, kid.” Sherri gave her
friend’s hand a squeeze. “That’s what friends are for. Besides, I’ll expect pay
back some day, you know.”
They were nearing the outskirts of
the village. A large carved sign by the side of the road said, “Welcome to
Marshdale.”
“I bet people live more freely
here,” Rachel stated. “It’s what I’m hoping for. The simple life.”
“People have problems where ever
they go,” Sherri noted. “It may look all peaceful right now, but I bet they
have their share of troubles, just like everybody else.”
“Yeah, like what? No cell service?”
Rachel asked, the corner of her mouth turning up.
“Now that would be tragic.”
“I know my life isn’t suddenly
going to become a bed of roses,” Rachel admitted, “But it just seems to me that
country living – the slower pace – has to do something to calm people. Make
them less artificial and – you know – less selfish.”
“We can only hope,” Sherri
shrugged. “Now come on, girlfriend. Let’s find that basement suite of yours. If
we’re going to unpack, make a list and get back to the city before dark, we
better get a move on.”
“Roger that.” Rachel glanced at
the hand sketched map that was on the dash beside her. She made a left hand
turn at the first intersection.
#
The interior of the church was
cool, quiet and dim. Just the way Pastor Todd Bryant liked it. He sat on one of the upholstered chairs in
the sanctuary, allowing the viscosity of stillness to envelop him like a silky
smooth liquid.
Sometimes he wished he could stay
in here forever, without having to go out there. The recently refurbished
sanctuary was a peaceful place compared to the world just outside its double
oak doors. When he had come here just a year ago, he knew the Marshdale
Community Church would be a place of refuge; a place to rest and strengthen his
own weary spirit. A place to hide.
Modern and well kept, the
Community Church had the appearance of comfortable affluence – a testament to
God’s favor. The folks who attended were proud of their commitment to the
Lord’s work in Marshdale and God had blessed them with material prosperity.
They required little actual input from the pastor. Just keep the ship running
smoothly, as instructed by the board, and everything should be just fine.
Perfect. His less than amiable
departure from his last church had left him feeling just a bit shell
shocked. He needed a place to hide out
for a while. As long as he followed the program. . .
#
Another soul sat alone waiting.
The room was dark, the slatted shades drawn over the open window. The only
light came from three candles burning in their resting place on the pentagram
table top. The air was rich with the heady scent of incense smoldering in the
small, intricately designed brass burner. The woman breathed deeply. Empty the
mind. Allow the inner self to emerge . .
.
A sudden breeze whipped into the
room, announcing its entrance with a slap of the wooden slats on the window
frame. It caressed the chimes hanging nearby before darting to tease the three
flames into a flickering dance.
She smiled. Yes. There was so much
to share; to enrich the lives in this town. There were many paths to
enlightenment, but ultimately they all ended one way. It was up to her to
release this narrow minded and stiff necked people to accept that.
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