Linda Brooks Davis's Blog, page 24

Join Our Author Chat with Sandra Cleary

https://journeythroughourbranches.com/about-me/

Anyone interested in digging up dead ancestors? Hitch a ride with author Sandra Cleary and learn how her “digs” resulted in a story she never dreamed she’d write. Based on the true survival experience of Catherine Clare Jordan, White Moccasins tells a story that might have unfolded for “Katie” in the Black Hawk War of 1832. 

Join the chat, and you could win a signed copy of White Moccasins. 

Welcome, Sandra Cleary!

OK. You’ve hooked us. White Moccasins is a must-read. 

But what’s your story, Sandy? How did you learn about the real-life Katie?

What can we look forward to from Sandra Cleary in the future?

~ ~ ~

In the Beginning

From growing up a military brat, moving every two to four years, seeing the world, I yearned to marry a military man so I could at least continue to travel. Like my mother always said, “My feet are itching, it’s time to move.” I continue to do that today!

I graduated from San Bernardino High School in California then went on to San Bernardino Valley College where the writing bug hit me when I took Creative Writing. But, alas, with bringing up children and moving I put writing aside. Now that I have more time I can’t stop writing.

Then There Were Two

I married my wonderful, supportive, enthusiastic husband in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho who immediately took me to the Azores Islands, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, for a two year honeymoon. He has since retired and we now live in Texas. Who knew with both Yankees settling in the South.

And More

Together we have six children, seventeen grandchildren, and eleven great grandchildren. We have to take short vacations in order to visit all of them as they live from Tennessee to Washington to California and everywhere in between.

My short stories and articles have been published in a local magazine. My blog, www.journeythroughourbranches.com, has had over twelve thousand hits.

Digging up Dead Ancestors

I’ve always wanted to know more about my past so at an early age I started looking for my ancestors. Through the years I’ve put together more information than I’d bargained for, but that’s another story. Through DNA and working diligently through Ancestry I’ve now located my biological father and a whole new family. (Tweet That!)

Looking to the Past: The Roots of White Moccasins
This media file is in the public domain in the United States. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Fi...

In my search for my roots I discovered the story of Catherine Clare Jordan, who married Probes Eberle and reared seven children.

But before Probes and the children, there was the Black Hawk War. And Katie.

Sandra Cleary: Looking to the Future
My second book is based on how to find an ancestor through DNA.

If I can do it so can others. I owe all of this to my Lord, Jesus Christ who has guided me every step of the way.

~ ~ ~

Lord God, You’re where we’ve come from. You’re where we’re going. And You give life meaning. Bless Sandy as she journeys among those who went before her and give her every mercy as she seeks to leave stories that bring honor to their journeys. But, above all, to You.

For Jesus’ sake 

~

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.

Revelation 22:13

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Join our Author Chat with Gail Kittleson

Today I’m delighted to welcome to our circle Gail Kittleson, author of memoir and women’s fiction. Gail hosts the delightful website, Dare to Bloom.

Gather ’round as we get to know a bit about Gail’s pre-author life, some influences along the way, her journey thus far, and maybe a tip or two.

Welcome, Gail

Thank you, Gail, for carving out a spot in your busy schedule for a visit. We’re excited to get to know you. Thank you also for offering a give-away of an autographed copy of your novel In Times Like These to someone who joins our chat.

~ ~ ~

Gail’s Pre-Author Life

I’m an Iowa farm girl, born and bred. I still dip my forefinger into the eggshell when I’m baking, to be certain no speck goes to waste. My grandparents lost a farm in the Depression and earned it back through sheer determination and hard work. They affected me greatly—especially Grandma.

She raised 1,000 chickens and worked from dawn to dusk. She loved to fish, but rarely took the time. I’m told she played the violin, but never heard her. Her mother died when she was eleven, so she started “working out” at other homes, doing those nasty turn-of-the-century necessary daily tasks. You can imagine.

