Ginger Simpson's Blog, page 67

Sexuality Among the American Indians of the Past by Ginger Simpson

Today, I’m addressing courting and marriage; specifically the presence of plural wives in the tribes of the old west, most notably the Lakota Sioux.  Since Gay Rights are a hot topic in the news these days, I’m also including information about homosexuality among American Indians in the 1800s.
The number of men killed during battle or buffalo hunts was often the reason for having more than one bride.  With honor being the backbone of the American Indian, remaining relatives frequently took on families left behind in the case of death. If one brave had only one wife and his brother was killed, leaving behind two, then it wasn't uncommon for that man to become the husband to three.
Quite often, a singular wife might suggest her spouse marry again to ease her workload while giving her a senior status in the household.  Little is written about the sexual habits in the research books I've used, so I always wonder how accurate our romantic notions are in the novels we create about the American Indian tribes. Thankfully, we write fiction and can enhance what we don't know to be certain. 
archive.constantcontact.com
How surprising to learn of the respect and attention given to males we would today consider homosexuals.  These tribal members were more the transvestite types, called 'winkte,' and although feared to some degree, they weren’t hated. 
Rather than participate in male roles such as hunting and warring, the 'winkte' dressed as women and took up quilling, tanning, and other female duties.  They lived in their own tepees at the edge of camp, which was an area usually reserved for ancient widows and orphans.  I'm not quite sure why there would be orphans since most research indicates the Sioux were very family oriented, and the tribe was considered an extended family who took care of their own, but as I continue to write Western Historical, I’m bound to learn the answer by researching.  Perhaps the ‘orphans’ were of an age that they no longer required care.

But, back on track…the 'winkte' were believed to acquire their 'womanly' skills through supernatural inspiration.  Pieces of work completed by a 'winkte' were considered more desirable and often cherished. Some also deemed the transvestites to have healing powers and sought them out to name their children. Of course, the names were considered secret and not used, but still hopefully strengthened the child.  Girls were never given 'winkte' names.
Although those men who dressed as women were given respect in most ways, male warriors were instructed that even though a 'winkte' lived and worked as a woman, to engage in sexual relations with one was cause for retribution after death.  The belief held that in the land beyond, the warrior wouldn’t be allowed to live in the main circle, but away from the rest where the 'winktes' would torture him.  I suppose it worked as the Sioux held the 'beyond' in the greatest reverence.
There appears to be no documentation of obvious lesbianism among the female tribal members.  This may be attributed to the 'dream' instructions given to young women that warned of avoiding perversion.  Obviously, fear played an important role in instilling the goal of wife and mother, as no record exists of old maids among the Sioux.  I found it very interesting that men were given greater acceptance of their differences while women were more restricted and basically 'scared straight.'
 cover by Michelle Lee
I hope you enjoyed this tidbit of information, so much that you might check out Destiny’s Bride, published by Books We Love, and one of my western historical romance novels that includes similar research about the Lakota, peppered in to give historical credence to my story.  You can find Destiny’s Bride along with my other books on my Amazon author’s page:  http://www.amazon.com/author/gingersimpson

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #fridayfreebits

Happy Friday.  Today, I'm starting samplings from another book, Culture Shock. I've lost the original idea of sharing only six paragraphs, and instead am showing scenes that may help you want to know more of the story. Culture Shock contains mystery/romance/fantasy with a little paranormal stuff going on.  Here's the blurb so you can follow the story:  (Oh, BTW, this story was originally published as Beside Myself until Books We Love gave me a chance to pump new life into my story.  I believe this is a far better version and I hope you will too.)

Naïve, country girl, Cynthia Freitas, moves to the big city with high hopes, but her starting salary barely makes rent in a run-down tenement. Newspaper headlines warn of a serial killer in the neighborhood, and the article grabs her attention when she recognizes the victims bear a striking resemblance to her. Alex Carlyle is assigned to assist detectives in one of the toughest cases he’s ever experienced as a cop. Despondent over a recent break-up with his fiancé, he buries himself in his work until he meets the cute new tenant next door who gives him something else to think about except kidnap and murder. The aftermath of their first “jolting” kiss places the burden on Cynthia to solve Alex’s case and keep him from potentially becoming the next victim. 



