SARAH, MY BELOVED EARNS NOMINATION FOR BEST "LONG HISTORICAL"!

May I make a little announcement that literally thrills me to the bone and sends me to my knees in gratitude to my Heavenly Father?

This year’s Romance Writers of America National Conference will take place in San Francisco in July. Here they will announce the winner of the Inspirational Readers’ Choice Contest, which is the “Faith, Hope, and Love” division of RWA and open to authors of inspirational novels published in 2007. About a week ago, I received word that judges of this contest nominated Sarah, My Beloved for the “Long Historical” category. Can you believe it? I can’t! In fact, my little mind is blown away! GONE! (grins)

No, I will NOT be attending the awards dinner. *You will note there are four finalists in my category, which means there is a tie for third place. I fully expect to land in the third place tie and will GLADLY and humbly accept that honor, but I don’t think it warrants my flying to San Francisco for one night! (And, no, I am not the least bit sorry about not going.)

Here are all the IRCC finalists and their categories:

Long Contemporary:
Surrender Bay by Denise Hunter (Thomas Nelson)
Too Good To Be True by Trish Perry (Harvest House)
Taming Rafe by Susan May Warren (Tyndale House)

Long Historical: (3rd Place Tie)
Remembered by Tamera Alexander (Bethany House)
Petticoat Ranch by Mary Connealy (Barbour)
Lady of Milkweed Manor by Julie Klassen (Bethany House)
Sarah, My Beloved by Sharlene MacLaren (Whitaker House)

Women's Fiction:
Let Them Eat Cake by Sandra Byrd (Waterbrook)
The Oak Leaves by Maureen Lang (Tyndale House)
Remember to Forget by Deborah Raney (Howard)

Short Contemporary:
Simple Gifts by Lori Copeland (Zondervan)
Forever Christmas by Christine Lynxwiler (Barbour)
Mom in the Middle by Mae Nunn (Steeple Hill)

Short Historical:
Bluebonnet Belle by Lori Copeland (Steeple Hill)
The Lumberjack's Lady by Susan Page Davis (Barbour)
The Bounty Hunter and the Bride by Vicki McDonough (Barbour)

Romantic Suspense:
Buried Secrets by Margaret Daley (Steeple Hill)
Nowhere to Hide by Debby Giusti (Steeple Hill)
Ransomed Dreams by Amy Wallace (Multnomah)

Novella:
Unwrapping Christmas by Lori Copeland (Zondervan)
The Spinster and the Lawyer by Jeri Odell (Barbour)
Moonlight and Mistletoe by Carrie Turansky (Barbour)

Thank you ever so much for indulging me as I share my joy. God is so amazing to have given me this passion to write! And it is solely for His honor, glory, and the furthering of His Kingdom that I put my fingers to the keyboard!

LETTER TO A "TIRED" TEACHER
By Sharlene MacLaren

A very dear teacher friend wrote and asked me to pray for her in these final days of school. She didn't crawl into bed until 2:30 this morning, as she had a mountain of paperwork to complete, grades to compile, and tests still needing scoring. She was worried she wouldn't have clarity of thought today, or even the strength or wherewithal to make it through another school day. You teachers know what I'm talking about--or maybe you spouses of teachers. As requested, I sat at my computer and prayed for her, and then I wrote her a note of encouragement. ((Please feel free to copy and pass this on to any and ALL teachers you know who might need a gentle word.))

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My dear friend, I surely will pray for you -- and am right now in fact! As I am praying, a few things come to mind for you to do in these final days and hours, and so I'll share them.

First, take a long look at each student, or as many as you can, and figure out how they made a difference in your life this year. Did he/she make you a better person by maybe growing your patience, or making you smile or laugh? Did anyone make you shed a tear or maybe cause your heart to grow a couple sizes with some heart-wrenching story?

Second, did any of them make you proud, more contented in your job than you ever thought possible, or give you just the exact lift you needed for that particular day?

Third, which students did you pinpoint at the beginning of the year as ANNOYING, only to discover them on your "very secret" end-of-the-year favorite list? (These are the ones you want to make sure you hug tightly at that last goodbye, for they taught you a few things maybe you can't even fully identify yet.)

Fourth, think about who surprised you most with his/her academic growth? Point-blank, who grew up before your very eyes in the past nine months? Then think about this -- YOU aided in that growth!

Fifth, which students do you look at, maybe point at with a mental finger, and say to yourself, "That is why I LOVE teaching!" You're going to have the sour grapes mixed in the fruit salad, the apple slices with the black spots in the center, the not-so-sweet melon wedges, but most of the salad is going to be DELICIOUS. Same with the students who walk through your door each year. Some make the chore of showing up every day a bit of a task, and, let's face it; some of their parents are just as bad! But the majority you will wind up loving by the end of May, and your heart will squeeze a little when they look at you and say, "Good-bye, have a great summer!"

My friend, these thoughts just tumbled off the top of my head this morning, so I thought I'd mention them to you. I know how very overwhelming the end of the year can be. I experienced it 31 times! Live each final moment slowly and deliberately. As the old saying goes, "Don't forget to stop and smell the roses." In your case, "Don't forget to stop and study each young face--and thank the Lord for the blessed opportunity He gave you by placing them in your care for one entire school year." Without knowing it, you made a HUGE positive difference in your students' lives. HUGE! What did they do to make you better?

Blessings for a PERFECT student sendoff and then a much-needed, relaxing, joy-filled, splendid, sunshiny summer!

Hugs and prayers,
Shar

THERE IS NO ONE QUITE LIKE HER...



ON MAY 12, 1913, DOROTHY MAY HESSELBART CAME INTO THE WORLD, a bouncing, happy baby girl, sweet from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and remaining as such for the next 95 years! How do I know this? Because she is my mother, and I've watched her live her life. She has always been gentle, loving, soft-spoken, passionate about serving the Lord, an avid reader, a constant learner, a model of utmost patience, a strong support to her family, a sweet companion, hard-working and diligent, talented in a myriad of ways (playing the piano, singing, sewing, crocheting, knitting, cooking, baking, and the list goes on!) She's been my friend, a wonderful listener, a great conversationalist, a wise decision maker, a sweet comfort and a strong encourager. It is impossible to put into a few words all the many things she has meant to me.

My mother has Alzheimer's and, most days, seems to be in the final stages of the dreaded disease, if sleeping her life away is any indication. This picture, however, was taken on one of her 'better days', a few weeks before her 95th birthday. It was the day we introduced her to another of her great-grandchildren. Rarely does she speak a coherent word, but this particular day, she looked down at Gavin and said, "Oh, isn't he cute?" AMAZING!

She does not know who I am--only that I'm someone safe. She cannot call anyone by name, but will occasionally still say, "Jesus." It is a mysterious, heart-wrenching, disgusting, painful, debilitating, incurable, unstoppable disease -- and yet at the same time it has taught me things. Things like compassion and understanding, patience, endurance, kindness, and gentleness. It has taught me how to love on deeper levels. When I go to visit Mom I try to take time to speak with the other residents, smile, pass out hugs, say a comforting word. I seek out the staff and try to encourage them, thank them for all they've done and continue to do.

If I search for a "why" in all of this, the only thing I can come up with is that the rest of us have gained from all that she's endured.

For that, I say, "Thank you, Mom." Thank you for enduring, for suffering, for going through these trials so that the rest of us could develop stronger character.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom, and a blessed 95th birthday. I love you, and I rise up and call you blessed.

Your loving daughter...
Shar

EVERYTHING’S COMIN’ UP ROSES!

I looked out my dining room window today to find the dogwood tree in full bloom. And out the big front picture window, my huge magnolia fairly exploding with vibrant pink flowers. When did this happen? Overnight? Daffodils, crocus, forsythia, and tulips -- they're all popping out at once.

Everything's comin' up roses!

