MAGGIE ROSE - Second in the "Daughters of Jacob Kane Series"

Whitaker House (June 8, 2009)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Born and raised in west Michigan, Sharlene MacLaren graduated from Spring Arbor University, married her husband Cecil, and raised two daughters. She worked as a school teacher for over 30 years, then upon retirement began writing fiction, and now has six successful novels under her belt. The acclaimed Through Every Storm was Shar's first novel to be published by Whitaker House; in 2007, the American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW) named it a finalist for Book of the Year. The beloved Little Hickman Creek series consisted of Loving Liza Jane; Sarah, My Beloved; and Courting Emma. Faith, Hope, and Love, the Inspirational Outreach Chapter of Romance Writers of America, announced Sarah, My Beloved as a finalist in its 2008 Inspirational Reader's Choice Contest in the category of long historical fiction. Her other books include Long Journey Home, and Hannah Grace, the first in her Daughters of Jacob Kane series.

Visit the author's website.

Product Details:

List Price: $9.99
Paperback: 429 pages
Publisher: Whitaker House (June 8, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1603740759
ISBN-13: 978-1603740753

AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:


Maggie Rose Kane settled her temple against the smudged window, blinked hard, and fought back another wave of nausea as the smoke from her seatmate's cigar formed cloud-like ringlets before her eyes and floated past her nose. Why, her lungs fairly burned from the stench of it, as if she'd been the one chain-smoking the stogies for the past five hours instead of the bulbous, gray-haired giant next to her. Even as he was dozing this afternoon, slumped with one shoulder sagging against her petite frame, the vile object hung out the side of his mouth as if permanently attached. She couldn't even count the number of times she'd wanted to snatch it from him and snuff it out with the sole of her black patent leather shoe.

"Next stop, Albany," announced the train conductor, making his way up the aisle.

With a quick intake of air, Maggie lifted a finger and leaned forward. "Excuse me, sir."

The conductor stopped, turned, and tipped his hat to her in a formal manner. "Yes?"

"Is this where I should disembark in order to change over to the New York Central?"

Tilting his head to one side and slanting a reddish eyebrow, he released a mild sigh that conveyed slight annoyance. "If that's what your ticket says. You're goin' to New York, aren't you?"

She gave a hasty shake of her head and adjusted the plume hat that had barely moved in all these many hours. Surely, by now, the slight wave in her hair, as well as the tight little bun at the back of her head, would be flatter than a well-done pancake. "Someone's to meet me at Grand Central," she explained.

He nodded curtly. "Get off here then and go to the red line, then put yourself on the 442." This he said with a matter-of-fact tone, as if anyone with a scrap of common sense ought to know about the 442.

Sweaty fingers clutched the satchel in her lap as she peered up at him, debating whether or not to admit her ignorance. "Oh, the 442." She might have asked him at least to point her in the right direction once she disembarked, but he hurried down the aisle and pushed through the back door that led to the next car before giving her a chance. The train whistle blew another ear-splitting shriek, either indicating that the train was approaching an intersection or announcing its scheduled stopover in Albany.

"What's a pretty little miss like you doin' going to the big city all by yourself?" asked the man beside her. Not wanting to invite conversation with the galoot, especially for all the smoke he'd blow in her face, she had maintained silence for the duration of the trip. Still, it was her Christian duty to show him respect, so she pulled back her slender shoulders and tried to appear pleasant?and confident. After all, it wouldn't do to let on how the combination of her taut nerves and his rancid cigar smoke had stirred up bile at the back of her throat. For the twentieth time since her departure on the five a.m. that very morning?when her entire family, including her new brother-in-law and adopted nephew, had bid her a tearful farewell?she asked herself, and the Lord Himself, if she hadn't misinterpreted His divine call.

"I've accepted a position at the Sheltering Arms Refuge," she replied with a steady voice. "I'm to assist in the home, and also to work as a placing-out agent whenever trips are arranged."

He quirked a questioning brow and blew a cloud of smoke directly at her. She waved her arm to ward off the worst of it. "It's a charitable organization for homeless children. Using the U.S. railway system, we stop in various parts of the Middle West and place children in decent families and homes, mostly farms. Surely you've heard announcements about trains of orphans coming through?"

He looked slightly put out. "'Course I heard of 'em, miss, just haven't never run across anyone actually involved in the process of cartin' them wild little hooligans clear across the country." He took another long drag and, fortunate for Maggie Rose, blew it out the other side of his mouth so that, this time, it drifted into the face of the man across the aisle. Apparently unruffled, he merely lifted his newspaper higher to shield his face.

"Where you from, anyways?"

"Sandy Shores, Michigan." Just saying the name of the blessed lakeshore town made her miss her home and family more than she'd imagined possible. Goodness, she'd left only this morning. If she was feeling homesick already, what depths of loneliness would the next several months bring?

"Ah, that near Benton Harbor?"

"Quite a ways north of it, sir."

He seemed to ponder that thought only briefly. "What made you leave? You got home problems?"

"Certainly not!" she replied with extra fervor, offended he should think so. In fact, she might have chosen to stay behind and continued life as usual, helping her dear father and beloved sisters at Kane's Whatnot, the family's general store. But God's poignant tug on her heart would not allow her to stay. I sincerely doubt Mr.?Mr. Smokestack?would follow such reasoning, though, so why waste my breath explaining? she thought.

"Well, you can see why I asked, cain't you? It's not every day some young thing like yourself up and moves to a big place like New York, specially when she don't even know her way around."

"I'm sure I'll learn quickly enough," she said, trying to put confidence in her tone. "I hear there's to be a big subway system opening soon, which should help in moving folks around the city at great speeds."

He nodded and took another long drag from his dwindling cheroot. "Sometime in the next month or two, is what I hear," he said, blowing out a ring of smoke. "That'll be somethin', all right. Before you know it, there'll be no need for any four-legged creatures." He chuckled to himself, although the sound held no mirth.

As they approached the station, the train's brakes squawked and sputtered, and the mighty whistle blew one last time. Outside, steam was rising from the tracks, and Maggie Rose noticed a couple of scrawny dogs picking through a pile of garbage. Folks stood in clusters, perhaps anxious to welcome home loved ones or to usher in long-awaited guests. A tiny pang of worry nestled in her chest at the sight of such unfamiliar surroundings.

When the train came to a screeching halt, the passengers scrambled for their belongings, holding onto their hats as they snatched up satchels and crates bound in twine. Some of them were dressed formally; others looked shoddy, at best, like her seatmate with his week-old beard and soiled attire. Another puff of smoke circled the air above her, and it was all she could do to keep from giving him a piece of her mind?until the Lord reminded her of a verse she'd read the night before in the book of Proverbs: "He that oppresseth the poor reproacheth his Maker: but he that honoureth him hath mercy on the poor" (Proverbs 14:31).

Was she not traveling to New York out of a sense of great compassion for the city's poor, lost children? And if so, what made her think the Lord exempted her from caring for people of all ages? Moreover, why had she spent the better share of the past several hours judging this man about whom she knew so little?

My child, you are tempted to look on his countenance and stature, whereas I look on the heart. The verse from 1 Samuel came to mind?oh, how the truth of it struck her to the core. Without ado, she looked directly at her seatmate, smoke and all. "And where might you be headed, sir?"

"Me?" A look of surprise washed over him. "My sister just passed. I'm goin' to her funeral in Philly."

A gasp escaped. "Oh, my, I'm?I'm sorry to hear that." Silently, she prayed, Lord, give me the proper words, and forgive me all these many hours I might have had the chance to speak comfort to this poor soul.

He dropped what remained of his cigar on the floor and ground it out with his heel, stood to his feet, and retrieved his duffle from under the seat with a loud sniff. "Yeah, well, we weren't that close. She quit speakin' to me after I married my wife, her bein' a Protestant and us Catholics." He followed that up with a snort. "My brother died last year, and she still refused to acknowledge me at his funeral, even though my wife passed on three years ago."

Blended odors of sweat, tobacco, and acrid breath nearly knocked her over as she stood up and hefted the strap of her heavy leather satchel over one shoulder, but newfound compassion welled up in her heart, lending her fortitude. The line of people in the aisle was moving at a snail's pace, and she decided to make use of their extra seconds together.