Cynthia Freitas straddled the complementary copy of the daily newspaper lying in the hallway in front of her apartment and gulped. The thought of a kidnapper loose in her neighborhood sent a shiver up her spine. 
With two grocery bags balanced in one arm, she strained to see around them to find the keyhole. Just as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the bottom of one sack gave way, sending her carefully-selected apples skittering across the warped floorboards. An assortment of vegetables landed in a premature salad at her feet. 
She clenched her teeth. "Damn! Damn! Double damn!" 
Not in the habit of cursing, she winced and turned to see if anyone was in the hallway and had overheard. Seeing no one, she took a deep breath, removed the dangling key, and closed the door. "You've picked up some bad habits, Cynthia Ann." 
She stepped over the spillage, still grasping the torn bag, and placed it and the intact one on the stained kitchen counter. With a deep sigh, she dropped to her knees and crawled from apple to apple until she had recaptured all the escapees, but not before crinkling her nose in disgust at the recent rodent droppings next to the stove. She made a mental note to buy a mousetrap on her return visit to the store.
With the Granny Smiths cradled in one arm, she stood and dumped the fruit into the sink. Curiosity drew her back to the hallway to retrieve the newspaper. She tucked the daily edition beneath her chin and fiddled with the deadbolt. It still wouldn't work. 

The super hadn't responded to her call, and this wasn't the best of times to have a broken lock. After placing the flimsy chain across the door, she added making another call for maintenance to her growing mental notebook. 
You can find Culture Shock on Amazon.  Tune in for more next week.

A Page Straight From Eleanor Stem #Apagestraightfrom

Miri's Song by Eleanor Stem

Miri stood before a howling mob with her back pressed against the quarry wall. Somewhere in the depths of her dead heart, she was glad. Soon, it would be done, and she’d be gone from this place where only pain greeted her.

The sun sent hot, white light into the quarry. Its bright dance blinded her. When she tried to focus her eyes, all she could see was the shadow of a gnarled tree, and the shimmering mob that scrambled for stones at their feet.

“Harlot!” they cried, and a stone seared across her breast, followed by another, and another, until she was numb with pain.
Dust rose as men and women shuffled in the dirt for more stones, obscuring the white sky of the afternoon. Miri sagged against the wall as stones pummeled her. She did not turn away, but faced her accusers with open eyes.

She asked an uncaring god for a swift end to a life filled with carnal hardship. She had been forced into an unclean life by birth, to a place where she had not asked to be. She’d experienced the underbelly of man’s nature. It defiled not only her body, but her soul.

The stones pummeled and battered her. One crashed against her shoulder, slamming her hard against the quarry wall. She tried to keep her eyes opened. She wanted to watch her own death. Another stone hit her midsection. The impact bent her over, and she grunted in pain. She tried not to weaken and fall into the dirt. She refused to collapse before the mob, and tried to stand up, but the stone damaged something within her. Deep pain cascaded through her as she gasped, and fought for breath.
Death was nearly upon her.

Miri closed her eyes to the stones that smashed into her. She did not raise an arm to protect herself, did not turn her back to them. The bigger the stones, the harder they were thrown, the faster she’d die.
One crashed into her head and her legs buckled, but her quick descent was halted by a strong arm. Someone held her tight, and said something to her. The words did not penetrate. She could not hear what he said. She could not see or feel what happened around her except the mob who wanted her dead, and the pain of the stones as she tried to die.

In her narrowed vision of white heat and dust, she glimpsed a tall man shielding her from harm.

He yanked her upright, and held her tight. He said, “Find your feet.”

She wanted to die, and his words faded in a haze of agony.

She slumped against him.

The man pulled and tugged her through the mob toward the quarry gate. Her head sagged against his strong arm. When she found the will to open her eyes, she saw the mob had lost its howl. They stood like dark statues in the settling dust.