I love driving down our tree-lined streets on the way to town. Just weeks ago, those trees stood barren, their long, skinny branches draped across the road, showing no signs of life. Today they stand in almost prideful wonder, displaying lush, verdant leaves. They seem to be shouting, "Look at me, I made it through another harsh winter! And I'm growing taller and stronger every year!"

This is life...one day, cold and despairing, and the next, rich and full with hope and expectation.

Maybe you're going through one of those shivery, fearful, bleak spells right now. You look around and everything appears hopeless and dead. Your heart literally hurts, your stomach ties itself in knots, your head throbs with the ache of trying to stay strong.

Look up! God is there! He is standing in the shadows, waiting, ready to help; His ear turned toward your cries. He is your strength in times of trouble. The Word tells us that when we are weak, His strength is made perfect. In other words, we are at our strongest when we admit our weakness and surrender everything into His very capable hands--allow Him to breathe new life into our barren limbs!

We grow through these fruitless, hard, grueling times. And we come out stronger and better. Romans 8:28(a) says, "And we know that ALL things work together for good to them who love the Lord..."

Believe it! Whatever you may be going through right now, IT IS TEMPORARY, you will get through it.

"When I cry unto the Lord, then shall my enemies turn back; this I know, for God is FOR me. In God I have put my trust: I will not be afraid..." Psalm 56: 9, 11

A newlywed couple had the worst time communicating. It seemed like every time they had a disagreement, it turned into a major fight--except their fights always wound up being the pouty kind where each gave the other the silent treatment.

Sometimes these "spats" could last for days. During one such spell, the husband had an early morning appointment and didn't want to oversleep, so he left a note for his wife that said, "Wake me up at 5 a.m. I have a meeting at 6." He put the note on her pillow so she'd be sure to see it. Indeed, when she came to bed, she picked up the note, read it, and quietly nodded.

Good, the husband thought. She'll wake me in the morning and this silent treatment business will finally come to an end.

The next morning, the husband awakened at 9 a.m. He had missed his appointment! Lying on the pillow beside him was a note, and scribbled on it were the words, "It's 5 a.m. Wake up."

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A far-fetched story? Perhaps. But in some ways very realistic. Ever give someone you love the silent treatment? Maybe someone's hurt or disappointed you and your stubborn refusal to talk is your way of "getting even". When my husband and I married over 32 years ago, we had a few "silent" battles of our own. Neither one of us has ever been the "yelling" type, so we showed our anger in quiet ways -- punishing the other with silence. Thank God we've "outgrown" that silly behavior, learning the importance of communicating our hurts, disappointments, and, yes, sometimes our anger.

I think of all the times in my life I've given God the silent treatment. Battles I tried to win in my own strength, problems I tried to solve by myself, paths I tried to carve out without His clear guidance or direction.

How many times I've tripped and fallen flat on my face simply because I didn't seek Him first!

"Lord, remind me when I fail to acknowledge You. Nudge me, poke me, wake me up if needs be--but please don't let me get away with giving you the silent treatment."

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"Show me your ways, Oh, Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth, for You are God, my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long." Psalm 25:4,5

This "Iffy, Spiffy, Sniffy" Month... Friday, April 18, 2008 - 9:30 PM

Michigan has been having some lovely weather the past several days, and in Michigan we TREASURE glorious spring days. Why? Because April is that very "iffy" month. One day spiffy as a brand new penny--simply golden, sunny and teasingly warm, and the next, cold as a landlord's heart. No kidding! It can be convertible-top down on Monday and heaters at full-blast Tuesday. But we're so excited about seeing the sunshine that we Michiganders can take a few cold days mixed in with the warm (even a couple more snowflakes) 'cause we know we're in for a whoppin' good summer.

BEST KEPT SECRET: Michigan summers are almost always AMAZINGLY WARM AND WONDERFUL! April to October = Glorious

Can you tell I love spring? Everything about it speaks of new beginnings. It's almost like New Years' Day, in fact--when you get that chance to start all over. Spring is that time of fresh beginnings, new sights to see, new scents to sniff, new grass to touch. (Remember those first days, as a child, of skipping barefoot through the grass, that splendid tickling, daring feeling of shedding shoes and socks and running laps around the house? Wasn't it marvelous?)

I think God created spring so we could experience His creation through bright, hopeful eyes. Yes, winter is long and grueling, especially for we northerners, but the promise of spring and new life somehow charges our weak batteries, gives us newfound strength -- puts the vigor back in our steps!

Yes, April may be "Iffy", but it's wrapped up in promises, and it's a special reminder, to me anyway, of God's faithful, ever-present love and goodness.

A Happy, Blessed, Joy-filled spring to all of you!

With love and warm-weather hugs...

OKAY, I ADMIT IT – I AM IMMATURE!

I am way more than a grown woman. I'm going to be 60 years old this summer! I'M A GRANDMOTHER, for Pete's sake. So why do I still find myself doing the most childish things just to get a laugh? My darling hubby is forever pressing me in the side during church--or at funerals or weddings--if I start talking to someone next to me, or, worse, get the giggles. (IMAGINE! Who does he think he is???)

Well, onto my story...

Tonight, I was sitting in a very important church business meeting with about 200 in attendance (IN THE SECOND ROW, OF COURSE), my best girlfriend, Debbie, and her hubby sitting on my right, my husband up on the platform discussing church budget matters. I mean this is serious. He is our church administrator.

Out of boredom, I looked in my purse for a mint and laid eyes on a little McDonalds' toy my grandson had gotten in a Happy Meal last week when Cecil and I took him to lunch. It is the butt-ugliest little toy I've ever seen. It must be a character from some movie, but I haven't the first clue which one. It's hot pink and black and round, and has these weird little moveable arms that when you pull them upward, a LOUD song comes blaring out. I knew this, of course.

Feeling mischievous, I handed the toy to my girlfriend and whispered, "Here's a present for you."

She picked it up, studied it, smiled, and said, "Gee, thanks. What is it?"

"I don't know. It's Dylan's. It's been in my purse since Saturday. Isn't it weird looking?"

"It's a little disco dancer or something."

She tossed the toy on the pew and gave her full attention back to my "serious" husband.

The place was just too quiet for its own good. I mean, really.

DON'T ask me why I did it, but I reached down and pulled that toy's arms up. I knew what would happen, mind you, but something in me just wanted to create a stir. I'm naughty, what can I say?

Well, the LOUD blast from that hideous little toy vibrated our pew. Debbie nearly jumped out of her pants and started giggling while I fussed with the thing, trying to find an OFF button. There had to be one somewhere, but nope. It was one of those toys that HAS to play itself out to the bitter end. The pews behind us started cracking up. One lady leaned forward and whispered, "I've known for years someone should've separated you two!"

Well, our shoulders shook for the next three minutes while my husband tried to conduct business. My mascara ran, and so did Debbie's, but oh well. What about my Debbie's hubby, Rich? I think he moved about three feet away from us.

After the meeting, someone came up to me and said, "Haven't you learned yet how to put that thing on vibrator mode?" Hahaha! He thought it was my cell phone ringing. I love that.

I know your question--was Cecil mad at me for causing the disruption? Nope. After 32 years, he's learned I'm a bit hard to control at times, and he just accepts it and loves me anyway!

And so does my Heavenly Father. WOW!

Isn't it great that with all our quirks, faults, goofiness, mistakes, and imperfections, we can still count on our God to love us unconditionally? Whew! I'd be up a crick if He didn't.

LOVE AND BIG HUGS...