"But you're going to her funeral anyway?"

He nodded halfheartedly. "It's my duty to pay my respects. She won't know it, but I will."

"Yes, and you'll feel better afterward for doing so." Suddenly, she had more to say to the man, but the line of anxious passengers was picking up speed, and he squeezed into the tight line. She followed in his wake, doing her best to keep her footing as folks shoved and jabbed. My, such an impetuous, peevish lot, she thought, then quickly acknowledged her own impatience.

"Watch your step, ladies and gentlemen," the conductor said. One by one, folks stepped down from the train. Her fellow rider took the stairs with ease, then turned abruptly and offered her his hand. Another time, she might have pretended not to notice and used the steel hand railing instead. Now, however, she smiled and accepted his grimy, calloused palm.

"Thank you."

Drooping eyes looked down at her. "New York, eh? You sure you don't want to purchase your ticket back home? Ticket booth's right over there." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, and for the first time, she sensed that he was toying with her.

"Absolutely not!" Pulling back her shoulders, she gave her head a hard shake, losing a feather from her hat in the process. She watched it float away, carried by the breeze of passengers rushing by. "When the Lord tells a body to do something, you best do it, if you want to know true peace," she said, lifting her eyes to meet his. "This is something He told me to do?to come to New York and see what I can do about helping the deprived, dispossessed children, just as I'm sure He prompted you to attend your sister's funeral."

Surprisingly, he chuckled and bobbed his head a couple of times. "Can't say for sure it was the Good Lord Hisself or Father Carlson, but one of 'em convinced me to come, and now that I think on it, I'm glad."

Out the corner of her eye, Maggie Rose sought to read the myriad signs pointing this way and that, hoping to find one to point her in the right direction. Slight queasiness churned in her stomach. Dear Lord, please erase my worries about finding my next train, she prayed silently. The man ran four grimy fingers through his greasy hair. Absently, she wondered if he intended to clean himself up before attending his sister's burial service.

"You take care of yourself, little lady. It's a mighty big world out there for one so fine and dainty as you."

A smile formed on her lips. Fine and dainty. Had he made a similar remark to one of her sisters, Hannah Grace or Abbie Ann, an indignant look would have been his return. She extended her hand. "I'll do my best, Mr.?."

He clasped her hand and gave it a gentle shake. "Dempsey. Mort Dempsey. And you are?"

"Maggie Rose Kane."

He gave a thoughtful nod. "Has a nice ring to it." Then, tipping his head to one side, he scratched his temple and raised his bushy brows. "At first glimpse, you look a bit fragile, but I'd guess you got some spunk under that feathery hat o' yours."

Now she laughed outright. "I suppose that's the Kane blood running through me.

We Kane sisters are known for our stubborn streak. It runs clear to our bones."

Several seconds ticked by. Mr. Dempsey glanced around. "You got any more baggage, miss?"

"My trunk's due to arrive at the children's home the day after tomorrow." She gave her black satchel a pat. "I'll make do with what I have till then."

In the next silent pause that passed between them, a pigeon swept down to steal a crumb, a stray dog loped past, and in the distance, a mother hushed her crying babe. Mr. Dempsey removed his pocket watch. "Well, listen, little lady, my train for Philly don't leave for another hour yet. What say I take you over to the red line? Number 442, was it?"

"Oh, but you needn't?."

He'd already looped his arm for her to take. The man's stench remained strong, yes, but Maggie Rose found that, somehow, in the course of the past few minutes, her nose had miraculously adjusted.

My, but the Lord did work in wondrously mysterious ways! Why, just this very morning, Jacob Kane, her dear father, had prayed that God might send His angels of protection to lead and guide her on her way, and now look: Mort Dempsey was taking her to her next connection.

Imagine that?Mort Dempsey, God's appointed "angel."

They parted ways at the Albany platform where she could board Number 442.



When she arrived at New York City's Grand Central Terminal, Maggie Rose saw a confusing mass of railroad lines converged in a place that also contained more people than she thought inhabited the earth.

Mr. Dempsey may have been an unlikely angel, but her next escort fit the bill with utmost perfection. She scanned the crowd and saw a pleasant-looking man, probably not much older than she, standing to one side and holding up a hand-printed sign that read: "Miss M. Kane." Dressed in an evening suit, a bowler cap, and a bright-red bow tie that was almost blinding, he was searching the crowd with expectant eyes. When their gazes met, a broad smile formed on his face.

"Miss Kane?" he asked, greeting her with the warmth of a clear summer morning.

"Yes!" She had to tell her feet to walk in ladylike strides, even though her travel-worn body wanted to slump into the nearest bench with relief. They shook hands, and he introduced himself as Stanley Barrett, an employee?but more of a lifelong resident?at the children's home. The Binghams had welcomed him through their doors many years ago when he'd lost both his parents in a fire.

"You must be tired," he said, freeing her of her satchel without a moment's hesitation, which suited her just fine. As it was, her shoulder ached from the weight of the bag, which held important papers, several personal possessions, some toiletry items, and the changes of clothing she would need until her trunk arrived.

Dusk had settled on New York City, so, without ado, Mr. Barrett led her like a pro through the throngs and straight to their carriage, waiting with numerous sets of nearly identical horses and black carriages lined up in long rows outside the terminal. Such efficiency impressed Maggie Rose, and she told him so. "I grew up here, so getting around is easy for me," he explained, helping her onto the carriage. "You'll catch on, especially once the subway station opens. But don't worry; we usually travel in pairs or larger groups, anyway."

Driving the carriage, he kept up his constant prattle as he dodged fast-moving streetcars, stray dogs, scurrying pedestrians, and the occasional motorcar. Even at this late hour, the city buzzed with activity such as Maggie had never seen. Why, in Sandy Shores, everything closes up tighter than a drum at five-thirty, she thought?that is, everything but the several saloons and restaurants. Here, though, people of all genders, races, sizes, and ages roamed the streets. Some were selling wares, others begging for quarters; some were huddled on street corners, others sitting on crates or boxes, perhaps looking for a place to lay their heads for the night.

"I can imagine what you're thinking," Stanley said as he maneuvered the carriage onto Park Avenue, heading north, and clicked his horse into a slow trot. "You've probably never seen anything like this place. Mrs. Bingham says you hail from some little town in Michigan. What part?"

"The west side, smack on the shores of beautiful Lake Michigan, about halfway up the state. The town is small, yes, but thriving. We have one main street running east and west?Water Street?with lots of little stores and businesses on either side. Don't be running your horse too fast going west, though, or you'll fall into the harbor," she joked. "'Course, the railroad docks and barges would stop you first, I suppose."

He chuckled, and she decided she liked the smooth tenor of his quiet laughter. "Of all the orphanages in the city, how'd you decide on the Sheltering Arms Refuge?" he asked. "We're a lot smaller than the Foundling Hospital and the Children's Aid Society."

"Someone seeking financial support for your fine organization spoke at our church more than a year ago. I believe his name was Mr. Wiley."

"That'd be Uncle Herbie?Mrs. Bingham's brother."

"He showed us a few pictures and talked a great deal about the destitute children wandering the city?'street Arabs,' he called them. Ever since then, the Lord has kept up His constant nudging, so after much correspondence back and forth, not to mention the process of convincing my father to let me loose, I've finally arrived!"

Stanley glanced casually in both directions before urging his horse through the intersection at East 50th and Park Streets, crossing streetcar tracks and skirting a good-sized pothole. Their amiable conversation continued, but she had to concentrate to drown out all the commotion going on around her, not to mention the smells?a blend of fried food, gasoline, manure, and rancid garbage. And the sounds! Why, the very streets seemed to reverberate with the clamor of loud conversations, tinny barroom music, thudding horses' hooves, barking dogs, and the occasional baby's cry from some upstairs flat.

Stanley Barrett veered the carriage onto East 65th Street, crossed Lexington, 3rd, and 2nd, and made a right on Dover, driving another couple of blocks before directing the horse up a long drive to a stately three-story brick structure. Maggie's very senses seemed to stand on end. "Is this it?" she asked, feasting her eyes on the edifice, which appeared bigger than what she'd imagined from looking at the few photos she'd received.