This is madness. An errant thought slipped through her pain. Had the stones stopped, forever, or for only a short time? Was this a trick? Somehow the man had bewitched the people. As he dragged Miri through the press, she waited for the men to scoff and the women to laugh, and the stones to begin again.

But nothing happened.

In the blistering sun, the crowd stood silent as white dust drifted at their feet. Hot breaths of bloodlust were stilled in the presence of this man who protected her. He threaded their way through the throng of now silent people. Miri could feel the palpable anger suppressed as if under a shroud of magic. He carried her while the rabble glared at them, stones hanging in loose hands.

He stood in defiance of the mob. Amazed, Miri sliced open a thought to the slim possibility of life. She let him pull and prod her against the tentative shroud of protection of the angry mob. She pressed closer to him, waiting for his next move. She tried to take a step when he took a step.

He held her, and kept her upright. People shrugged aside when they passed, and remained quiet as they reached the quarry gate.

Death now seemed farther away.

The tall man placed his big hand on her head, covering her forehead and eyes. Suddenly, warmth flowed into Miri, changing into a hot glow. Bright light swept through her body, and spread on soaring wings until it penetrated her soul. Brilliance crashed through her broken flesh, and left her breathless. She collapsed against him, knowing all in the quarry must see the dazzling, bright colors flash around them, and mingle with the glare of the white sun.

At once, the pain stopped. Her legs held her upright, and she felt whole again.

She looked up at him, and wondered what this was all about. A new sponsor, perhaps? To continue what swept her into the quarry in the first place? Her heart cried out against it.

The mob had ripped her away from a life of bitter self-destruction. She would never go back, but to leave it behind, she must die.

As bread and wine were her nourishment, death was her only salvation.

Miri wanted to rip from this strange man’s hold, and run back into the mob. She would beg them to finish killing her. Their malevolence comforted her, a small thing when matched to her self-loathing. When not overwhelmed by their need to shed her blood, she understood the anger that pressed against her from all sides. It was honest, and a balm to her broken spirit.

But she was helpless in the face of this tall man’s strength. This turn of events was too quick, and she was too stunned to react. She could only bask in the healing powers of the bright light, and warmth of his touch.

It pervaded her whole being. Her heart filled with the buds of newfound joy, and the will to live.

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Hooray!!!!

I'm so happy to announce that Rita Karnopp is returning to Dishin' It Out in March.  I've truly missed her input and her posts that continue to teach me so much.  I know you've all missed her, too.  Here's hoping that 2015 is much kinder to her...of course her refrigerator went out on New Year's Eve and they lost $500 worth of food, but that doesn't count...it wasn't 2015 yet!

May all your woes be used, Rita, and may 2015 be your year to shine.

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #Frifreebits

“Ring, damn it!” Cassie sat, curled up on the sofa, and stared at the phone. For the last hour she’d fought with herself about being the one to initiate the call, but her mother’s words echoed in her mind. “Nice girls don’t call boys. They wait.”
Cassie wondered what her mother would think about this whole Internet dating scene. Mom maintained old-fashioned standards, still believing that real men opened doors and threw their cloaks over mud puddles. Cassie opened her own doors and stepped over puddles, but the one thing she couldn’t do was fill the void of loneliness inside herself.
The phone’s loud ring sliced through the silence, startling her and ending her dilemma. She took a deep breath before she answered. She didn’t want to sound too eager.
“Hello.”
“Hi, purdy lady.”
Cassie’s heart warmed. She snuggled down on the couch and cuddled the phone between her head and shoulder.
“Hi yourself, cowboy, I was hoping you’d call.” The bold admission shocked her.
“Reckon I’d have to be a darn fool not to call. I’ve been thinking ‘bout you all day.”
Cassie chuckled. The rapid palpitations of her heart made her feel as though she was back in high school.
“What? Why are you laughin’ at me? I just couldn’t think of anything but you and wantin’ to call you tonight.”
“I wasn’t laughing at you. I just love your voice. You sound so cute.”
“I reckon I’m a far cry from cute, but I like that you think that. So … you thought of me today?”“I told you I was hoping you’d call me tonight. If my mom hadn’t taught me better, I would have called you first.” Cassie swore under her breath and felt a warm flush creep up her neck. She barely knew the man and already she confessed an interest in him. What if he was a serial killer or something? She felt so conflicted.
“I sure would like to meet you in person,” Evan drawled.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little premature?”
“Pre what?”
“Don’t you think you’re rushing things? We’ve only talked on the phone a few times. I think we need to get to know each other better before we even think about meeting.”
Cassie’s own ruling caused a pang of disappointment. Maybe she was afraid of meeting him, but curiosity was killing her.
“What’d you do today?” She picked a safe question, but one that might tell her a little more about him.
“I started out drawing some landscaping plans but found myself distracted.”
“By what?”
“Thoughts of you. What else?”
“I’m sorry I interfered with your work, but flattered that your thoughts were of me.”
“You have no idea how much you disrupted my day. I tried to work but I kept checkin’ my watch.”At the mention of time, she glanced at the clock. If only time at work went by as fast as the time she spent on the phone with Evan. Reluctantly, she put an end to their flirty banter. “Gosh, I just noticed the time. It’s late and I have some work to do before I can get some sleep. I’ve really enjoyed our chat. Call me tomorrow?”
“Sure ‘nuff, baby girl. Hope you dream of me.”
Betrayed is available with my other works on my Amazon page.