She reared five children, and in later life, made do with her $62 monthly Social Security check. Working in the garden with her stands out in my memory—not one dry lima bean went unused for seed the next year. I’d have to say this contributed to my “crazies.” One can be ridiculously frugal—a kind of crazy I’ve struggled with most of my adult life.

Grandma died when I was a college freshman. I don’t remember her funeral, but certainly recall her advice: If you can’t say something good, don’t say anything at all—things like that. 

(Tweet That!) 

I taught college expository writing and English as a Second Language. Now I write memoir and women’s fiction and facilitate writing workshops and women’s retreats. My husband and I make our home in northern Iowa, where we enjoy our grandchildren and gardening. In winter, the Arizona mountains provide new novel fodder.

Gail’s Author Debut 
Catching Up with Daylight by Gail Kittleson. WhiteFire Publishing, November 2013 http://amzn.to/2kMlWOG

Catching Up with Daylight was my first publication. This book inspires through memoir, contemporary women’s stories, ancient meditation practices, and encouragement to live in the present moment.

In This Together

This was my first novel. I met the editor at a small writing conference, and she gave me an open-ended invitation to submit. A couple of years later, I did, and my experience with this company taught me a lot.

First, it’s great working with an editor who cares about your work’s quality. I also learned that you give up control when you sign a contract.

The first box of books arrived during my little writing class, and one member took pictures of me hugging the Fed Ex man. (:

Second chances are the farthest thing from widow Dottie Kyle’s mind as she cooks and cleans at a local boarding house.

Wild Rose Press-Vintage Imprint, November 2015 Purchase link: http://amzn.to/1HXdTCV

But every morning and evening as she treks to work, her lonely next-door widower neighbor observes her, hoping somehow to win her heart.

Dottie grieves her son, lost in WWII, and longs to meet her two little grandchildren in California, but the long train ride from Iowa calls up her worst fears. Readers will resonate to Dottie’s down-home integrity and cheer her on as she faces her fears.

 

How Gail’s Journey Has Continued


In Times Like These by Gail Kittleson http://amzn.to/1VFEoYh

In Times Like These, Book 1 of Women of the Heartland series, taught me even more. A professional in the field of verbal abuse, Patricia Evans, read the manuscript and gave her endorsement. She’s sharing my work on her website: www.verbalabuse.com which displays her own non-fiction books.

In Times Like These

In this story Pearl Harbor has been attacked, and the United States is at war.

But Addie fights her own battles on the Iowa home front. Her controlling husband Harold vents his rage when his father’s stroke prevents him from joining the military. He degrades Addie, ridicules her productive victory garden, and even labels her childlessness as God’s punishment.

When he manipulates his way into a military unit bound for Normandy, Addie learns that her best friend Kate’s pilot husband has died on a mission, leaving her stranded in London in desperate straits.

Will Addie be able to help Kate, and find courage to trust God with her future?

Coming Up
The sequel, With Each New Dawn , releases on February 24. The research for this book transported me to London (in my imagination) and Southern France—pure joy.

In this story American RAF widow Kate Isaacs leaves war-torn London to parachute into southern France and aid the French Resistance. Her alliance with grieving Basque shepherd-turned-Resistance fighter Domingo Ibarra brings both sorrow and relief as she discovers her familial roots, along with second chances.

Preorder at http://tinyurl.com/jmvc36a.

More About Gail Kittleson

Reader responses are the very best perk—people thank me for not making things easy for my characters, for allowing them to ask honest questions, even of God. One fan says, “I’ve earmarked Addie’s story so often it looks like my Bible. She’s helping me with a difficult relationship.”

Doesn’t get any better than that, imho.

~ ~ ~

Thank you again, Gail. I’m preordering With Each New Dawn along with In Times Like These. Can’t wait!

To learn more about Gail’s books, please visit her website at www.gailkittleson.com. 