Stanley guided his horse to a stop, breathed a sigh, and tossed the reins over the brake handle, turning to her with a smile. She decided he had a pleasant one, tainted only partially by a set of crooked teeth. "This is it. What do you think?"

She gazed at her surroundings?a brick house situated on a sprawling plot of land and surrounded by numerous trees, a stable, and several outbuildings. Who would believe that just blocks from this serene setting lay a whole different world? "I think?it's beautiful." Unexpected emotion clogged her throat. She looked up to see a head poke through the curtains of one of the upstairs windows. One of the orphans?

"Beautiful? Well, it's old, I'll give you that. Ginny, er, Mrs. Bingham inherited the historic place from her wealthy grandfather back in the 1880s. She and the Mr. have been operating it as an orphanage for the past seventeen or so years. In fact, I was one of their first residents. But I'm sure you'll get the whole story, if you haven't already, when you're more rested." He winked, gave another low chuckle, and jumped from the rig with ease. "Come on, I'll help you down."

With his assistance, her feet soon landed on solid ground. She lifted her long skirts and stepped away from the carriage, eyes fastened on the three-story structure and the aging brick fence that surrounded the property's borders and was covered by lush blankets of ivy.

Stanley allowed her a moment's peace as she stood before her new "home" and tried to picture its interior. Suddenly, the front door swung open. In its glow stood a portly woman with an apron tied about her waist; grayish hair hung haphazardly about her oval face, and a smile stretched from cheek to cheek as she lifted her hand to wave.

"Well, glory be, come and look who's here, Henry. It's the little miss from Michigan!"

INTERNATIONAL CHRISTIAN RETAIL SHOW! What a blast!

Cecil and I just returned from the retail show in Denver -- not because we are retailers, but because I'm an author and my publicist scheduled me for some TV media appointments and interviews...and I signed copies of Maggie Rose, my newest release. These conventions are such a blast because you run into so many exciting people! I think I mentioned earlier that Cecil and I found ourselves sitting next to Phil Stacey (former American Idol finalist) in the hotel lobby and wound up having a nice chat with him. That evening he took part in a concert with several other current Christian singers. Very fun and inspiring event.

Here's a pic someone took of me with two of my author friends, Mary Connealy, Christy Award winner finalist (see her medal?), on my right, and Kim Vogel Sawyer on my left. I am so honored, humbled, and blessed to have the opportunity to meet such wonderful people. Indeed God is good and gracious.

I LOVE YOU ALL!

OKAY, THE COOLEST THING JUST HAPPENED!

My publisher sent Cecil and me to the Denver International Christian Retail Show. (You run into all kinds of people here - from all over the world, so it's an excellent opportunity!) I'm signing copies of Maggie Rose on Monday afternoon and am scheduled for a couple of media spots as well. But never mind about that. Anyway...

A little while ago, we were sitting down in the Hyatt Hotel lobby sipping on Cokes and people watching, well, Cecil was reading. I'm the people watcher. Next to us was this familiar looking dude. I leaned over to Cecil and said, "I think that guy was an American Idol finalist." He couldn't recall. I quickly turned on my computer and started scanning the past AI seasons, and there he was. Phil Stacey from Season 7, the bald guy who always wore a cap. Cute, too. I brought his picture up, then said, "Hey, Phil!" He turned, and I pointed my computer screen his direction. He laughed and came over to talk to us. "That's me," he said.

From there, we had the nicest chat. What a great Christian guy. He and his wife are heading out on a mission trip to the Phillippines this Monday where he'll be doing lots of concerts. He just did a concert with Melinda Doolittle last week. (She was my personal favorite that year, but do you think I told him that??? ha!) He said Melinda just released an amazing album.

We talked a lot about his life and experiences and he asked about us. He said, "Hey, how can I get your books?" I'm thinking to myself, "Now, this is cool."

He was an ordinary guy, so warm and friendly and very in love with the Lord, passionate about spreading the gospel.

He has an album releasing mid-August. He told me to tell all my friends. SO, I'M TELLING YOU!!!!

I love you all!

Hugs and God's Rich Blessings...

WHERE DID THE YEAR GO?

Our granddaughter, Alexis Joy, "Lexi", is almost one-year-old already, but it seems like only a couple of months ago we welcomed her into the world! Wow, time is a real stinker, isn't it -- especially when you get old like me -- and every second counts. ~grins~

Anyway, her party was last night, so I think I'll share a few pics with you. (Feel free to click on the image to enlarge it.)

Okay, here goes...

These first couple shots show a very solemn "princess". She wasn't having anything to do with all that attention - until later when the cake and presents arrived. You'll see her pretty amazing "castle" cake, and, oh, the INCREDIBLE dollhouse Cecil built for her (which she won't even play with for a few years!!!). It came with well over a 1000 pieces and took him several weeks to build.















FAMILY IS EVERYTHING! MAY THE LORD BLESS YOU AND YOURS TODAY AND ALWAYS!

BOYS WILL BE BOYS!

You find out some interesting things when you have sons/grandsons. Here are just a few items of interest:

1.) A king-size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. ft. house 4 inches deep.

2! .) If you spray hairspray on dust bunnies and run over them with roller blades, they can ignite.

3.) A 3-year-old boy's voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.

4.) If you hook a dog leash to a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape.. It is strong enough, however, if tied to a paint can, to spread paint on all four walls of a 20x20 ft. room.

5.) You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on. When using a ceiling fan as a bat, you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit. A ceiling fan can hit a base ball a long way.

6.) The glass in windows (even double-pane) doesn't stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.

7.) When you hear the toilet flush and the words, "Uh-oh", it's already too late.

8.) Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it.

9.) A six-year old boy can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36-year old man says they can only do it in the movies.

10.) Certain Lego's will pass through the digestive tract of a 4-year-old boy.

11.) Play dough and microwave should not be used in the same sentence.

12.) Super glue is FOREVER.

13.) No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool, you still can't walk on water.

14.) Pool filters do not like Jell-O.

15.) VCR's do not eject 'PB & J' sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.

16.) Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.

17.) Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.

18.) You probably DO NOT want to know what that odor is.

19.) Always look in the oven before you turn it on; plastic toys do not like ovens.

20.) The fire department in my town has a 5-minute response time.

21.) The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.

22.) It will, however, make cats dizzy.

23.) Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.

24.) 80% of women will pass this on to almost all their friends, whether they have boys or not.

25.) 80% of men who read this will try mixing the Clorox and the brake fluid.

H O U S E B O A T S
R O C K!!!(No pun intended.)

We had an absolutely FABULOUS vacay drifting across the beautiful Dale Hollow Lake in Northern Tennessee and parts of Southern Kentucky with dear friends.

As we sailed along at about 5-10 MPH we every so often saw a sign that said "You are now entering Tennessee." Up around a bend, we'd see another one reading, "You are now entering Kentucky."













What does a person do on a houseboat, you ask? PLENTY! Well, here's a list of some of the many things we partook in:

*Reading
*Napping
*Lounging on the upper deck
*Tying up to a tree along the bank and swimming or floating under a hot sun and cloudless sky (Water temps remained in the 80s.)
*Napping
*Fishing - if that's your thing
*Riding the water slide into the clean, refreshing lake
*Playing card/board games
*Napping
*Watching videos on the big screen TV
*Eating in the big kitchen/dining room or enjoying meals at one of the many restaurants around the lake
*Enjoying the beauty of untouched, unpolluted nature (no residents on the 700+ miles of beautiful shoreline)
*Napping
*LAUGHING and RELAXING. We did plenty of both!

Above are some pics of the three other couples who went with Cecil and me, all precious friends who we know a little bit better now after having lived together in such close quarters for the past week.

I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THIS SORT OF VACATION...especially if you want to get away for a good time of refreshment and renewal.


Despite having a wonderful vacation, it's always great to come home, too! I love you all!

Sending warm, squishy hugs...

LOOK AT MY BOAT!



Well, okay, it's not exactly mine, but Cecil and I and three other couples are renting it all next week, leaving for Tennessee at 5 a.m. Monday so we can be ON THE BOAT by 2 p.m., soaking up rays, reading, relaxing, laughing, playing silly games, watching DVD's and, of course, EATING!!!!!