2014 is dead and gone!

Rita and I thank you for spending time with us this past year, reading our posts and leaving a comment or two, and even sharing them with your friends.  May your life be bright, your wallet full, and your health meter never register anything catastrophic.

Newyearx2015.com

A Page Straight From Ginger Simpson #APageStraightFrom

Yellow Moon byGinger SimpsonComing Soon


After many nights spent pondering a way to escape while bound in her blankets and now yet another day of trying to find a comfortable rhythm tied to a plodding horse, Yellow Moon closed her eyes and pretended the motion was the gentle rocking of a canoe as Ate fished for their dinner.  She pictured the sky blue water, the sweet smell of the wildflowers wafting on the breeze, and her beloved ate, determination showing on his face as he searched for the biggest catch.  Keeping the peaceful picture in her head proved difficult.  Her entire body ached, her hands were numb, and her head hurt.  Why was this happening to her?  No answer came, but a dark void called to her and an exhaustive sleep claimed her.
Cheers and ululations woke her.  The shrill noise the women made reminded her of welcomes she’d lent voice to, and tears blurred her eyes.  She raised her face to see tepees and a crowd swarming the horses.  Would the women stone her as she had heard happened to others?  In all her moons, she’d never seen a captive mistreated by her tribe, but she wasn’t blind to the fact that torture happened, often out of sight of children.  She chanted a prayer to Wankan Tanka to spare her life.Conversations among the people were in a Siouan dialect, and most words were discernable.  Her captors were Crow, known to be bitter enemies of the Sioux and Cheyenne over territorial disputes.  In the light of day, the symbols painted on their horses were visible, and she learned the name of the man who abducted her...Plenty Coup. 
He untied her and pulled her from the horse...one she recognized as belonging to Thunder Eyes.  The Crow had not only stolen women, they’d taken the animals as well.  Would her husband-to-be come after her?  How could he without his stallion to carry him?  Did he even know who took her and the others?  She stared bravely into the face of Plenty Coup.  “Why did you bring us here?”
“They...” he pointed to the other women, will become slaves and serve my people, but you...” He stood back and ran his gaze up and down her body.  “You, I think I will take as my wife.”
She gasped.  “You cannot.  I am promised to Thunder Eyes of the Santee.
“That makes my plan even better.  I cannot think of anything more vengeful than taking his woman...unless of course I....” Plenty Coup slashed his forefinger across his throat to emphasize his meaning.
Yellow Eyes lifted her chin skyward and let the sun wash over her face.  Pretending she was back at the Sun Dance and dealing with the fear of becoming wife to another Sioux didn’t change a thing.  She turned pleading eyes to her captor. “Please do not hurt Thunder Eyes.  I will not resist you as long as you promise to let him live.”
“Then tomorrow, I will have my wife, Pretty Shield, ready you for the ceremony.”
“Your wife?”  Yellow Moon’s jaw dropped open.