Shar

A REVIEW OF "COURTING EMMA" Monday, March 24, 2008 - 11:26 AM

I POST THIS REVIEW BECAUSE I WANT MY READERS TO KNOW THAT, FOR ME, WRITING CHRISTIAN FICTION IS ALL ABOUT REACHING THE LOST AND TOUCHING THE HEARTS OF MY READERS, PARTICULARLY THOSE WHO MIGHT NOT OTHERWISE OPEN THEIR BIBLES FOR A WORD OF ENCOURAGEMENT, BUT FIND GOD'S MESSAGE OF LOVE IN A NOVEL. MY DEEPEST HEART'S DESIRE IS THAT AFTER READING ONE OF MY BOOKS, SOMETHING IN THE STORY WILL PROMPT ITS READER TO SEEK ANSWERS THROUGH THE HOLY WORD OF GOD.

THIS REVIEW ENCOURAGED ME IN SUCH A POWERFUL WAY BECAUSE IT MADE ME REALIZE THAT GOD TRULY DOES USE FICTION TO DELVE DEEP INTO THE HEART OF A WOUNDED WARRIOR. PLEASE READ ON...

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Emma Browning has always had her issues with trust and love, never having received it freely, nor ever freely being able to give it. Her father, Ezra Browning, lived through is own kind of torture, until he'd met and married Emma's mother. When she died giving birth to Emma, Ezra's desire to lead a productive and healthy life died right along with her. In the years that followed, Ezra's life took a downward spiral, aided by the poison of alcohol. He took his anger out on Emma, berating and belittling, beating and punishing her, and if not for Clara Abbott, her guardian angel, she might not have survived. Emma went to live with Abbott when she turned 16. Since Abbott's home was also the town boardinghouse, Emma had inherited it when Abbott died, leaving her pretty much set for life. One day, Reverend Jon Atkins was in need of a room and reluctantly, Emma let him have one. She was against the idea of a preacher living in her boardinghouse, pushing religion or judging the other boarders, but what she didn't realize was that by taking him in, she'd unleashed a life changing series of events that would change her, her father and their relationship between each other. These events would also change the way the town looks at themselves and their duty to God. This is truly a happy ending.

This book touched me in ways that are totally unexplainable. Never before has a book made me shed tears, especially in a crowded roomful of strangers. It made me think of my own issues, which helped me to strongly identify with the main character. My only reaction was a strong desire to fall to my knees and pray. This book reopened things about myself that I'd let go of and should probably find my way back to. This book, without a doubt, gets a 5.

***REVIEWER: I AM LEAVING THE REVIEWER'S NAME UNPUBLISHED

IT'S HERE!!! COURTING EMMA, third and final installment in the Little Hickman Creek Series has arrived. But wait!!!! If you live in the area, please come to my book-signing at Hage's in Muskegon from 1-3 p.m. on Saturday, April 5.

Want a synopsis of the book? Well, you're gonna get one anyway!!!! Here it is, and VERY brief. If you want more you have to read the book. hee-hee.

Book Title: Courting Emma
ISBN: 978-1-60374-020-3
Publisher: Whitaker House
Book Blurb:

Twenty-eight-year-old Emma Browning has experienced a good deal of life in her young age. Proprietor of Emma’s Boardinghouse, she is “mother” to an array of beefy, unkempt, often rowdy characters. Though many men would like to get to know the steely, hard-edged, yet surprisingly lovely proprietor, none has truly succeeded. That is, not until the town’s new pastor, Jonathan Atkins, takes up residence in the boardinghouse.

After a stunning, unexpected turn of events, will Emma risk removing her protective shell to accept the love of God—and the love of a man?


LOVE YOU ALL!!!!!!

HELLO, MY SWEET FRIENDS AND FAMILY! THOUGHT I'D SHARE MY SEPTEMBER '08 RELEASE COVER DESIGN. IT'S CALLED LONG JOURNEY HOME, AND BELOW IS THE SYNOPSIS OF THE BOOK. WHAT DO YOU THINK?


LONG JOURNEY HOME:

After divorcing her abusive husband, single mother, Callie May, is still nursing the scars of a painful past. The last thing she needs in her life is another man, so she’s less than thrilled when a handsome but brooding stranger moves into the apartment across the hall.

Dan Mattson may be attractive, but his circumstances certainly aren’t; a former pastor, he abandoned his flock in Michigan and fled to the Chicago suburbs after the death of his beloved wife and baby daughter in a tragic automobile accident. Embittered by his loss, Dan turns his back on God.

Callie mistrusts men, and the angry Dan often gives her good reason. Both are weighed down by the scars and disappointment in their pasts. When Callie’s ex-husband shows up to wreak more havoc in her life, Dan finds himself coming to her defense—and facing his own demons in the process. Will Dan and Callie be able to get past their baggage and give love another chance? Can they come to see life’s tragedies as part of God’s perfect plan? And most important, will they allow the power of God to change their hearts and mend their hurts?

SMALL MIRACLE – By Shar MacLaren
Gavin Mark Tisdel
March 3, 2008

Have you ever seen a miracle? Well, I did just today.
A precious little baby boy, just right in every way.
I took him in my hungry arms and simply stared in awe,
And searched from head to toe to find not even one small flaw.

Ten perfect little fingers, ten perfect little toes,
Two rosy cheeks, a splendid chin, the cutest little nose.
A crown of downy fawn-like hair, the smoothest, creamy skin,
And eyes that crinkle tightly shut to keep the darkness in.

Two little hands to reach and grasp, two feet to kick and sprawl,
Two ears to hear, two eyes to see, two legs with which to crawl.
A thousand veins to carry blood, a heart to pump it through,
Two lungs to breathe, 300 bones, and everything brand new.

Two families, one little room, all squeezed in four by four
To see this precious brand new babe we instantly adore.
If ever love could blossom more, or hearts could grow in size,
Then that is what I saw today -- before my very eyes.

“I will praise you, Lord, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvelous are your works…” Psalm 139: 14a

A THOUSAND GOODBYES



Sometimes when I visit her I get a glimpse of yesterday in her eyes. There's that spark of recognition, tiny and short-lived. She tries to talk, but all that comes out is gibberish -- like, "I wonder wh--we--ah--caaaan--my--yes!"

I nod my head and say, "Yes, that's right. And Kendra's baby is due in late June. I'm going to be a grandma again. Can you believe it? Me--a grandma?"

She nods and smiles. "Yes!"

"Krissi's due any day, you know! Won't that be something? Can you believe how many great grandchildren you will have when this is all done? I mean, well, it's -- really something to think about, isn't it."

She stares at me as if I'm the one missing a few cells upstairs.

"It's a sunny day today, see?" I point at the window where the last rays of a rare February sun are coming to rest on the windowpane beside her bed, but her eyes don't follow my finger. Instead, she looks across the room at nothing - NOTHING. What does she see? And what is happening inside that head of white hair, that hair so thin, short, and styled in the most practical way, yet nothing like she would have worn it if SHE'D styled it herself.

Oh, dear Jesus, I'd give anything to watch her comb her hair again.

For no reason that I know of, a sob rolls out of her, but when I look close I don't see tears, just fear and confusion. She gives me the forlornest look. Lord, what can I do for her? I kneel at her bed and sing, "Amazing Grace...how sweet the sound." And then I whisper, "Jesus loves you, did you know that?" She listens, staring, wordless, of course.

I take her hand and rub it gently. We sit like that for several minutes. She closes her eyes, drifting off again. I stare at the wall beside her bed, then at the dresser piled with books she used to read, greeting cards from well-wishers, her beloved, cherished Bible, a stuffed animal dressed in clothes that used to make her smile.

I look out the window where the snow falls, pure and weightless.

In the other room, four or five residents lie in their recliners with the TV tuned to the cooking channel. The show host is explaining how to make the world's best spaghetti. I picture some of the residents, all ladies, staring blankly at the screen, afghans tugged snugly up to their chins, and others sleeping, mouths wide open to the elements. In the summer, one might worry about catching a fly or two, but not in February. Tillie, the resident bassett hound, stretches out in the middle of the room sleeping her life away. If you take Tillie's age and multiply it by seven, well, Tillie is the oldest resident.