Now, here's the baaaaad news - I won't have ANY internet connection! The first few days of the trip will be dealing with my withdrawal. I'm sure it will be painful. teehee But then by the second or third day I'll be going - "What internet? Honey, will you please get me another bowl of ice cream, as I can't get out of this lounge chair?"

At any rate, DON'T FORGET TO GO TO MY PREVIOUS BLOG AND THROW YOUR NAME IN THE HAT FOR A CHANCE TO WIN MY LATEST RELEASE, MAGGIE ROSE. The drawing will take place when I return from my vacay! Feel free to leave comments here, and I'll see them through Sunday night and then after I return.

Take care, God bless, and I love you all!!!!!

MR. UPS GUY JUST DELIVERED MY BABY!!!

What I mean to say is, he just plopped a carton containing hot-off-the-press copies of Maggie Rose on my front porch! Want to try to win a copy? I'll tell you how in a second...but first...

Here's the back cover blurb:

1904...New York City

Maggie Rose, the spunky, friendly, twenty-year-old middle daughter of Michigan resident Jacob Kane, feels compelled to leave her beloved hometown of Sandy Shores to pursue what she believes in her heart are God's plans for her life -- in New York City.

Maggie Rose adjusts to her new life at Sheltering Arms Refuge, an orphanage that also transports homeless children to towns across the United States to match them with compatible families. Most of the children have painful pasts that make Maggie aghast, but she marvels at their resiliency. As she gets to know each child, her heart blossoms with new depths of love and compassion.

When a newspaper reporter comes to stay at the orphanage in order to gather research for an article, Maggie is struck by his handsome face--and concerned by his lack of faith. She can't deny their mutual affections, though. Will she win the struggle to maintain her focus on God and remain attuned to His guidance?

Simply make a comment below telling me why you enjoy reading historical fiction, and I'll enter your name in my proverbial "hat". Enter twice if you like!

This drawing will continue through June 20, as I will be away from my computer the entire week of June 14-19. Going on vacay!

LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS, DARLING FRIENDS. REMEMBER, THE DRAWING TAKES PLACEJUNE 20!!!!!

NOW, for another peek at MAGGIE ROSE, my EIGHTH BABY!

A TORNADO HAS HIT! (sort of...)

Okay, my darling friends, take a look at this picture:



This is my kitchen island, and this morning it did not look like this. Tonight, however, is another story. And here is the story's title:

MY DAUGHTERS ARE HAVING A GARAGE SALE!

Okay, so today after dinner, Kendra and Krista were sitting at my table making plans for their upcoming sale. I am not in on the planning, nor did I ever ask to be. I do NOT have time for a garage sale. I was standing at the sink, one ear to their chit-chat, when Kendy said, "Mom, what do you have to contribute to the sale?"

"Uh, nothing," I said. "I don't have time."

"I'll help you," she so generously offered. But see, that means I have to get involved. Ugh.

"Well...I guess I have some stuff." Why did I have to go and say that? I have stuff all right. Too much!

That's when the idea hit. "Tell you what, if you guys want to go through my closets and cupboards and organize and do all the pricing, etc., etc., you can have the proceeds."

Whoa! You never saw anything like it. Quick as lightning, cupboard doors started flying open. They see dollar signs. "What is this?" Krissi asked, bringing out the ugliest, oblong, glass serving dish you have ever seen in your life.

"That? Well, that's a wedding gift." (Um, I got married in December 1975.)

"I've never seen it before," she said.

"That's because I've never used it." Garage sale.

(Giggles and laughs proceed.) "Mom, why do you still have an olive green crockpot?" Kendy asked. (See it in the picture?)

"Because--because, you never know when I might need it, and because, well, it was a wedding gift." I actually received 5 of them, as that was the year they invented crockpots. Garage sale. (Think anyone will buy it?)

"Mom, why do you have 8 bazillion glass platters?"

"Well, for all my entertaining!" I said. You have to know my small-group dinners never require fancy glass platters. Half a dozen of them are going to the sale.

More giggles and laughs. (I think my daughters are making fun of me.) "Mom, do you really need all these coffee pots?" "Why do you have 257 bottles of vitamins, all expired?" (trash basket) "What an ugly vase. Look at all these vases. Why do you need all these vases?"

"Well, for all the flowers your dad keeps bringing me." That really got a laugh. I should have said, "For those bunches of flowers I buy at the grocery store." About 10 vases went to the sale.

And so it went -- mirrors, clocks, radios, bedside stands, mismatched dishware, lamps, shelves, coffee pots, tablecloths--and on and on. I really didn't have to lift a finger, either, just hold my grandbaby while they made fun of my stuff. haha.

Here's the sad part. All that stuff you see has to sit in my kitchen till Friday when they haul it all away to their block sale. Ugh.

Why did I hoard it all these years? It's just STUFF. I must remind myself after they take it away NOT to replace it with MORE stuff! Otherwise, in five years we'll be going down this road again.

At least I have clean cupboards and closets now. And I didn't have to do a thing but take a little verbal abuse. Haha. Good thing I can take it.

I love you all! Have a happy week!

I AM ONE BUSY MAMA - UR, GRANDMA!

I have only had a minute here, a minute there to check in with my online friends that I wonder if any of you remembers me! Well, I'm here to tell you I truly am alive; I just have been busier than a bee in basket! I have writing deadlines I'm determined to meet, which means daily word-count goals to fulfill. I also just returned from a 5-day trip to Pittsburgh in which I visited my publishing house and had several appointments. In fact, here's a couple of pics to prove I was there. Ha-ha. Don't go away. There's more under the pictures!

Here I am just getting ready to walk through the door!


This poster greeted us when we walked into Whitaker House's main lobby! We felt very welcomed!


These are a few of the people who work in the graphics department. They design my lovely book covers! It was so fun meeting them.


Okay, that was our trip to Pittsburgh. I have many more pics of the beautiful city, but at the risk of boring you to death, I will not post them.

What else have I been doing? Well, baby-sitting my one-year-old grandson for one thing. I have him once a week, and let me tell you watching him is like watching a wildfire spread across a forest. During every waking minute he NEVER stops or even slows down. He is CONSTANTLY investigating, looking for something to get into, and always a step ahead of me! Here're a couple pics of him just being, well, him. I don't want to be one of those grandmas who never shuts up about the cute things her grandkids say and do, but I just have to say this one thing, he's FUNNY and ADORABLE! (Okay, so that was two.)

Seems like Gavin always has a skinned-up nose. Here he is with "Papa"!


Yes, I let him splash in the dirty bird bath. Bad grandma!


What can I say? He's a boy. He loves the sprinkler!


Oh, the joys of living in one-year-old skin!


So, there you have it. On top of these things I am writing like a fiend, trying to meet my daily writing goals so I can finish by my December deadline. December sounds like a long way off -- unless you're writing a novel! Then it's like TOMORROW!

I'm looking forward to my 8th release, which should be arriving on my doorstep most any day. Maggie Rose is the second in my Daughters of Jacob Kane series. If you haven't read number one, Hannah Grace, run out and get a copy so you can finish it before Maggie Rose hits shelves. Abbie Ann, third and final in the series, comes out in spring of '10! And then it's onto my next series!!!! Whew!

Next month, we're off to the International Christian Retail Show (ICRS) in Denver where I'll be signing hot-off-the-press copies of "Maggie"!

Sooo, that's my life in a nutshell, and let me just say God is GOOD and FAITHFUL to His own. Stay the course, my precious friends.

And let me also say this--if you read this clear to the end, BRAVO! You are to be GREATLY commended.

I love you tons!!!!

I AM A TECHNO DUHHHHHHD!

See, here's the thing, I know enough to get by on the computer, but I also know enough to do a lot of damage. Sometimes I am apt to just push a button here, a button there (because I think I've reached a level of smartness), only to discover I can't get back to the place I started, which is the beginning! Can I get an Amen? I have literally stared at this computer for heart-stopping minutes, praying that God would lend guidance to the situation, particularly when something very important--like, say, a MANUSCRIPT of all things--has disappeared from my screen and I can't figure out where it went. YOW, it's enough to make my heart go into spasms.