Yellow Moon is my current WIP and almost finished.  Books We Love will be open to submissions again in January, and this will be one of the first emails they receive.  It's been a long time in the works because I'm a pantser and Yellow Moon has been a spoiled brat to work with.  She rarely talked to me...until recently.  I hope you enjoy this teaser from somewhere in the story.

Happy New Year and Forget Detoxing...really! #gingersimpson

I happened to be doing a little researc on toxins and came across the most logical argument against all the scams that tell us we need to detox our bodies.  I suggest you read it before you invest money in something that isn't necessary.  If you watch what you eat and cut out the unnecessary salt, pastas, breads, and fast foods, you're bound to lose weight.  Don't think that flushing out your system is the only way to get those unwanted pounds off.  I suggest you read:  http://www.sciencebasedmedicine.org/the-detox-scam-how-to-spot-it-and-how-to-avoid-it/
Here's a little snippet that might make you follow the link.

The reality is that our bodies are constantly being exposed to a huge variety of natural and synthetic chemicals. The presence of any chemical in the body, (natural or synthetic) does not mean that it is doing harm. Many naturally-derived substances can be exceptionally toxic, and consequently the human body has evolved a remarkable system of defenses and mechanisms to defend against, and remove unwanted substances. The skin, kidneys, lymphatic system, our gastrointestinal system, and most importantly, the liver make up our astoundingly complex and sophisticated intrinsic detoxification system. Importantly, the dose makes the poison – even water can be toxic (dilutional hyponatremia) when consumed in excessive amounts. http://www.sciencebasedmedicine.org/the-detox-scam-how-to-spot-it-and-how-to-avoid-it/.  In case you're too stubborn to click on the link, I'll share the conclusion, although the entire article is meaningful and makes sense.



Any product or service with the words “detox” or “cleanse” in the name is only truly effective at cleansing your wallet of cash. Alternative medicine’s ideas of detoxification and cleansing have no basis in reality. There’s no published evidence to suggest that detox treatments, kits or rituals have any effect on our body’s ability to eliminate waste products effectively. They do have the ability to harm however – not only direct effects, like coffee enemas and purgatives, but the broader distraction away from the reality of how the body actually works and what we need to do to keep it healthy. “Detox” focuses attention on irrelevant issues, and gives consumers the impression that they can undo lifestyle decisions with quick fixes. Improved health isn’t found in a box of herbs, a bottle of homeopathy, or a bag of coffee pushed into your rectum. The lifestyle implications of a poor diet, lack of exercise, smoking, lack of sleep, and alcohol or drug use cannot simply be flushed or purged away. Our kidneys and liver don’t need a detox treatment. If anyone suggests a detox or cleanse to you, you’d do well to ignore the suggestion, and question any other health advice they may offer.

Note from Ginger:  If you don't believe people are in this myth for the money, just go to http://google.com/images and search under "detox."

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #Frifreebits

Let's see...Cassie is bored with her life and has made a connection on a dating site.  She's already given her phone number and had a conversation with Evan who lives in Texas.  Now she's back at work in her real life...not just a dreamworld.




Cassie sat at her office desk and stifled a yawn. She wasn’t used to being up as late as she had been last night. Her thoughts turned to Evan, and she checked her watch wishing time would pass quickly so she could go home and spend time on the phone with him again. Just remembering his deep, southern-drawl caused her heart to skip a beat.
The memory of his descriptive language warmed her. She nipped at her bottom lip.  She didn’t even know the man, yet he sounded genuine and sincere. What kind of man would put his own life aside to take care of someone? He must be a rare bird. Gregory had barely wanted to see his mother, let alone live with her, and Cassie’s brother, Frank, rarely came to visit their Mom. Cass pulled a mental picture of Evan into her mind and wondered what it would be like to meet in person.The buzz of the intercom on her desk interrupted her thoughts.
“Yes?” She clenched her teeth at the disturbance.
“Mr. Takeda would like to see you in his office,” the voice on the other end responded.
“Thank you.” Cassie’s hands shook as she pushed back from her desk and prepared to face her boss. What could he possibly want from her? Or worse, what had she done to piss him off now?
She squared her shoulders, bravely left her office, and walked down the long, carpeted hallway. 
Outside his intimidating mahogany door, Cassie stopped, took a deep breath, and rapped her knuckles against the shiny wood.
“Come in,” Takeda’s authoritative voice boomed.