I look at her again, her facial skin wrinkled, yet still smooth and clear. Her fingers are cool in my hand, thin, bony fingers, fingers that once spanned an octave with ease as they tripped across the ivory keys and played the finest melodies. Not just the printed notes, mind you, but with all the improvising in between.

Lord, I'd give anything to hear her play again.

She moans a bit and squirms under the beautiful white, furry throw I gave her for Christmas. But her eyes remain closed. She doesn't know I'm kneeling at her bedside, doesn't remember that I just sang Amazing Grace to her, or that I told her Jesus loves her. Sometimes I fear she's forgotten who Jesus even is, although I have no fears that He's forgotten her.

I bend over and place a kiss on her forehead. "Bye," I whisper. It must be the thousandth goodbye since we learned she has Alzheimer's, and with every goodbye I wonder--is this the last one?

Mom's going to be 95 this May. For 95 years, she's affected lives with her smile, her Godly outlook, her tender, soothing touches, her helpful, joyful, giving spirit. I know one of these days God will stand at the foot of her bed and say, "Come on, my sweet Dorothy, they've had you long enough. Time to come home to Me now," but until then, I will hold her hand and cherish her presence--talk to her unhearing ears--look in her unseeing eyes...

And hope for a thousand more goodbyes.


Shar MacLaren
February 18, 2008

MY HUSBAND AND HIS OUT-OF-THIS-WORLD DREAMS!!!!!!

Monday, February 11, 2008 - 10:40 AM
Okay, I just have to tell you about a dream my husband had, but first let me preface this by saying that in 32 years of marriage, most of our hysterical laughter has taken place in bed. Don't take that wrong, please. I'm just saying we lie there and, while we're talking and exchanging stories about our day or week, we start laughing about the silliest things, and pretty soon we're rolling. (Okay, now get your minds back out of the gutter!) I'm serious here.

Did you ever wake yourself up laughing? I've done it many times, but when it happens, my husband's too tired to ask why I'm laughing, so the next morning I've forgotten my dream, which is always such a bummer, especially if it was a good one. Sometimes, I simply wake him up and say, "Listen to this one!" He loves when I do that. Not.

In Cecil's case, If I hear him laughing in the middle of the night, I sit straight up in bed--no matter the time--shake him out of his sleep--and ask, "What's so funny?" ((Ask now while it's fresh in his mind, right? That's the way I see it anyway.))

Anyway, maybe it's because we have two pregnant daughters, one ready to deliver most any day, the other in a few months, that he had a dream about a little orphan boy. (That alone got me laughing.) As the dream went, this little orphan lived in a big, tall building, and for some reason, Cecil was put in charge of the boy one day a week, and I took responsibility for him twice a week.
(Don't ask.) We would pick him up "on our days" and hang out and play games. Awe....aren't we nice?

I'm like 'what was his name-this orphan boy?' Cecil stared at me in the dark. "That's the weird part. His name was Equipple Meter".

At this point I lost it. I'm rolling - no matter that it's 3 a.m. "Equipple what?"

"Meter," he says, chuckling.

"What--?"

"I don't know!"

"How do you spell it?" I asked, hysterical.

He started laughing full out now. "I guess E-q-u-i-p-p-l-e M-e-t-e-r."

"Wait!" I said, turning to my bedside stand to turn on the light and grab a pen and tablet. "I have to write this down! So Meter's his last name or his middle name?" I asked, still laughing my head off. When you're tired everything seems funnier.

He said, "I have NO IDEA!"

See, if you're not tired, you're probably reading this and thinking, these people get the "WEIRD" AWARD!

SO...here's what I have written on my tablet word-for-word...
Orphan boy
Cecil 1 X
Shar 2 X
Equipple Meter

I laid the tablet down, turned the light off, still chuckling to myself, and settled back under the covers. Staring at the ceiling, I started back in again. "Okay, so here's the scenario. Let's just say that we both died in our sleep. It was, of course, an unexplained tragedy. Anyway, days later, while our girls are going through our stuff, they find this tablet, and on it, it says, 'Orphan boy, Cecil 1 time, Shar 2 times - Equipple Meter.' They're going to wonder for the rest of their lives!!!!!!" That, of course, brought on another round of laughter!

And so it went - until we drifted off to sleep - exhausted and content.

You must realize this is the man who, several years ago, also awoke in the middle of the night saying, "Oh, that was bad."
"What?" I asked. (I never miss an opportunity to drag out one of his dreams.)
"The milk, the mud, and the mudfat. We had to eat it for days."
"What? I asked. "We had to eat what?"
He pulled the covers over him and turned over. "I told you. The MILK AND THE MUD AND MUDFAT. Oh, I don't know, manna."
I couldn't get anything else out of him. He'd already gone back to sleep.

I wrote that one down, too!

There is NO POINT whatever to this blog except to say this, "THANK YOU, LORD, FOR THE GIFT OF LAUGHTER!" When you created us, you thought of everything, right down to a sense of humor, something necessary for the lifting of spirits and even the healing of our bodies.

Laughter is such great medicine. I hope you have a healthy dose of it today and in the days to come.

Hugs and God's richest blessings of Joy upon your life...

ANYONE WISHING TO LEAVE A COMMENT TO THE POST BELOW, PLEASE DO SO HERE. THANK YOU! AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Wednesday, January 02, 2008
HERE'S SOMETHING CREEPY AND WEIRD!!!!!

January 2, 2008!!! That is the first chance I've had to actually write "2008" and it feels a little weird. I wonder how many times I'll slip while writing the date. I usually pride myself for remembering it in the beginning, then long about March or April, my brain freezes and out comes the wrong year. Don't ask me why that happens. Shoot, I still remember writing my maiden name on an important paper TEN YEARS INTO THE MARRIAGE. It's random, I know.

2008!

Okay, you want to know something creepy? Here's something creepy and weird. You ready for this??? I was born in AUGUST 1948! -- Sooooo, take 2008 and subtract 1948 from it, and you'll come up with an even number, and it's a very scary, mind-blowing, even number that represents OLDER THAN A DINOSAUR. It is S-I-X-T-Y! And it doesn't roll off the tongue as nicely as 36 or 44, or even 52 did. Sixty just sort of sits there and waits for someone to help it down off the tongue. Why? Because it hurts to move at 60, that's why. Sixty makes the whole body move a little slower, hang onto railings a little tighter, watch one's step a little closer. Simply put, sixty is a real STINKER!

I know, I know, those who know me well say, "Shar, you cannot be approaching 60. You don't look THAT old!"

Thank you. I think.

Usually, after they've said this, they step back and stare at me, then they move in closer to check out my face (I KNOW THAT'S WHAT THEY'RE DOING!)--as if they're looking through the window of a very old model car and can't believe the shape it's in -- like for instance, picture a Model T automobile that miraculously still starts on the first pull. That would be me. Only it really wouldn't be me, because if I was a Model T, I can guarantee you I would NOT start on the first pull. I don't get out of bed on the first pull (ask Cec), so why would my engine start right off the bat?

So, yes, this is my big year! But that's okay. I'm not bitter. Really, I'm not. Besides, Cecil is taking me to London, England this August where I'm to meet a dear friend I've met online. It's my birthday present! He also plans to buy me a honkin' big diamond ring or a bracelet. All of this because he's making it up to me. Making what up, you ask? Well, he forgot my 50th birthday, yes, it's true, and since then he's been telling me that my 60th is going to be AMAZING!!!!! Well, actually that's a stretch------I'm the one who's been telling everyone how amazing it's going to be. Also, I confess, I've been sort of throwing out that diamond ring idea thing. You never know. It might catch on. The London part, now that's completely, absolutely going to happen -- unless the rapture comes first, or we fall and break a bone, or we get a snow storm in August and they close down virtually every airport in the U.S.