Purchase links:

Amazon.com – http://amzn.to/1HXdTCV

All Romance – ebook – http://tinyurl.com/p8y7u4e

BookStrand.com – ebook – http://tinyurl.com/pj7sowz

Kobo Books – ebook – http://tinyurl.com/nvbasf3

Barnes & Noble – ebook – http://tinyurl.com/ob3szbq

~ ~ ~

Father, You are the Lord of Angel Armies, the God of Second Chances, and Author of The Greatest Story Ever Told. We bow before You in awe and thanksgiving. Bless Gail with far-reaching influence for good through her stories and make our lives testimonies to Your goodness. For Jesus’ sake

 

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Mother Love: Never Old

Mother Love

Mother love is never old. Yesterday was my mother’s 98th birthday. She wasn’t present in bodily form; she passed into Glory 22 years ago.

Mother’s spirit hovered around me all day.

Goldie Leona Banks Brooks was no shrinking violet. Or pansy. She was more like the lantana and verbena that bloom in Texas most of the year. I doubt she’d delight in this comparison, but hear me out.

First, these hardy plants thrive in heat and drought and aren’t fussy about the soil. They add bold color to the garden and require zero tending. They’re dependable and determined, and they find a place to bloom, invited or not. They don’t give off fancy fragrances, but they don’t apologize either.

Mother’s favorite flower was the rose (with the orchid coming in a close second). I think she admired their delicacy, and I know she loved the scent of the rose. It’s a good thing she was neither a rose nor an orchid, fragile and fussy about her surroundings. She wouldn’t have managed as a Great Depression farm wife otherwise. Nor would she have survived twenty-five trying years of widowhood, holding onto the home and farm land she and Daddy worked so hard to acquire.

Girl Thoughts

January 17th appears on the calendar each year, and I return to memories of growing up as Goldie’s girl. She had always wanted a daughter, but by 1941 she had given birth to three boys and buried one. So when in 1946 her doctor confirmed she was expecting another child, all she could think were girl thoughts.

Thereafter, she made a pest of herself among church friends, asking them to pray for Goldie to have a girl. (Truthfully, they learned to run the other way when they saw her coming.

Join our Author Chat with Lisa Thornton Stillwell

Welcome, readers

Today we’re chatting with Lisa Stillwell, author of two non-fiction books: I Asked, God Spoke: True Stories of Devotion and her fascinating Christian Film Stars: Interviews With the Best.

Lisa has also authored two booklets: Dealing With Mom’s Cancer: A Story of Faith and When Someone You Love Does Not Believe.

Grab a cup and join our circle. Make a comment, and you’re eligible to win one of Lisa’s books.

~ ~ ~

Welcome, Lisa

We’re so glad you joined us today, Lisa. Thank you for sharing a bit of your journey–and your heart.

Please tell us a bit about where you’ve been, where you are today, and where you’re headed.

Pre-Author Life of Lisa Stillwell 

I grew up in a small town in Benson, North Carolina. I lived in the country about a mile down a dirt road. My grandparents lived right beside of me. I would often walk next door just so I could hear their words of wisdom. They often would tell me about Jesus and how much he loved me. It made my young heart happy to hear that the God that made the pretty stars at night also loved me.

Growing up in the country was nice. I didn’t know then that God was there communicating to me through the fireflies I chased. He knew that one day I would chase His light even faster.


First Book by Lisa Stillwell 
Available on Amazon at http://amzn.to/2ixcaBz.

I wrote my first book–I Asked, God Spoke–several years ago. Every challenge I was going through at the time I would ask, “What are you trying to say to me, God?”

I would tie a Bible verse into it and write my devotion. I put them together and turned them into a book so others could learn from my highs and lows. The day my first books arrived brought much joy and excitement. I remember feeling a sense of accomplishment. I knew that I had done what God wanted me to do.


Your journey since …

Available on Amazon at http://amzn.to/2iNbeGH.

My most recent book–Christian Film Stars: Interviews With The Best–just released November 30, 2016. 

I was so blessed by writing this book! I was able to interview Alex Kendrick and  from War Room; Shannen Fields from Facing the Giants; and so many others in the faith-based industry. The stars also give their testimony about what led them to the Lord and what started them on their journey.