Cassie’s insides trembled like a mass of Jell-O, but she put on her most professional and fearless face. “You wanted to see me?”
Checkout Betrayed and my other books on my Amazon page.
Don't forget to come back next week for more Friday Freebits.

A Free Christmas Story Straight From Ginger Simpson #freestory #Christmas

Make a Joyful Noise by Ginger Simpson 

Anne Collins curled up in her over-stuffed easy chair and glanced at the daily newspaper. The glass of wine on the end table reflected the crackling fire beyond the hearth. Her workday had prompted her to fill a much larger goblet than normal. If one more person mentioned having a ‘Merry Christmas’, she thought for certain she’d lose control. This year, the yuletide held no reason to celebrate. Her husband, Daniel, lay in the hospital, hanging by a thread. Being festive rated last on her ‘to do’ list. Warmth spread throughout the room as the logs on the grate crackled and popped, chasing away the chill brought on by frigid temperatures and two feet of snow outside.
 Anne grew comfortable and tossed the paper aside. She picked up her white zinfandel and sipped it while reflecting on past holidays. She always considered her life was full and blessed…until the diagnosis. Daniel never smoked a day in his life. How did he end up with throat cancer? Surely there were plenty of murderers or child molesters God could punish. Why her husband? He was the epitome of everything good. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she took a tissue from a nearby box and blotted her face. Hell couldn’t be any worse than watching Daniel waste away, suffering with every breath. The radiation and chemotherapy burned his throat and made it impossible for him to speak. Seemed an eternity had passed since he flashed that smile she loved so much. 
This was the first time in their married life she’d picked out and put up a Christmas tree without him. The anger festering inside made her want to rip it down, burn the gifts, and rant at the Lord for the unfairness, but….
 A blast of cold air blew into the room as the door opened. “Hey, Mom, sorry, I’m late, but I stayed after school to finish up a science project.” A smaller version of her mother, fourteen-year-old Casey slugged inside, stamping her feet on the rug in the foyer to clear the flakes from her boots. Peeling off her coat, she tackled the layer of sweaters beneath. “Boy, it is freezing out there.” 
She opened the hall closet and hung everything inside, then turned to her mother with an arched brow. “Do you realize it’s the second week of December and we’re the only house on the block without outside decorations?”
 Anne took a sip of wine to hide a grimace. “I know, dear. I just haven’t been in the mood this year.” She looked at her daughter and sighed. Casey was the only reason Anne hadn’t cracked under the stress. 
Casey crossed the room and perched on the chair’s arm. “I can help put up the lights, Mom. All we need is a ladder. Dad left the little hooks up from last year.”
 Anne shook her head. “We’ll do just fine without lights, Casey. Besides…” She stared into her lap, her eyes blurred with unbidden tears. 
“Dad’s going to get better and come home, so why are you acting like he’s gone?” Casey stood and pulled her lips into pout. “You know how much he enjoys the holidays.” Her chocolate eyes glistened in the firelight, her tone demanded an answer.
 Anne rose, walked to the mantle and picked up a filigreed picture frame. Looking upon Daniel’s smiling face sent pain stabbing at her heart. The photograph had been taken the year they went to Maui. Now thin and gaunt, he barely resembled the man she saw. It’d been weeks since he’d even acknowledged her presence in the hospital room. She put the photo back and turned to her daughter. “Casey, I just can’t muster up any Christmas spirit. Your dad isn’t doing very well and I don’t feel very festive.” She returned to her chair and downed the rest of her wine, hoping it would numb her worried mind.
 Casey peered down at her. “I know if Dad was standing here, he’d be disappointed that you’ve lost faith. Why have we gone to church all these years if you can’t trust God to take care of things?” She spun and stomped out of the room. 