And here's something else. I don't know how I got that handy-dandy little feature up there in the right hand corner of my screen that says "FOLLOWERS". (I think I remember one day saying to myself, "What's a widget? That's a very cute word. I think I'll click on it." And so I did, and look what popped up. In fact, I looked today and realized I HAVE 16 FOLLOWERS. I love this nice, lovely feature---however it got there---but I have one little question, and here it is: People, why are you following me? I don't know anything, and I truly haven't said much of anything worth reading. Still, I think it's awfully cool, so don't stop on my account! And by the way, I recently discovered I have lurkers reading my blog who don't know how to leave comments. COME ON, PEOPLE, IF I CAN FIGURE OUT HOW TO CREATE A BLOG, YOU CAN LEAVE ME A COMMENT. Just click on 'comments' and start writing in the box. If you don't have an account create one--or I think you can just click on 'ANONYMOUS'.

I have friends who can do all kinds of things with their computers--like build beautiful websites, which take up their whole screen. How come my blog page is so skinny? It's the only skinny thing about me--my blog. Other people can make their blogs stretch wide across the screen. Also, I can't make my photos go where I want them to go. They just go straight to the top of my page and refuse to move. Some people arrange their pics in all sizes and places on their page. What's up with that?

And on this topic of technology - yes, that is what I'm sputtering about, what is with cell phones these days? I thought they invented them to talk on. Why must we now treat them as typewriters, ur...what's a typewriter? Pardon me. Why must we treat them as computers and type on their midget-sized keys? My daughter will say, "Mom, I texted you a message," to which I'll say, "Why didn't you CALL me? It's a P-H-O-N-E!"

Today, for hubby's birthday, my kids got him a universal remote for our big screen TV. (Yes, we have one of those honkers, but it's very hard to turn on because it requires lots of remotes.) Now, supposedly we can toss them all aside and just rely on this ONE remote. By the way, Cecil ain't no genius when it comes to things technical; although, he's better than me by a long stretch. Whereas it used to take him 10 minutes to finally get the DVD rolling once he went through all the directions, now he/we should be able to hit play within a minute. Or two. Hmmm.

The kids say, "Mom, even YOU will be able to watch a movie with this remote." Thank you...I think.

We'll see. I'm sure I'll figure out a way to screw it up.

I LOVE YOU ALL -- AND SO DOES OUR HEAVENLY FATHER!!!!!

I'M JAZZED, SIKED, AND STOKED!!!!!!





Like the lingo in my title? haha. It's very out of character for me - since I AM an oldster, but I thought I'd try it out on you anyway.

All that to say this: I AM TRULY PRAISING MY LORD AND SAVIOR, as two of my books, Long Journey Home and Through Every Storm, have been translated into Spanish for a fall/Christmas season release. Wal*Mart intends to place them in areas with concentrated Hispanic populations.

So...if you happen to know any Spanish-speaking individuals who struggle to read English Christian fiction these books are now available at Amazon(dot)com for pre-order. You can also go to ChristianBook(dot)com.

As with all my books, my constant prayer is that God will use my meager words to help spread His love, hope, and redemptive message.

The cover designs are the same (I'll show them to you in their English versions), but the titles are in Spanish! Long Journey Home is Un Largo Camino a Casa and Through Every Storm is En Medio de la Tormenta. Cool, eh? Oh, I just thought of another word, and here it is: I'M GEEKED!!!!!

I LOVE YOU ALL!

GAVIN AND I WERE IN AN ACCIDENT -- but we're still alive!!!!!

OKAY, Y'ALL...NO TWO WAYS ABOUT IT, I AM A MAJOR KLUTZ!

I'd like to blame my age, but I've always lacked in the coordination department. Well, today I'm sporting a black eye to prove my inability to walk in a straight line. Ha!

And here is the UGLY, and I mean UGLY, photo of it (and me), taken with my computer lens. Even without a black eye, these computer cameras are for the birds! Does it make any difference to you that I didn't have on a particle of makeup? It does to me, and I'll show you why in a second.





Now for the story of what happened:

I was chasing my one-year-old grandson Gavin yesterday playing..."I'm gonna get you!...". I mean what grandma doesn't play that game, right? Anyway, when I scooped him up we tripped, ur, I tripped. (Looking back, I believe I actually stepped out of my stupid, loose sandal, turning my ankle.) All I really know is one second we were playing in the driveway, and the next, we were lying flat out, he screaming from the goose egg he'd acquired when his head met the pavement, and me moaning when the left side of my face scraped the pitted driveway. I also have a bruised up arm, elbow, and leg, which you won't get the pleasure of seeing. I know, I know, you're deeply disappointed by that. All in all, though, I'm a mess! I'm throwing away those sandals, too! Dumb things. It's all their fault. (By the way, Gavin is fine. His goose egg amounted to nothing more than a couple of scratch marks today. I think I fared worse because I was instinctively trying to protect him, so I took the brunt - as any grandma would.)

Now, here's the cool thing: I took one look in the mirror this morning and groaned, "I'm not going anywhere today! Even Cecil looked at me and in that pathetic tone of his and said, "Oooooh, Babe."

Well, I dragged out my cosmetic bag, of which I have some very dandy, somewhat expensive, makeup called Bare Escentuals. Ever hear of it? Everything is in powder form, and the foundation is, well, almost magical. (This sounds like a commercial.) Granted it's rather caked on the "strawberry" mark I got across my cheek and under my eye, so you'll see the white powerdy glow, but...look at my transformation. I might even go out in public today!



I didn't touch up the photo. What you see where that white sheen is is a thick layer of powder foundation.

In fact, I'll take another photo with my computer screen, so you can really see the comparison in black and white.



You all ought to run out to your nearest Bare Escentuals store -- or look online. (Ebay has it!) This stuff works.

P.S. Sorry, men. I should have warned you this was for women only. But wait! MOTHER'S DAY IS COMING!!!!!!

Hugs and love...
Shar

When you look at the black and whites taken from the computer lens it is like looking in a mirror; the color pic was taken with my digital, thereby reversing the image. In other words, we're used to looking at snapshots and looking at, say a right cheek when we're actually looking at a left cheek. Your brain makes the reversal for you. In the three shots of me, you're actually looking at my left cheek (on my FACE, people!!!) in all three photos, even though it seems as if I turned my face another direction. Make sense?

Another P.S. I just realized this could win some sort of award for being the STUPIDEST BLOG IN BLOGWORLD!

CONFESSIONS OF A NERDLING - PART 6

NOT for the squeamish! Let me just say there is an image of a snake on this page, so if you have a phobia of them like I do of mice, do NOT scroll down. Now...onto my nerdish, ridiculous, childish story...

I have NO idea how I happened to turn out to become a reasonably mature person other than I am 60, so it's probably time, but after some of the silly things I did as a kid--and still am inclined to do to this day--it's all very questionable. One of the joys of my life is to make people laugh, even at my expense, so I'm inclined to tell about the stupid things I've done and do because I know it will garner a giggle from someone.

Okay -- Cindy and I were walking home from school, and I'd guess we were in about fourth and second grades. We often walked home in lieu of riding the bus, and in those days a kid didn't have to bring a note from home to obtain permission. You simply set off walking instead of jumping on the bus. Can you imagine the school system allowing that today? As I recall, it was a hot day, so it was probably mid-May as we trudged along on the one-mile walk.

I was quite the daredevil as a kid, but something happened to that side of me because now I am the most UNcourageous, UNadventurous, scaredy-cattish person alive! Back in the day, though, there wasn't much I wouldn't try at least once.

We have a lot of blue racer snakes in Michigan, especially in wooded areas. I saw a lot of them growing up, and they never bothered me, even though they could grow to several feet long. Usually in the spring you'd find them coming out of hibernation, all curled up under a big shade tree secluded by dry, brown leaves.

EXCEPT for that dead one we found along the road on our way home.