I felt in my heart it was important to write this book because there are so many faith-based films that people know nothing about. Hopefully, this book will reach hearts and touch lives.

I have also published two booklets based in personal experience: Dealing with Mom’s Cancer: a Story of Faith and When Someone You Love Does not Believe.

Any Lisa Stillwell advice?

The best advice I can give when it comes to writing or anything else you are led to do is to remember who you are doing things for. Not everyone is going to care about what you are doing as much as you. When you think about quitting remember why you started. (Tweet That!) If you start it with and for God, you’ll finish it in the same manner. Don’t give up!

How may readers reach Lisa Stillwell?

Facebook: http://bit.ly/2iwSATC

Amazon’s Author Central: http://amzn.to/2hLeyW1

Kindle version available on Amazon at http://amzn.to/2ix8P5i.

 

Lord, we give you the credit for the good in our lives. Without You we could do nothing. Walk with us and keep our eyes and ears trained on You. For Jesus’ sake 

… apart from me you can do nothing.

John 15:5b

The post Join our Author Chat with Lisa Thornton Stillwell appeared first on Linda Brooks Davis.

A Writer’s Twelve Days of Christmas Memories

 
December 25 marks the first of Twelve Days of Christmas . 
By Xavier Romero-Frias – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index...

Supposedly the Twelve Days of Christmas refers to the days between Christmas and Epiphany on January 6. 

The first known print version of the song we know appeared in England in 1780 in a children’s book entitled Mirth and Mischief, which presents it as a cumulative memory-and-forfeits game. The subtitle, “Sung at King Pepin’s ball,” suggests it originated in France a millennium prior. The only known King Pepin, father of Charlemagne, ruled France 752-768. 

As a child I wondered whose Christmas was twelve days long. Mine was only one. Considering the antiquity of the song, it’s no wonder I scratch my head at a Christmas lasting twelve days. And at the assorted birds and strange personages considered plum presents. 

As an adult I wonder how twelve days of Christmas memories might look. So why not a cumulative blog beginning twelve days before the Big Day? 

The First Day of Christmas

On the First Day of Christmas,  my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree. Hmm. Pear trees don’t grow outside my back door. Nor would I know what to do with a partridge if on Christmas Day my true love presented me one perched in a pear tree.

But I’ve set up a Christmas tree or two in 70 years of life. The earliest tree in my memory wore a frock of silver icicles. Beneath her petticoats lay treasures galore: a china tea set, a dolly in a carriage, and a rocker of my own.

However, what dangled in her boughs like partridges in pear trees were bright ornaments galore. I recall their shapes. Their colors. And their textures. 

Matter of fact, I’ve saved a few.

One brings to mind a far-off star that came to Earth when a certain Prince was born.

The pink one reminds me of my dolly’s blanket. 

 

 

Ribbon candy.

 

 

And a blue norther (a term known as Texas speak) .

 

These old ornaments aren’t partridges. Or a pear tree. But they’re symbols, all the same … of true love–my parents’ and God’s. No partridge or pear tree can compare.

The Second of Twelve Days of Christmas

On the Second Day of Christmas, my true love gave me two turtle doves. Again, turtle doves don’t hang out around my house in Central Texas. But according to Wikipedia, they’re common in Great Britain and Europe. 

What I love most about these featured friends is they generally bond for life. Isn’t that sweet? No wonder they’re Day 2. 

This reminds me of my parents on all those Christmas mornings growing up. Often holding hands, they had way more fun sitting to the side watching us than we did opening packages. Their smiles outdid the tree lights.  

I’m so grateful they paired for life.

The Third of Twelve Days of Christmas 

When asked what comes in 3s at Christmastime, who doesn’t think Wise Men? Or the three Christian virtues–faith, hope, and love–or the Holy Trinity? I often think of us three Brooks kids (before there was Dale, the fourth): Jerry, Dalton, and Linda. But if you peek into Mirth and Mischief, you’ll find another threesome: three French hens. 