Anne pondered the question. Why couldn’t she trust God? The answer was easy. He’d allowed Dan to get sick in the first place. She stood and wandered into the kitchen, her wine glass in hand. After pouring a re-fill, she gazed out the window over the sink at the drifts of snow in the backyard. The old tire swing Casey used to love still hung from a giant branch now devoid of leaves. The setting sun was lost behind a gray wintry haze, and everything looked frozen. While her mind questioned God’s motives, Anne watched until the last trace of daylight disappeared and darkness fell. She picked up her goblet and started to turn from the window, but a flash of light caught her eye. Too bright at first, it soon softened, and Anne blinked in disbelief. The shimmering outline of an angel, dressed all in white, appeared just outside the glass. A glowing halo shone brightly above her head, and the assuring smile on her face sent a peaceful feeling coursing through Anne’s body. The entity raised her arms, and as if by magic, an orb of light floated from her hands and rose into the heavens. Anne’s gaze followed the star’s trail as it climbed higher, illuminating the yard, the trees, the swing, and the old storage shed in the corner where Dan kept the gardening tools. Anne thought to call her daughter to witness the scene, but couldn’t find the voice to do it. She stood rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on the wonder outside. The heavenly creature floated a few feet above the ground and gestured toward the sky.
 The gray haze was gone and a canopy of stars twinkled above. One stood out above the rest, sending a blaze of light flashing to the ground. In the snowdrift just beyond the trees, Anne beheld another wonder. Unveiled one letter at a time, an invisible hand seemed to etch the glowing word ‘believe’ into the blanket of white. Anne gasped, trying to call out for Casey, but the image, along with the angel, vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. The stars still twinkled brightly overhead, but the yard turned dark again. Her mouth agape, Anne marveled at lightness in her heart. 
*** Casey sat at the desk in her room. Christmas music played softly on her radio, and she struggled to concentrate on her homework. How could she possibly focus on school when things at home were so depressing? She couldn’t bear to think of life without her dad, and it hurt that her mother had all but given up on his getting better. 
Heaving a sigh, Casey stood and walked to the bookshelf across the room. She searched the shelves until she found her Bible. She thumbed through the index, looking for verses pertaining to hope and found Proverbs 3:3-4. Turning to the passage, she read: Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man.
She’d barely finished when she heard a strange noise coming from downstairs—a heavy thumping sound. Her put her Bible back in its place and tilted her ear to listen. She heard it again. Casey opened her door and the sound became louder. “Mom, what is that,” she called out.
 When she received no answer, Casey went to investigate. The noise had stopped but she couldn’t find her mom. She walked through the entire house only to find it empty. A half-filled wine glass sat near the easy chair, but no sight of her mother. The thumping began again—close and right outside. 
The porch light cast a strange-looking shadow on the front window. Casey grasped the knob and opened the door just a crack. She saw a ladder and a pair of legs from the knees down. She recognized the fur-lined boots. “Mom, what are you doing up there?” Casey walked to the edge of the porch and peered up.
 Bundled against the weather, her mother hammered at the wooden eave. “I’m putting up Christmas lights. Some of the hooks are loose and I’m tightening them. How about if you get a coat on and check the bulbs in the next strand while I finish hanging these.”
 “But… I thought…” Forgetting the cold, Casey picked up a coiled cord and began unraveling it.
 “I know, I know. I lost faith for a while,” her mother glanced down and nodded,” but for some strange reason, I’ve found it again. I have a strong feeling that Dad is coming home and we need to be ready.” 
Casey smiled up at her mother. “Let me get my coat and I’ll be right back. Tomorrow we can put up the manger scene in the yard.”
 “Good idea.” Anne went back to pounding. 

Casey paused for a moment and looked to heaven. Her mind wandered to her last week's Sunday School lesson. Make A Joyful Noise Unto the Lord - Psalm 100. "Who would've thought hammering could qualify?" she muttered, then smiled. Humming “Silent Night,” she headed for the coat closet. For the first time in weeks, she enjoyed feeling a sense of peace that magnified the joy of the holiday. Faith would bind their family together; love would sustain them.