And so there you have it. I'm going to be SIXTY this year. But wait--not until August! I still have several months of the 50s left, so I think I'll live a little-starting by going back to bed!!!! Yep, I crawled out at 3:30 AM to write this! That's another thing with approaching old age. I don't sleep like a baby anymore. My mind just reels with all kinds of thoughts and ideas and plots for "next books". And when I'm not thinking about writing, I'm thinking about, well, never mind. That could be a whole different blog post!!!

HAPPY NEW YEAR, MY PRECIOUS FRIENDS AND FAM! May God bless you with abundant grace and JOY! Oh, and here's hoping all your motors start on the first crank!

Hugs and Blessings,
Shar

Above you'll see a photo of Cec and me. That was New Year's Eve 2007. I have this new computer with a handy-dandy tool that allows me to do fun things -- like wipe out blemishes and wrinkles, etc. So as you study the pic I'm sure what you'll be thinking is .... "Hm, they look at least ten years younger." hahahaha!

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE! HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL, BLESSED DAY WITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS! WHAT A GLORIOUS DAY OF CELEBRATING OUR LORD'S BIRTH.

BE ENCOURAGED AND UPLIFTED. YOU ARE A CHILD OF THE KING!

LOVE AND HUGS,
SHAR

Okay, I’m stuck on the story, The Gift of the Magi...I’m just curious, mind you. So—I know she has this long, incredible hair that her husband adores, and (since it’s Christmas) she’s been admiring this beautiful comb in the store window....and he, too, has been secretly admiring something of high price. (But what???) She will (on the sly) go into town and find someone willing to cut off her long beautiful hair and, in turn, earn a high price for its lovely quality. In so doing, she will have acquired enough money to purchase the gift her husband has long desired. (Again, what was it?)

And what does he own that is valuable enough to sacrifice and provide the monies needed for purchasing a costly comb? How about his long beard? Did he even have one? And if he did, were merchants in the habit of buying beards back then? Are they now? Have they ever been? What purpose would a long beard actually serve, except for catching bugs and particles of food, using as kindling, or stuffing a pillow, or weaving a wall hanging. YUCK! And let’s not forget the proverbial Santa Clause. Surely beards of the white variety are in great need throughout the season. So he could sell it at the local barbershop, dye it white, or donate it to the local Salvation Army, but wait, contributions equals no money in return. Remember, DO NOT contribute to a good cause unless all you’re looking for in return is that delightfully warm, yummy feeling you get at the center of your chest.

Yes, it would make for a self-sacrificing ending, her cutting her hair, him buying her a comb she can no longer use, her purchasing a gold pair of shearers for which to trim his foot-long beard, which no longer exists.

There are other options, of course. He could have donated his arm for science, and she could have bought him the long desired trench coat, only to have to sew up one sleeve. Or there’s the proverbial leg. MAYBE it was a fine pair of leather shoes he sought, and so his sacrifice, of course, allowed him only one good shoe by which to hop across the room after watching her place her beautiful new comb in place, and lavish her with a wet kiss behind the ear afterward. Isn’t that a lovely word picture? Or more like morbid? Did someone say that?

I am plum out of ideas—unless it was a new leather wallet he longed for and by the time she purchased it for him, he had nothing to fill it with, because he’d sacrificed all the cash he’d earned doing cartwheels from Fifth Avenue to 64th Street, and kept at it until his jar was full of coins that jangled all the way to the department store where her lovely comb lay in wait.

Well, whether you can recall what the young man sacrificed on behalf of his lovely wife, isn’t the point, I guess. What is the point is that Jesus sacrificed his entire life on earth, stooping first to breathe his first breath in a smelly stable, later experiencing persecution of the worst kind, despite His blatant miracles, and finally, death on the cross so that we could have our heart’s desires—life eternal in a beautiful place, free of worries and cares, absent of any more sacrifice, a love so incomprehensible that we can’t begin to imagine an end or a beginning, and one more thing—all the wants and needs our minds could muster provided at out beck and call.

Now that’s the true gift of the Magi, right there The ultimate sacrifice!

Merry Christmas and the most blessed New Year you’ve ever experience!

P. S. Seriously, now, what did the man give up in order to buy the comb? I haven’t read that story in ages.



------ End of Forwarded Message

BLOGGING IS PURE FUN---IF ONLY I HAD MORE TIME!

A few people have told me they enjoy reading my blogs and when I don't post they wonder where I am and what's going on. haha! Well, some days I have absolutely NOTHING worthwhile to write (like today), and other days I could write pages, but don't have time. Lately, I've been saying to my husband, God did not create enough hours in the day. Why couldn't we have had 30- hour days--or even more? But then I suppose we'd all work harder, get less sleep than ever, and still not accomplish what we wanted! All that to say I guess God knew what He was doing when He set the day at 24 hours.

I mentioned a few days ago that I recently purchased a new iMac. It's been a big adjustment for me, in terms of learning curve--but overall, it's been a good experience. I've especially had fun with the photo aspect. Therefore, I'm going to "experiment" with posting a few photos and use you, my readers, as guinea pigs. The pics I post will be random, everything from last summer, to my pets, to my precious grandson, to -- well, who knows. So, here goes! ENJOY!

Oh, and, just in case I don't post again before Christmas--HAVE THE BEST CHRISTMAS EVER.

Be blessed and encouraged--you are a child of the King!

Hugs,
Shar

THE KISS DID IT FOR ME! WHOA, BABY!

Guess what! My hubby did not kiss me for the first time (well, I mean a real kiss) until the night he asked me to marry him--32 years ago! I was 27, had my own apartment, and he'd just been discharged from the air force after having served 4 years during the Viet Nam era. We had been the best of friends for YEARS because my oldest brother married his oldest sister when I was 13 and he was, ur, um, 9, so while we grew up best friends, there was always that age difference that kept us from even thinking about a romantic involvement. In fact, yuck! Poke me in the nose with a stick if either one of us even thought of such a thing! In those days we were much more like brother and sister.

Well, growing up I went through one boyfriend after another, and he had his share of girlfriends, but it seemed like we were always checking up on each other -- "Who're you dating now? Is he good enough for you? Is he treating you right?" he'd ask. "Call me if you ever need me to straighten his nose, babe." (He always called me babe--even then.) I'd ask him the details of his most recent love interest, and he'd say, "She's a partier--fun, but not my type." Or, "She's okay, but her mom is too possessive!" I'd say, "Call me if you want me to give her a piece of my mind." You get the picture. We were JUST FRIENDS, but don't nobody ever hurt the other one.

Well, it was September 1975. I was 27 and currently without a man. (Poor me.) He was 23 and fresh out of love with a girl who, well, frankly, wasn't ME, I find out later. He'd even bought her a honkin' big diamond, thinking he could get me out of his mind if he'd just marry someone else. Didn't work.

The Air Force was done with him, so he was flying back to Michigan to see his family and...get this, see if he could muster any sparks between us. (He now felt old enough for me!) He asked me (just me) to pick him up at the airport, and I thought, that's cool. I get to pick up my best friend at the airport. Well, when he got off that plane and I laid eyes on his tanned, muscled, grown-up frame in that white "leisure suit"--yep, you heard right--leisure suit--I KNEW he was old enough. He walked up to me and planted a nice one square on my lips, but it was short, not the YUMMY one I was telling you about earlier, the "real" kind. This was the "teaser" kind, the kind that makes you walk around in a daze and ask yourself things like, "Have I ever really been kissed by another man, I mean REALLY kissed? If I haven't, then what am I missing?" It was a dumbfounding feeling!

A full week passed and no more kisses. What? What is he doing to me? We played, shopped, hung out at my apartment, ate together, went places, shared down-and-dirty, gut-level discussions, discovered we had a lot in common, laughed - and laughed some more, and all the while I'm thinking, "This is my best friend!"

THE BIG KISS!