Retrieved from http://mygoldenbuffies.weebly.com/inf... on December 14, 2016.

What’s so great about French hens? Well, the term crève-cœur refers to a broken heart. So maybe the poet figured a trio of Crèvecœur fowls, one of the oldest French breeds, could mend a maid’s broken heart thrice over. Besides, they’re known for their excellent egg production, meat quality, and friendliness. 

However the best party-of-three in my box of Christmas memories has to be my triplet grandchildren in 2005: Ethan, Ella, and Davis.

The Fourth of Twelve Days of Christmas

On the fourth day our famous giver presents his true love four colly birds. (We now say calling birds, but the original is colly, which means black as coal–the common blackbird.) 

Public Domain: [[File/Nederlandsche vogelen (KB) – Turdus merula (016f).jpg|Nederlandsche vogelen (KB) – Turdus merula (016f)]]

Check out Wikipedia’s recordings of blackbirds’ songs. They’re actually quite nice, which surprises me. The black birds that hung around our farm when I was girl produced a “caw” like crows. Not something you’d give someone you love. 

The song’s four colly birds brings to mind my three brothers and me as an acapella quartet. We were the Brooks Quartet, known only to family and a handful of friends. Our mother thought we were the bees’ knees, so prior to her death we recorded some songs for her funeral. We wore black, and we sang, (Mother would have loved it) so I guess you’d say we gifted her with four colly calling birds. You can listen here: 

http://lindabrooksdavis.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/PreciousMemories_BrooksQuartet_1995.mp3
The Fifth of Twelve Days of Christmas

Five gold rings arrive on the fifth day of Christmas.

Thus far the singer’s true love has presented a flock of fowls to tend. So why the departure into jewelry? Your guess is as good as mine. 

Something tells me the giver of gifts knew he’d pushed his luck as far as he could. Better come up with something grand. 

Like a golden ring for each finger of his love’s left hand.

Works for me. 

Meanwhile, the only memory of five I’ve come up with is the size of the “perfect” family of the ’50s: 5.

The Sixth of Twelve Days of Christmas

A half-dozen geese arrive on our singer’s front doorstep on day six. Not ordinary geese, mind you. These geese are a-laying. 

Now, if these six girls have been swimming with a dandy suitor, they could produce a flock in less than a month.

But if they’re bachelorettes, six geese can produce more eggs than the lady of the house cares to prepare. Their eggs can be two to four times the size of a chicken egg. That’s a lot of scrambled eggs, folks. 

Geese are better watchdogs than … well, watchdogs. They’re supposedly credited with saving Rome from a total sack by the Gauls a couple thousand years ago. The dogs slept through the enemy invasion, but the geese created a racket that woke up the Romans and kept the house from coming down completely. 

A word to the wise: Don’t ruffle the feathers of a gander. He’s one tough critter. Which reminds me of my mother. You didn’t mess with her kids. Or you’d regret it. 

The Seventh of Twelve Days of Christmas

I love swans.

Are there more graceful creatures in the world? Or more romantic? Sigh …

But what would I do with seven birds with a wingspan of ten feet each? I can’t imagine all seven trying to take off and land from the bird bath out back. 

I love that they’re monogamous. And fierce protectors of their young. Something tells me that’s exactly why the suitor in this old song gave his loved one seven swans a-swimming. He was promising to love her and be true to her seven times seven! A sign of good things to come.

One memory of swans stands out. Way back in the early ’70s our family lived in West Germany. The Sound of Music had been filmed not far away–in the Salzburg, Austria area. So off we puttered in our little Fiat to Salzburg where we found the grand estate … the gazebo … the lake … and the swans. Those photos are somewhere in a bin of old photos. When I find them, you’ll be the first to know.  

The Eighth of Twelve Days of Christmas

On Day Eight our suitor sends his loved one eight maids a-milking. 

Now I ask you … Why would a man woo his lady with eight unmarried young women, milking or otherwise? 