Apparently, he wasn't in his 'racing' mode yet because he never made it across the road before a car smooshed one end of him. Well, Cindy and I bent over the thing to investigate whether he was truly dead. When we determined he was, we picked him up, He felt warm from lying in the sun--and, well, a little limp. We decided to carry him home, even though he was a little heavy. We argued a little bit about who got to carry him, so to be fair we worked it out that we'd count off 50 steps and then we'd hand him over. This worked for about a half-mile. (Our goal, by the way, was to take him home to our mothers and scare them. Is that not naughty?) When we reached our dirt road, we heard an approaching car. We moved off to the side, but then the car screeched to a halt, sending dust everywhere. Oops! It was my dad. He rolled down the window speedy quick. I can still hear him to this day.

"What in the WORLD are you doing?" he asked in a croaky voice. His scowl stretched across his face, and my dad didn't often scowl. "Put that thing down and get in the car immediately. And don't touch the seats. That thing is probably full of germs!"

We only had a tenth of a mile to go, but it was a long tenth, as we sat speechless in the backseat, our dead pet snake tossed in the ditch. When my dad pulled into the driveway he killed the engine and turned around to face us, but Cindy jumped out fast as a wink. "Bye!" she hollered, disappearing like smoke in the wind.

My dad stared at me for a second then chuckled and shook his head. "Don't--go picking up anymore dead snakes, okay?"

"Okay."

"Go."

I jumped out of the car and made a beeline for the kitchen sink to wash my hands. I can still imagine him sitting in his car watching me from behind the wheel. He probably muttered some prayer that went sort of like this: "Lord, please help that girl make it into adulthood."

UPDATE!!! Do you LIKE the mole or HATE it? DECISION MADE!

Okay, all you wonderful blog world friends who have been kind enough to cast your votes for or against the mole on my character's face. (Some will remember my post of Wednesday, 4/15 saying I got a glance at my "tentative" book cover design, and my character had a mole on her face I wasn't expecting to see.)

Well, this whole thing has had me going for a few days. I asked a ton of people (here on my blog, over at SHOUTLIFE, and also at FACEBOOK) what they thought, and the "vote" went straight down the middle, those in favor of it saying it made her more "relatable", less than picture perfect, and those against it saying it distracted them and they just plain didn't care for it.

Here's the verdict: I think I'm inclined to say I don't want it -- NOT because I don't find it attractive, but more because I never mentioned anything about her having it in "Hannah Grace" or "Maggie Rose", the previous two books in the series. It seems like if she had a mole, it'd be a somewhat significant thing to mention, especially since Hannah seemed to be the one who felt the most inferior looks-wise when comparing herself to her sisters.

So there you have it. I am NOT against facial moles -- well, unless they bounce and have hairs coming out of them. Then I'm not fond of them at all.

I AM fond of all of you, though!

WARM Hugs...
Shar

And now if you look at the cover I have posted above, you'll see how she looks WITHOUT the mole!

CONFESSIONS OF A NERDLING - PART 5



TWISTED TRUTHS

You know how when you're a kid you'll hear a portion of a truth (or maybe not even a portion) and consider it the WHOLE TRUTH, AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH? Kind of like if you drink water from a bathroom faucet, some of the pee might actually get into the faucet, so NEVER drink water from that room. (It took years before I dared risk it.)

Or then there's this one: Once, while sitting in the elementary lunch room, one of my friends told me that someone opened a pint-sized milk jar (back then, we had little glass bottles with lids we had to peel off) and found a dead mouse at the bottom. From that day forward I refused to take milk for lunch. I brought a thermos from home every day! No way would I put myself through the torture of finding a dead rodent in the bottom of my milk bottle.

Oh, and the old adage that swallowing watermelon seeds will actually cause you to grow a giant watermelon in your fertile belly. This one I more doubted than believed (I wasn't entirely stupid), but it didn't stop me from standing in front of my mother's big mirror every now and then to check my belly for a mysterious bulge.

I also heard that while riding in a car in a thunderstorm, if lightning should strike your car you'd be safe because of the rubber tires. (Is this true by the way? Willie would know.) You know, rubber is not a conductor of electricity. Soooo...

One afternoon, Cindy and I set out for our mile walk from school when dark, wearisome clouds started gathering. In the distance, the sky lit with a jagged flash of lightning followed by a low rumble of thunder. Another soon followed, and then another. With every second, the storm drew nearer.

Cindy could be quite the crybaby. It was often my job to ease her fears. Today was no exception. "We're going to die!" she wailed.

"No, we're not. Look. There’s an old tire over in that guy's yard." We always passed junky little houses on our walk home, houses with yards cluttered with dead cars, rusted wash machines, old refrigerators, pieces of sink parts, old tools, you name it. My brothers often stopped and sorted through stuff, looking for "treasures". I considered the tire a treasure. After all, it could save our lives. I ran to get it.

Standing the heavy, dirty thing upright, I rolled it out of the yard. It never occurred to me I might be stealing it since it did have a big slice across its middle. It still rolled, though, which was the important thing.

"Look, Cindy, we're safe now. We have our very own tire. No lightning can get us now, 'cause lightning won't touch rubber. I learned that from Mrs. Saxton. (She was my very smart, very old fourth grade teacher with the strange odor.)

That brought a smile to her face and a quick sigh of relief. I felt proud.

All the way home we let the drenching rain soak through to our skin, while bolts of lightning pointed their sharp fingers straight at us, and the thunder rumbled through our bones.

We did not care. We had our rubber tire between us, which we both kept a hand on, as we rolled it up the street toward home.

DO YOU 'LIKE' THE MOLE OR 'HATE' IT? (I NEED YOUR VOTES!)

Okay, my darling blog world friends, this is a TENTATIVE book cover for Abbie Ann, book three in my DAUGHTERS OF JACOB KANE series. (You'll notice the words iStockPhoto across the bottom. Ignore that. Also, it's a bit bleary, but that will all be fixed later after they purchase the images.)

I think Abbie is beautiful, but the mole above her mouth threw me for a loop. Graphics can easily remove it if I don't like it, but I'm going to consider your votes as to whether I should keep it there or not. So....what do you think? Yes or No?
Send in your votes. If you want, you can also tell me your reasons for either liking or disliking it.

Isn't this fun? You have a chance to get in on the ground floor of book-cover designing and make your vote count! Yippee-Skippy.

I love you all!

CONFESSIONS OF A NERDLING - PART 4


SOMETIMES I CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT A NAUGHTY KID I WAS!

I don't know who the primary instigator was--my blue-eyed, blond-haired friend, Cindy--or me. All I know is that whenever I got into trouble, Cindy was usually my partner. And it was usually a hot summer day when trouble brewed. This particular day was no exception.

Cindy lived right next door to me, and on the other side of me were the Dennis's. Next to the Dennis family lived Ralph and Vera Miles, Cindy's lovely grandparents. They were so nice, which makes it difficult to understand why we did this naughty thing. We spent many hours at Grandma and Grandpa Miles' house, helping "Grandma" plant her spring flowers, swimming at their beach (because they had a sandy one with a nice dock and raft--and no seaweed!), and eating her homemade goodies, of which she always had a plentiful supply. She also had the best soda crackers. I'm not talking saltines, either. I'm talking soda crackers. I still love those things.

One day Cindy and I decided to go to Grandma Miles' house and see about getting some of those soda crackers and maybe some of her fresh-brewed sweet iced tea. Trouble was, no one was home when we knocked on the door. We peered through the jalousie window at that spotless kitchen, mouths watering when we spotted the box of crackers sitting in their usual spot, right between the flour and sugar canisters. Cindy gave the door a jiggle, but it was locked. What to do. We tried the door a few more times, then walked around to the back, hoping to find that door unlocked, but no such luck. So then we did the unthinkable. We started fishing for sticks or anything we could find to pick the lock.

We jammed several sticks into the lock, but to no avail. And then Cindy found a nail, which worked perfectly. We were in! We headed straight for the crackers, and then started opening up cupboard doors to see what other treasures we might lay hold of. Ah, what a delight to find ourselves inside that sunny kitchen, the crackers--and everything else for that matter--at our disposal.

But then something terrible happened. Cindy's mother appeared--as if out of nowhere! It was her usual sunbathing time--11:30, and she had come to use the beach. (We should have known, but we weren't the best planners, or burglars, for that matter.)