EXACTLY a week after picking him up at the airport, we were coming home from visiting his sister and brother-in-law who lived several miles away. We chatted in the car all the way home. Suddenly, he put his hand on my knee. Huh? What's he doing, and why does it feel so right? OH, LORD, HELP ME!

Back at my apartment, we sat down to watch some TV. My stomach was aflutter and my heart had stepped up its pace. Something felt different.

ONLY FIVE MINUTES INTO THE SHOW -- WHAM-O!

His arm came up around my shoulder and tugged me closer. My heart literally stopped beating for at least three entire beats I think, and let me tell you, when that happens you get dizzy and lightheaded! His lips skimmed my ear, and before I could even think about what was happening, I turned my face and, well, his was right there, one inch from mine. He gave me that 'I'm-going-to-kiss-you' look, and I gave him that, 'We-better-not-waste-another-minute' one.

Talk about DIVINE. I thought I had died and gone to Heaven. It was true. I really hadn't been kissed before - I mean truly kissed - until that very moment. All those other times were just pretend things. Oh, I thought they were real, but they were shallow, meaningless, depthless things in comparison to this. This one was tender, giving, promising, soft, passionate. Whew, baby!

On the spot, he told me he loved me, always had, always would -- and would I please, please marry him?

It took me awhile to wade through the mire and mush my head had become, but when I finally agreed, he said, "We don't have to wait long, do we? We already know everything there is to know about each other."

And here's the big thing. We already knew and loved our IN-LAWS! Right there's reason enough!

Well, two and half months later we were married, and you never saw two more giddy, huggy, kissie people in your life. We must have driven our friends and family crazy with our smoochiness.

That was THIRTY-TWO years ago today. Yep, today's my 32nd anniversary. We aren't as giddy as we used to be, and our love has "settled down", i.e. it's grown, developed, matured, weathered a few storms, produced two lovely daughters, given us a grandchild, taught us patience, grown us spiritually, made us laugh till our sides hurt, and even caused a tear or two to fall.

Love is not always easy, but it's not hard, either, especially when you put Christ into the equation. We decided early on that our marriage needed to be Christ-focused/not US-focused. We dedicated our lives and our marriage to the Lord, and He has blessed us immeasurably. We don't have a ton of wealth or earthly possessions, but we share an undying love for each other that no one can take away.

And tell me--what in life could be more important than that?

HEIRLOOMS OF THE HEART...


My husband has been building our 21-month-old grandson a rocking horse for Christmas. The project took several hours in a freezing garage, but he loved every minute of it, for it was a labor of love. And let me tell you, it is a WORK OF ART, absolutely BREATHTAKINGLY BEAUTIFUL, from the handmade tail and mane to the leather saddle; from the engraved brass plate on the platform to the several layers of shiny stain. (I'm going to attempt to post some pictures of the horse up here so you can see what I'm talking about.) Anyway, it is so well-built that it will be an heirloom, passing down from one generation to the next, I'm certain of it. In fact, I envision it holding our great grandchildren someday, and perhaps our great-great -- who knows? Regardless, it will be rocking some precious little loved one long after we are but a faded memory, a photograph on someone's wall.

Heirlooms. They are priceless treasures, the sort of things that live on, that remind us of what once was and sometimes what will be. They can be material possessions or something as simple as a quilt, a journal, a Bible, or a baby's christening gown. Perhaps someone's yellowed wedding gown lay neatly folded in one of your bottom drawers. (My daughter has my 95-year-old mother's gown, which was far too small for either of my daugthers or me to wear.)

This rocking horse has got me to thinking. What other heirlooms are we passing down? I'm not talking about "things" that might be considered treasures by anyone's standards, though; I'm talking about heirlooms of the heart--the kind that help build character, point our children and our children's children in the right direction, the kind that teach them the truly important things in life.

It is our deepest, heartfelt prayer that our example of faith and trust in a loving God will continue on for generations to come, that as our family grows and marries and multiplies, we won't be remembered strictly for the rocking horses, or the homemade cookies and cakes, or the games we played, or the laughter we shared--but for the Christ who lived in and through us.

That is our prayer. That is the kind of heirloom that lasts into eternity.

MY GRANDSON IS GROWING! AT 21 MONTHS HE'S TALKING LIKE CRAZY AND ENTERTAINING US WITH HIS ADORABLE ANTICS.

I JUST GOT A NEW IMAC COMPUTER, SO I'M TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO POST NEW MESSAGES TO MY BLOG. THE FORMAT IS A BIT DIFFERENT, SO THIS IS AN EXPERIMENT.

HUGS,
SHAR

SOMETIMES IT IS DOWNRIGHT SCARY BEING ME!
Thursday, December 6, 2007 - 1:28 AM

Okay, so I'm about to tell you the stupidest, well, most absent-minded, anyway, thing I've ever done. In my life! And I did it TODAY! Why swallow my pride and tell the world, you ask? No reason, really, except that I do so love to make people laugh, even at my expense. So here goes!

Five of us girlfriends did our annual Christmas thingie today, celebrated the birth of our Lord by spending money, eating at Reds on the River in Rockford, Michigan, and exchanging gifts. We "bonded" by first stuffing ourselves with delectable food, sharing desserts, tearing into our gifts, then freezing our toes off on the icy sidewalks, as we ran from shop to shop, doling out money just about everywhere we went.

Our day started at 9:30 a.m. and ended at 5:30, and in a nutshell it was a superb day with giggly friends.We met at our church this morning, parked our cars, and all piled into one vehicle, Terri's, in case you want the name. (grins)

On the hour-long trip back to the church, we chatted some more (girls never finish talking), and covered everything from Hollywood hotties to war and peace and grandchildren, and then I don't remember because I napped the last 10 miles of the trip.

Back at the church, everyone started piling out. I started rifling through my purse for my keys. My keys. Where are my keys? "I can't find my keys, you guys." Search, search. Search some more. Get nervous. Did I leave my keys in the car all day? Dumb, dumb, dumb. Did I drop them? Did I give them to a homeless person? "Anyone seen my keys?" Try to imagine a bunch of women all looking for the right shopping bags. You guessed it. No one cared about my lost keys. They only cared about finding their millions of packages in the back of the van.

I got out, feeling dejected.

"Hey, Shar, your car's running!" This from Becky.

"Huh?"

"Your car. It's running."

"My car is running? Oh! NO! I left my car running? ALL STINKIN' DAY?"

"Oh, Shar, this is why I love hanging out with you," Bec said, giggling. Her eyes always disappear when she laughs hard. I don't know where they go, but they crinkle up into nothingness. "You give me so many reasons to laugh." She was holding her stomach.

Thanks. I think.

We stood there in Michigan's frozen air and laughed our heads off. "Is there any gas left?" someone thought to ask.

I ran to check. (I filled my tank yesterday.) It still registered FULL! Can you believe it?

I guess it doesn't take as much gas as you'd think to let your car idle for 8 hours.

***Some of you may wonder what goes on in my writers' world.
Well, I penned a little poem so you could get an idea!



Inside This Writer’s Head…

The second draft, oh what a blast!
The editing is here at last!
Crossing ‘t’s, dotting ‘i’s,
Reread, rewrite, rethink, revise.

The road to “Finish” takes awhile,
Research, outlines, setting, style,
Files full of worthless news,
Stuff I’ll never even use!

All this for that first, sweet copy,
Who cares if it’s a wee bit sloppy?
Because—guess what— no need to whine,
The editing will make it shine!

Some writers really hate this phase,
Fine-tune, tighten, trim, rephrase.
But me? I find it sheer delight
It means the end is within sight.

I approach it with an eye for fun,
Remembering it’s almost done.
And, then, I’ll finally stop my stewing.
But wait! Another story’s brewing!