Apparently when the phrase “let’s go a-milking” was common, it communicated something akin to “let’s go spooning” or “let’s get hitched.” In that case, a maid and her milk cow could represent a marriage proposal. Eight maids and eight cows would knock off the recipient’s stockings. Why?

Milk wasn’t just a nutritious drink, but from it came butter, cheese, buttermilk, yogurt, custards, etc. But it wasn’t as conveniently available in the 15th-19th centuries as in the 21st. No mechanized dairy farms. Plastic gallon jugs. Waxed cardboard half-gallons. Or refrigerated grocery shelves. Matter of fact, milk was only available to those who could afford to graze at least one cow or goat and a little patch of grass to feed them. Add many more, and they’d need a barn to house them, a large family or staff to milk them, and acreage to feed them.

To Milk or Not To Milk

I was reared on a farm where a milk cow or two provided our family with milk and butter. Mother could have made cheese, buttermilk, and yogurt if she had wanted. The big difference: Mother had a choice. 

Back when this song was created, a girl had to be born to–or married into–the wealth required for a stable of cows and milk maids. What girl wouldn’t want to marry an amorous fellow who could afford to give away eight cows and the girls to milk them? 

This spooning dude possessed more than a single gold coin or two. Change jingled in every pocket as he hooked his thumb at his chest and declared, “Stick with me. I’ll take you a-milking.” 

I figure this fair maiden planned to accept his proposal all along. So far she’s received a partridge, a pear tree, two turtle doves, three black birds, four French hens, five golden rings, six laying geese, seven swimming swans, and now eight milk maids.

Why not hold out a bit longer? She might get lucky and find nine drummers on her front lawn tomorrow. 

The Ninth of Twelve Days of Christmas

Sure enough on the ninth day, nine drummers arrive at our maid’s front door, all of them a-drumming. 

Why would a young lady welcome such racket?

As it turns out, drums were associated with trumpets which announced the arrival of each course during banquets. And heralded important personages. 

Ahh. Now I see. The suitor of Twelve Days fame was making a point with his true love. Their wedding feast would consist of nine courses, each announced by an additional drummer. And there be so many important guests it would take nine drummers to announce them all.

This girl’s got a catch!

The Tenth of Twelve Days of Christmas
Public Domain: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Fi...

As if the gifts thus far didn’t raise the roof high enough, on the tenth day of Christmas our suitor gives his loved one ten pipers piping.

Which makes sense, actually. Pipes (known as fifes) and drums (known as tabors) were a part of the merriment music at medieval celebrations. 

Not only is this groom affluent enough to purchase a bevy of fowls, he possesses enough property to house and maintain the birds and eight cows in barnyard, forest, and lake. 

This guy has the means to throw a party his guests won’t forget. Our maid should prepare herself for some serious merrymaking. 

The Eleventh of Twelve Days of Christmas 

Our groom has spared no expense. He’s gifted his loved one in abundance. The pipers are piping. The drummers are drumming.

It’s party time!

The guests arrive–starting with eleven lovely ladies, all of them, dancing.

Imagine what a colorful sight this medieval event must have been. I visualize brocade and silk gowns and a rainbow of bright veils and scarves. 

My only memory that involves eleven of anything is my eleventh birthday party. 

My father treated us kids to a hayride while Mother (due to deliver a baby any minute) and two of her friends prepared our spot in the park.

The drinks were iced in a big tin pan. The weiners were sizzling on a hot grill. The buns and chips were ready. The cake was covered until the perfect time to unveil it … when an ambulance screamed past the park … headed in the direction of our excursion.

Mother said later that her heart skipped a beat as she wondered if something had happened to one of us. Surely not. 

As it turned out, something had happened. One of the boys had tried to climb into the cab of the truck, and an overhanging tree limb knocked him through the air and plopped him onto the ground, bloodied.

Thank God, what could have been a tragedy of immense proportions turned out all right in the end. The boy sustained injury but was himself soon. 

My eleventh birthday celebration was punctuated by terror that turned into thanksgiving. My little brother was born the next day–the best belated birthday gift ever!