OH. MY. STARS! Was she ever mad to discover us robbing her parents' house. Not only did she swat Cindy's bottom, she came after me--only I escaped in the nick of time, running and screaming back to my house. I found my mother sitting in the living room sewing a dress. I leaped into her lap and immediately confessed my extreme naughtiness. Mom was peeved at me, and, of course, went to talk to Cindy's mom (I stayed home) to discuss the matter. We were both "jailed" for a period, but unfortunately, that didn't stop us from committing future "crimes".

Stay tuned for the continuing saga...

CONFESSIONS OF A NERDLING – PART 3

I was the only girl in my neighborhood until I turned eight when blond-haired, blue-eyed, six-year-old Cindy moved in next door. I had prayed for a girlfriend, someone to share secrets and dolls with, someone to run through the fields with, someone brave enough to jump off the end of the dock with me and not get all squeamish about the muck and lilypads. And then one day I saw a construction crew pull into the empty lot next door with their trucks and start building a little square house. Looking back, I thought that house was big (every house was bigger than mine), but in truth it couldn't have been more than 800 square feet! Everything about that house was compact, from the teeny little bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen, and the little living room with the picture window overlooking the lake.

At any rate, when Cindy moved in, trouble just seemed to move in with her. We found more things to get into, and somehow the naughty part I'd been hiding most of my eight years found a way to get out whenever I spent time with her.

One beautiful May day, out of boredom, we decided to remove all of Mrs. Dennis's beautiful blooming tulips, which she'd planted in neat rows against her house, and "replant" them in the sand down at the beach. We reasoned they would look so much prettier down there where the sun could catch their rainbow colors. So, I ran into the house for a pair of scissors, and one by one we clipped off each and every blossoming stem (a couple dozen at least) about an inch from the ground, leaves and all, and carried them down to the beach. We dug holes with our hands and carefully set each stem with its brightly colored, fragrant bloom in the moist sand. My, they looked lovely all standing in three neat rows. Never mind that some of them were starting to lean. We were certain Mrs. Dennis would thank us for our thoughtful gesture when she got home from her errands.

Not.

In fact, she marched over to my house that evening for a chat with my parents. It was difficult for Mom and Dad to figure out how to right the situation, and when it was all said and done, Mrs. Dennis shrugged it off, saying she was thankful we didn't pull up the bulbs. (Hmm. We hadn't thought of that, and it's probably a good thing.) They would come up next year, she said. I believe my parents were hard-pressed to know what to do with me most times. I wasn't evil, after all, just mischievous. My actions didn't warrant a spanking, but they did deserve a good scolding, which I'm sure I got. Unfortunately, or not, I don't remember the outcome, only that I never did it again. Hmm. I tried lots of things once.

Stay tuned...

CONFESSIONS OF A NERDLING - PART 2

I was roughly 9-years old, raised in a loving Christian home, and certainly well aware of right and wrong, but did that stop me from performing my share of evil deeds? Nuh-uh...

The Dennis's, our neighbors, had a nice little dog named Susie, a black, fluffy, lovable mutt. Often, they would leave for long weekends to visit their daughter and leave me in charge of Susie. All it entailed was my unlocking their front door, walking inside, and filling up Susie's food and water bowl, then taking her outside for her "period of duty". This I did three or four times a day. I enjoyed my "job", as it gave me a sense of responsibility and, well, shoot, I liked Susie. She was a nice mutt.

I also liked the Dennis house. The year was 1957, and there were no what you'd call terribly nice houses on my street, even though we had lake property -- except for the Dennis house. I considered them rich--even though by today's standards they'd probably fall in the near-poverty category. Still, they had a moderate size kitchen, fair size living room, two whole bedrooms, and inside plumbing. Definitely, they were rich by my standards! We were among the few who still had an outhouse at the back of our property. (Maybe I'll tell you about that in another "confessions" episode.)

On this particular visit to tend to Susie's needs, I spent a bit more time than necessary keeping Susie company. My parents were home watching The Red Skelton Hour, and I knew they wouldn't miss me. I don't know, something just came over me, and I had this strong need to explore the Dennis house. They had nice chairs and a couch without holes in it, and they had a nice bathroom with a shiny white toilet and tub and pretty silver sink faucets. I tested them, and the water ran so clear. 'Course, I didn't drink it 'cause it was, after all, bathroom water, and I'd heard once to only drink water from a kitchen faucet, not a bathroom one.

I walked from room to room, Susie at my heels. It was a snowy night, and the house was chilly, so I didn't dawdle while I investigated things. Passing by Mr. and Mrs. Dennis's bedroom, I grew particularly curious. (I had to share a bunk-bed with my brother in my parents' room!!!!! What would it be like to have a bedroom all to myself?) MERCY! Shoot, what would it be like to have a nickel to buy a candy bar? And that's when I saw it -- the mile-high pile of coins sprawled out on the bedside stand. There were quarters, nickels, pennies, dimes, half-dollars. MY! You name it. There had to be at least $2000 worth of change there.

Without a moment's hesitation, I walked up to that little table and scooped up every bit of that change, well, as much as my two coat pockets could carry. Quickly, I gave Susie her food and water, then grabbed the house key, let myself out, and locked up, padding through the fresh falling snow on the way back to my house, my heavy coat weighed down by all the coinage, my heart also carrying a little extra weight.

I AM A TERRIBLE THIEF. Even with The Red Skelton Hour turned up at full blast, my dad still asked when I hung my coat up on the hook by the door, "What's that jingling in your pocket?"

"Huh?" I asked, throat as dry as a sand dune in August.

Mom raised her gaze from her sewing project. "Is that money I hear in your pocket?" I gave a slow, methodical nod. Wow, that was a short-lived landfall. "Where'd you get money?" The logical question.

I burst into tears, certain of the spanking that was sure to come following my confession. "I took it off of Mr. Dennis's bedside stand." I clapped a hand over my butt, preparing for the stinging slap.

"Lay it all out on the table," Dad said.

"Huh? Why? I'll just take it back," I said.

"You do what your dad said." Why did Mom always have to go along with him?

I emptied my pockets onto our ancient round oak table with the monstrous legs on casters. They made a shattering noise when they spilled out across the wide expanse. It took several handfuls before I finally accomplished the task.

"That's a lot of money," Dad said.

"Now can I take it back?" I asked. "I didn't mean to take it."

"No, I think we'll wait."

"Huh?"

"The Dennis's will be home in two days. You can return it to Mrs. Dennis on Monday morning--and also explain what you did."

"What? But..."

"Mom will walk over there with you, but you'll do all the talking."

No amount of tears would change his mind, so for the next two days I had to plan out what I would say and picture in my mind how the very nice and friendly Mrs. Dennis would take to the idea of my stealing all the change from their bedroom table.

I think I stumbled my way through my confession and even received her forgiveness, and here's the thing. She asked me many times after that to take care of Susie, but not once was I tempted to ransack their drawers, look at their bedside furniture, or sit on their chairs. In fact, since that day I don't recall stealing another thing in my life.

Lesson learned? Absolutely!

CONFESSIONS OF A NERDLING - PART 1


Okay, most of you know I turned 60 this past August, so, yeah, I'm OLDER than rocks! But it's odd, the older I get the keener my memory in terms of "far away and long ago". The short term stuff, now, that's another story. ~grins~ Anyway...I've been thinking a lot about my childhood lately and what a little nerd I was; in fact, 'NERDLING' is what I'd term it. I've decided I'm going to confess to a few stupid things I did as a kid. You can be on the lookout for more "chapters" in the life of this nerdling in the days to come, but for now---Part 1.

IT'S A BEAR!

I was ten-years-old. My girlfriend Cindy and I were bored on this particular sizzling hot summer day--and cranky, to boot. She wanted to play baseball with the boys, I wanted to swing. She wanted to race around the house, I wanted to play "Go to the Head of the Class". We couldn't agree. Finally, I hit upon an idea I thought she'd go for. Exploring the BIG woods across the road. (IT WAS ONE OF OUR FAVORITE PASTTIMES.) But it was a no-go, probably because she just felt like being contrary. So, mouth set in a stubborn line, I pulled back my shoulders and said something like, "Well, okay for you! I'm going to play in the woods. GOOD BYE!" And off I marched, leaving her to watch my back as she sat scribbling in the dirt in her front yard.