Shar MacLaren © Oct. 2007

Here we are at the ACFW book-signing in Dallas! Look at Dee in her cute little argile (how do you spell that?) vest! She is every bit as sweet as her smile! Looking forward to the chance to get to know you better, Dee!

And here we are at the ACFW Saturday night Gala. Yummy food, awards announcements, great fun and conversation at our tables...and best of all--my darling husband, Cecil, surprised by flying into Dallas unexpectedly so he could go to the banquet with me. For more details, read my post of a couple of weeks ago--This is Why I Write Romance!

God is GOOD! May you all sense His marvelous blessings threading through your lives today and always.

Big, Warm Hugs,

Shar

"Trust in the Lord and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture." Psalm 37:3


There it was, the sign I'd been waiting for! "Mums - 10-inch pots: 4/$20.00" Quickly, I pulled onto the gravel shoulder and came to a stop at the large roadside greenhouse. Finding no one around, I loaded four beautiful flowering pots into my car, then went inside to pay. Still, no one came to my aid. Instead, I found a large plastic bucket with a scrawled note that simply said, "Put your checks and cash inside." Lifting the lid, I found the gallon-size bucket full to the brim with twenty-dollar bills and checks. Can you imagine? Such trust!


After I added my bill to the heap of others, I drove away feeling somehow lighter and having a deeper sense of confidence in my neighbors, my town, even my country. Maybe I am naive, but I still believe that America is the best country in the world. Anyway, this trusting farmer who dared to leave a bucket full of twenty-dollar bills on a table in a little roadside stand got me to thinking along some other lines.



Do I trust my Heavenly Father with that same degree of confidence, I wondered, knowing that when I drop my worries and cares into God's bucket of love no one will run off with my joy? On the other hand, am I slow to trust, afraid of the consequences of stepping out in faith?


PRAYER: Father, give me the faith to trust You with everything, believing that no one will be able to steal away that which is rightfully mine, the simple joy that comes from relying on You. In Your Name, Amen.

JILL, JAMIE, AND "WENDY JO", MY GEORGEOUS NIECES WHOM I LOVE WITH ALL MY HEART!!!!!!!

WENDY JO BAKER IS MARRIED--WHOO-HOO! Wendy (Baker) Hodgin is my beloved niece, sort of my "double" niece, as my oldest brother married my husband's oldest sister. Which makes their kids my nieces by blood--but also my husband's nieces by blood. Get it???? I took a few pics but realized afterward that all of the pics I took (of which I'll share a few here) were informal. I didn't really get any of the bride and groom together, or the entire bridal party. Just smidgeons of all "the fun" we had at the reception. It was a glorious, fun-filled wedding, and we thank and praise God that, even while Tim and Wendy had broken off their relationship for a few years, God had a special plan to bring them back together. I'll just write a note or two about all the pics I've included. Nothing long or involved!

My beautiful daughter, Kendy, with her best friend and cousin, Wendy!

Cecil and me waiting for our delicious meal to settle before the dancing begins!

My beautiful daughter, Krissi, with Cecil's mom and Krissi's grandma. Aren't they lovely together?

And another of Krissi and Grandma. And by the way, Krissi is giving me another grandbaby on or around March 12. Yippee-Skippy!

In the "Green Room" after the wedding. Wedding party girls and some friends are practicing their Michael Jackson "Thriller" routine. It came off without a hitch during the performance. SO cute!

More rehearsing. Don't they look serious. But then this is THRILLER we're talking about.

And MORE practicing!

My handsome nephew, Justin, talking with Cecil and a dear friend named Ray, brother to my "almost" niece, Shelly!

The groomsmen AFTER the wedding. The extra tall one is my son-in-law, and the guy next to him is the groom, my new nephew. Actually, I'm related to all those guys--but never mind.

SARAH, MY BELOVED HAS ARRIVED!

Maybe you're shrugging your shoulders and saying, "Huh? Sarah who?" "Sarah" is the second in my Little Hickman Creek Series and it is now available for purchase. The first was Loving Liza Jane. Courting Emma, the third and final installment, hits shelves in early March. Which means... ta-da!...

***I am working on my next historical series set in the fictional West Michigan town of Sandy Ridge (aka Grand Haven) titled The Daughers of Jacob Kane. Very little about these books will be based on fact, save a few buildings, and the setting, of course. None of the events...so far, anyway, will be factual. The first book in the series, Hannah Grace, centers around the oldest daughter (21). The other books, Maggie Rose and Abbie Ann will follow.***

I have been having a hard time getting myself "in gear" for this series and maybe it's because I have so many other things on my plate that interfere with my focus and creative juices. Or maybe it's because of that nasty word--deadline! Somehow, having a deadline sort of removes the joy of writing for me, even though I sought a mainline publisher for five+ years.

I DO know, however, that God gifted me with a passion to write, and I love the way my books have touched people's hearts from all around the world. It's both mind-boggling and humbling to think God would choose to use my frail little words to make an impact on another's life.

And so I plunge ahead with this next series, knowing He has a plan and will provide this aging mind with new ideas and scenarios! What a journey I'm on.

One thing is for sure--God is not done with us until He says so, and that's usually not until we breathe our last breaths!

May God bless you in rich and bounteous ways, filling you with continuous HOPE and JOY!

Love and Hugs,

Shar

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THIS IS WHY I WRITE ROMANCE!!!!!!!!!!

I am absolutely ashamed for not having kept up with this blog. So sorry to those of you who check in on it once in a while only to discover NOTHING NEW! One of my reasons for my lack of posting is that I'm very involved over at Shoutlife, and I maintain an active blog there. But if you're not a member there, then you don't reap the benefits of seeing what's happening in my little corner of the world. So, I promise I am going to get better! IF by any chance you do read this blog on occasion, will you let me know by way of a teeny-tiny response to this post, so I'll know if I am reaching anyone out there in blog world? Thanks, dear friends.

Anyway...onto the title of today's post!

I attended the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) convention in Dallas this past weekend. It was incredibly beneficial to me as a writer, but I will admit I missed my hubby. After 32 years of marriage is that pathetic or what? One would think a little separation would do us both good, right? I'm not a total baby. I mean we have spent many a weekend apart over the years for various reasons, but I'm always so happy to see him again.

At any rate, please indulge me as I share a sweet little story with you--and one that will demonstrate to you one of the many reasons why I write romance!

On Saturday, as I was leaving the hotel ballroom after lunch to go up to my room to freshen up for the book-signing event I was to participate in, my phone rang. I searched through my purse and finally laid hold of it. It was my sweet hubby, Cecil. (For those who may be reading this and don't know, we live in Michigan.)

I asked him if he'd played golf that morning. He said he'd decided to play on Friday instead.

I asked him what his plans for the day were, and he said, "Oh, just hanging out."

Then he asked what I was doing. I told him I was heading up to my room to freshen up.

He said, "How come? You look nice already."

I giggled as I hurried toward the elevator and said, "Gee, thanks, sweetie!"

He said, "No, I'm serious. You look pretty in your pink dress."

I stopped dead in my tracks and looked down at my pink dress. Huh?

I made a frantic search of the hotel lobby and found my man standing on the other side, phone to his ear, conniving smile on his face.

Now, that, my precious friends (and family), is why I write romance! (grin)

Have a joyous week, and may God bless your socks off.

Love and big hugs,
Shar

P.S. Sarah, My Beloved, second in my series, hits shelves October 3 in case you're wondering.

P.S. again...Tomorrow I will post some pictures of the conference and Cecil and I decked out for the big gala event on Saturday night. Through Every Storm was named a finalist in the general fiction category for Book-of-the Year--but, of course, ir did not win. (TOUGH competition!) I am just humbled into itty-bitty shreds that some kind judges nominated it!!!!

WEEDS, WEEDS, WEEDS...ARGH..