When you're ten, the woods can seem like a hauntingly dark place, even mid-day--with the tall oaks and pines blocking the sun's rays, sassafras and ferns so thick you can't see the ground, mosquitos playing havoc on your bare arms and legs, owls sitting on their high perches glaring down at you like you are out to rob them of their prey. My resolve to have fun exploring all by myself quickly dissipated, so I devised a plan for going back to the house--without looking like a wimp (and the nerdling I was). I could say I'd--I'd seen a bear! yes! At the time it seemed like a sensible plan.

I came bounding down the well-trodden path, screaming and shouting, putting on my most frightened look. Cindy jumped up and came running. (Just the effect I'd been hoping to achieve.) "What's wrong?" she asked.

"I saw a bear!" I squawked. "A big, black, scary bear. He growled and showed me his teeth."

Her eyes were big as pie shells. My sense of satisfaction grew tenfold. "How tall was he?" she asked.

"This big." I held my flat palm four feet from the ground.

Her eyes grew wider yet. "Wowwwwww." But then the worst happened.

My 16-year-old brother came sauntering out of the house.

I tried to stop her, but Cindy raced over to my brother. "Dick, Dick, Shar saw a bear!" she screamed.

He gave me that sideways look that translates to, "You little nerd", but then he probed me with those eyes, and how could I swallow my pride and admit my lie in front of Cindy? So. My lie grew until I had my brother believing it.

Next thing I knew, Dick and my other brother, Jared, and a couple of neighbor boys (all teens) --and Cindy, of course, all followed me out to the "SPOT" where I'd seen the bear. As it turns out I pointed at an old dead stump at the bottom of the hill. We all ran down, me the least enthusiastic of the bunch, and squatted down to "investigate" the mossy area. Sure enough, the boys saw footprints, figured out that old bear had been gnawing on the stump--even found a clearing where it looked like he'd been basking in a patch of sun. Oh, dear, the imagination is sometimes a wonderful, lovely, horrible thing.

Well, before long, news of this neighborhood bear spread like fire, flapping tongues fanning the flames of deceit --- my deceit. Dad came home from his factory job, crawled out of his old blue Ford, and headed for the front door, metal lunch pail in hand. As you probably guessed, it didn't take long for Dick and Jared to announce my findings. Dad questioned me, but now I was in so deep I couldn't figure out how to crawl out of the dark hole I'd dug. So, out to the woods we went --- again. (I'm trying to remember where my mother was in all of this, probably buried in laundry that day and completely unaware.)

Dad bent down to sift through the mossy dirt and said, "Yep, yep. Bears have been known to inhabit these parts. It's just not often we see 'em. So, he was big, eh?" he asked, looking me straight in the eyes.

It's much harder lying to the man who brought you into the world, but believe it or not, I managed.

A couple of days went by, and news of the bear sighting faded...BUT my conscience grew to outlandish proportions, stealing my appetite, my sleep, and my joy. The day finally came when I KNEW I had to 'fess up. It was either that or shrivel up and die. I felt that miserable.

I still remember tapping on the back of my dad's newspaper, my heart pounding out of my cotton shirt, and saying I needed to tell him something. To this day I think he sensed it coming because he swallowed down a heavy breath, lowered the paper, leveled me with those keen grey/blue eyes, and waited for me to speak.

And here's the good news. He forgave me. Set me on his lap and talked to me about the dangers of lying--how one lie leads to the next to the next to the next, and so on. You know the routine. And then he told me how much God loved me and wanted me for His own. I didn't give my heart to Jesus that day, didn't for another seven or so years, but it set me on the road to thinking about God's love and forgiveness, paving the way that much more.

Oh, and what about my brothers and Cindy? Well, I had to confess to them, of course. I barely remember how my brothers took it. I think they were mad and probably embarrassed to think they'd been duped.

Cindy, though, well, she just shrugged her shoulders and said, "I never did believe it anyway." Ha! That girl lies like a rug!

Seasons Come, Seasons Go…But This One Thing I Know…

My outside thermometer is registering 1-degree F. (Brrrr) Baby, it's cold outside! I hope you're all staying warm. My favorite thing about winter is sitting inside and watching the snow fall. Yup, that's it. HATE when my gas tank nears the empty mark and I have to pull into a gas station. HATE having to bundle up just to run to the store for a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk. HATE having to rake the snow off my car when it's been sitting in a snowy parking lot for an hour. I even sort of HATE living in Michigan in the months of December-March. BUT...my family is here, and for that reason, I can't imagine living anywhere else.

Tonight, as I take a wee break from writing Maggie Rose, I watch the snowflakes fall outside my office window in lazy fashion and count my blessings, God and Family being at the top of my list. Seasons come and go, but God's incredible, steadfast love remains the same! Just take a minute to think about that.

Yes, we live in shaky economic times, but if you have GOD and FAMILY, people, you have everything you need. EVERYTHING! Sounds trite, doesn't it? You may be saying to yourself, "I need a job, so, no, GOD and FAMILY are not enough." I beg to differ. The Lord will see you through your difficult circumstances. Throughout the generations, He has proven His faithfulness.

TRUST, SURRENDER, and OBEY, my friends. Then watch Him work!

Just thought I'd share an example of what constant, abiding, untainted love looks like. My husband loves his grandchildren with every part of his being, through every season. (First photo taken on a hot July day in '08 with his oldest grandson, Dylan; the second, just today in 26-inches of fresh-fallen snow. See the utter JOY and DELIGHT on their faces? Feel their unblemished love for each other?)





Now, picture your HEAVENLY FATHER loving you even more--far beyond your wildest imaginings.

Seasons come, seasons go, MY FRIENDS, but one thing I know...GOD'S LOVE NEVER FAILS, NEVER CHANGES, NEVER FALTERS.


----

"IF I FALL ASLEEP...."

One of the most meaningful Christmas gifts I got this year came from Kendra, my daughter! You've all heard of 'wall art'. Sometimes it comes in the form of actual art, and sometimes, words and/or phrases. Well, she found the PERFECT phrase to match her mom's heart and passion! One of my dearest, darlingest friends, the girl in the red shirt, made the sign (vinyl letters on stick-on paper) for Kendra, and then she and my adorable niece came to put it up in my office today. Here's a glimpse of the process. (You will see that Cecil had to get his hand in there as well.)

Did you say smile, Grandma?

This is what you get when you tell three over-stimulated kids two years and under to "smile for Grandma" on Christmas Eve: an obedient, but exaggerated, smile (Dylan); an oblivious, out-to-lunch stare (Gavin), and a 'Somebody-get-me-out-of-here!' look (Alexis).

I took about six shots, and this one is as good as it gets. **grins** (I trust you all had a glorious CHRISTmas!)

THE RAVAGES OF ALZHEIMER'S -- AND A RARE SMILE...




My wonderful mother has Alzheimer's, was diagnosed at age 87, and now, going on 96, she still has an appetite and has retained her sweet, gentle spirit. And guess what else - GOD IS NOT DONE WITH HER!

**She doesn't know my name
**She doesn't know her grandchildren
**She doesn't remember that she was married to the most wonderful man, my daddy
**She doesn't even remember her Heavenly Father, even though His Spirit indwells her
**I can say, "Mommy, Jesus loves you SO much," but all she does is stare at me with a blank look
**But, still, God has not completed HIS work in her! The image of Christ still shines through her somewhat jagged, saggy smile, her silly spur-of-the-moment giggles.

What possible purpose could God have in keeping her on earth, you ask? Well, for starters, my family has had the wonderful privilege of sharing the love of Christ with her caregivers because she's still here. She has meaning. I compare her to a chipped and cracked tea cup, once new and shiny, but now having imperfections that go from top to bottom, cracks that can no longer be repaired here on earth. One day, though, her marred, imperfect cup will once again overflow with worship and gratitude to her Savior, Jesus.

I love you, Mom. Thank you for all the wonderful lessons you've taught me over the years, but mostly, thank you for allowing Jesus to shine in and through you for 95+ years and showing me through example what rewards await those who make Christ the focal point of their lives. In my eyes, you are a treasured china tea cup.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, SWEET MOTHER, AND MAY GOD PROTECT YOU UNTIL THAT DAY WHEN YOU SHALL REACH YOUR FINAL HOME.