Dear hubby and I planted lots of grass seed a month ago in a particularly big, barren spot on the side yard. Well, I'm thinking the seed was that cheap stuff that had weeds mixed in because far more weeds grew in that spot than grass! Since you can't throw weed killer onto tender new blades of grass, I tackled the problem in my own way; in the heat of the day I went out and started pulling. Some of those nasty weeds were the kind that spread way out, making it difficult to find the root, others were so thick and hearty, making it impossible to grab hold of the whole thing, and those remaining were just so darned deeply rooted and tough that it would've taken Goliath-strength to yank them out. (Those were the ones I saved for hubby.) Lack of sun, water, and too many weeds are the worst enemies, the biggest detriment, to growing tall, thick, healthy grass.Made me think about we Christians--and the newer, baby ones in particular.Our enemy, Satan, is our greatest foe. He reminds us of those deep-rooted sins that once overtook us, prevented us from growing; he tries to convince us they are too hard to eliminate. When the weeds of life squeeze in around us--unrighteous anger, impatience, lack of compassion, gossip, worldly habits and behaviors, dishonesty, and the list goes on--our spiritual growth ceases to exist. Sin does that, chokes the spiritual life right out of us. The only way to extract sin from your life is to acknowledge you have a problem. (In the case of my grass, I looked out the window and saw it plain as day--too many weeds impeded the seeds from taking root. It was time for taking action.) It's the same with sin. In order to take action, you must turn the matter over to the Lord Jesus; give Him complete control. Only He has the "muscle" needed to rid you of those strong, flourishing, ugly sins. It doesn't happen by sitting around and doing nothing. If you want to maintain a healthy Christian life, you must be proactive. I'm not saying "good deeds" will earn you a ticket into Heaven; I'm saying get out of that easy chair and realize your need for God, acknowledge your sin, and then trust Him for His healing, saving strength. We serve a generous, loving, forgiving, grace-filled God. He knows exactly what's required to live a healthy Christian life, free of choking weeds. There are three basic requirements for growing healthy grass: Ensure plenty of sun, water daily, provide fertile, well-fed soil. I suppose one could also say to guarantee a strong, healthy Christian life, do three basic things. Make the Son the center of your life, water your spiritual life with daily periods of prayer, and fertilize that life with the food of God's Holy Word. As my grass starts to regrow and thicken, we'll toss on some weed-killer. Strong grass can withstand the poisonous killer, just as strong Christians can withstand the attacks of the enemy.The important thing is--don't sit around and do nothing. My grass never would have grown had we not squelched the power of the almighty weed.Extinguish the power of the enemy by living your life wholeheartedly and proactively for Christ. Only He has the strength and might to prevent an enemy invasion!
--- Sharlene MacLarenhttp://www.sharlenemaclaren.comsmac@chartermi.net

LIKE DIAMONDS ON BLACK VELVET
...Memories of Daddy...

A little girl will go to just about any length to please her daddy. At least I did. As far back as I can remember my father loved to fish. I can’t say I ever inherited his penchant for casting out a line in the wee hours of the morning and staring at still, glistening waters for hours on end, sitting on a narrow boat seat, listening to the groans of bullfrogs, while waiting for the tiniest tug at the end of a pole. But I tagged along anyway for the sake of Daddy’s company. And his company was priceless. The memory of it stands out even now like diamonds on black velvet, clear, shimmery, untainted.

“You wanna go fishing in the mornin’?” Dad would ask just before bedtime.

With only a second’s hesitation, I would answer, “Sure!” The truth was I wasn’t thrilled about waking up before dawn, but if it meant spending precious time with the man I most admired, then my answer never required much forethought.

The soft rap on the door came at precisely five o’clock. “Wake up, sleepy head. Fish are jumpin’.”

Quickly wiping sleep from my eyes, I’d roll out from under thick covers and peek past the sheer curtain to find a full moon, its reflection dancing across still waters, a thin layer of fog hovering over the glassy surface. At the water’s edge, our little wooden rowboat lay in wait—a somewhat unreliable old vessel dubbed Maybe Baby by my brother some years before. Maybe it would stay afloat, maybe not. It had been known to spring the occasional leak.

I’d struggle into the same pair of pants I’d shed the night before, throw on a wrinkled sweatshirt, and step into my dirty sneakers. Then stifling a yawn because I didn’t want my grogginess to show, I’d march into the kitchen with purpose. Daddy rewarded me with one of those crooked grins he was famous for and pointed to the door. “Ready?” he’d ask in a whisper so as not to wake the rest of the household. I’d nod.

And off we’d go.

Ah, those crisp summer mornings when the dewy grass tickled my bare ankles as we trudged silently down the hill, the stillness of early morning interrupted only by the sporadic whimper of slowly waking jays and robins. Oh, the uncomplicated perfection.

With a pail, my father would empty out an inch or two of water from the bottom of Maybe Baby. Rainwater? Or that pesky leak? No matter, nothing would keep us from rowing out to the middle of the lake where the biggest catches swirled about, hungry and restless. Some mornings we would share the middle seat, each taking an oar, rowing in perfect rhythm. Other mornings I’d sit in the front, eyes cast downward, mesmerized by the tiny wake created by the boat’s steady course and the tireless squeak of one rusty oar socket.

“How’s this?” he would ask, dropping anchor a couple hundred yards from shore.

“Do you think the fish will bite?” I’d ask, my voice sounding somehow foreign as it echoed over waters smooth as glass.

A knowing grin creased his face. “It’s a good place to start.” I knew that meant we would move on in another 20 minutes if necessary. Fish congregate in tepid pools, he’d taught me. It’s a matter of finding those beds of warmth.

I learned a lot from my dad on those early morning outings, things that had nothing to do with fishing, but everything to do with life and love and laughter. For one thing, he showed me that patience is an art form; it doesn’t happen overnight; it takes practice and persistence and something called long-suffering. “If you want to catch the big one,” he’d murmur softly, “you have to wait it out, hang in there.” I suspect now he wasn’t only referring to a 10-pound bass. Much of life calls for resilience and flat out determination, which doesn’t come easily—unless you’ve worked at it.

I learned that a fine sense of humor is like hot honey on a biscuit; it melts a body clear to the bone. Oh, how our laughter pierced the silence of dawn, rousing numbers of birds and other wildlife, not to mention those poor lake residents longing for one more hour of sleep. As much as my father wanted to catch the big one, and knew the importance of quiet persistence, he never passed up the opportunity to inspire a giggle. I was his number one fan, and he took great pride in maintaining that first place spot.

I learned that perseverance pays. Sitting for long hours in a rickety boat doesn’t reap many benefits until you feel that first little tug. There’s nothing quite like it, even for a novice such as myself. You’re shifting on the boat seat, heavy-eyed and fidgety, staring in the distance at a motionless bobber, when suddenly you feel it, that gentle pull on the end of your line. At first, you wonder if you imagined it until your pole starts to dip and bend and you feel your line go taut. “I got one!” you shout, the adrenaline bursting at the seams. “It’s a big one!” Yes, perseverance pays big dividends.

My daddy trained me that it is the simple things in life that satisfy us, that true wealth is not so much about possessions as it is about position -- your position with God, family, friends, and neighbors. Maybe Baby was no yacht, but I would give anything to sit on her wobbly seat once more, run my hand across her rough-hewn texture, and watch the tiny ripples she created as she glided across moon-kissed waters.

Daddy taught me many things, but one thing stands out above the rest – love flows from silence as well as laughter. We could sit for long moments without murmuring a sound. And from that silence surged a comforting knowledge; love is not always about doing or even saying, but being. There is a certainty every child hungers after and that is simply to know he or she is loved without condition.

My father’s generation promoted a staunchness that went beyond sentiment; thus, he wasn’t overly generous with his hugs and kisses, but, oh, how he loved me unreservedly. He would have laid his life down for me. I know it. I’ll always know it. The memory is crystal clear.

Like diamonds on black velvet.