The Twelfth of Twelve Days of Christmas

Twelve leaping lords appear as the final act. 

Imagine the display of wealth. Fowls and cows with their maids. Drums and drummers. Pipes and pipers. And ladies dancing. 

Now the courtly men join them in a not-so-ordinary display of dancing.

Men danced with swords or antlers prior to battle and at grand celebrations in the Middle Ages. Their accompaniment: drums and fifes. Their dances involved great leaps that signified power and fertility–the higher the leap, the greater the victory or harvest. 

As far as memories these dozen days bring to mind … A child’s song from church when I was growing up went something like this … There were twelve apostles Jesus called to help Him. Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and his brother John, Philip, Thomas, Matthew, James the son of Alphaeus, Thaddeus, Simon, Judas, and Bartholomew. 

So there you have it, the Twelve Days of Christmas. Twelve days of feasting, music, and dancing. Twelve fantastic gifts. An ecstatic bride and groom. And a bunch of over-stuffed, partied-out guests staggering home.

P.S. Here are a few of the “days” featured on the Christmas tree skirt I made forty years ago: 

 

 

 

 

 

The post A Writer’s Twelve Days of Christmas Memories appeared first on Linda Brooks Davis.

A Writer’s Twelve Days of Christmas

 
Today marks the first of Twelve Days of Christmas . 

As a child I wondered whose Christmas was twelve days long. Mine was one day and one alone. The famous tune is known as a cumulative song, so why not a cumulative blog? 

The First Day of Christmas

On the First Day of Christmas my true love gave to me a partridge in a pear tree. Hmm. Pear trees don’t grow outside my back door. Nor would I know what to do with a partridge. 

But I’ve set up a Christmas tree or two in 70 years of life. The earliest tree in my memory wore a frock of silver icicles. Beneath her petticoats lay treasures galore: a china tea set, a dolly in a carriage, and a rocker of my own.

However, what dangled in her boughs like partridges in pear trees were bright ornaments galore. I recall their shapes. Their colors. And their textures. 

Matter of fact, I’ve saved a few.

One brings to mind a far-off star that came to Earth when a certain Prince was born.

 

 

Then there’s the pink one for the dolly’s blanket. 

 

 

 

 

And ribbon candy.

 

 

And a blue norther.

 

 

 

Not partridges. Nor a pear tree. But symbols, all the same … of true love–my parents’ and God’s. No partridge or pear tree can compare.

Tomorrow we’ll look at what the Second Day of Christmas brings to mind. Think turtle doves. 

Stay tuned … and join in! Let’s see what we can come up with in twelve days. 

The post A Writer’s Twelve Days of Christmas appeared first on Linda Brooks Davis.

Join our Author Chat with Lena Nelson Dooley

Welcome, Lena Nelson Dooley!

Look who’s stopped by for our Author Chat, readers! You’re in for a treat. Our honored guest, Lena Nelson Dooley, is a best-selling, award-winning–need I say prolific–author of a bevy of excellent books. 

Grab a cup of something-or-other and settle back as Lena tells us a bit about herself.

**(Leave a comment or question, and you’ll be entered into a drawing for the Kindle version of Rescuing Christmas.)

~ ~ ~

Before Lena’s Life as a Writer
2016 Release

I grew up in Arkansas, a middle child with an older brother and a younger sister. My mother died when I was seven and a very traumatic time followed. (Tweet That!) After that, my father married our stepmother, a wonderful woman who loved our Daddy and us very much.



I earned a BA in Speech and Drama, and did graduate work in Drama.

My husband and I married 52 years ago. We knew each other only three months and three days before we married.


How Lena Became an Author
2016 Release

God told me to become a professional writer in 1984. Readers, check out the story on the About Me page at www.lenanelsondooley.com. 


I finished my first novel–Home to Her Heart—in about six months. Zondervan accepted it, but before the contract came, the higher-ups decided to drop the fiction line. I submitted it several times to other publishers, each time after a major rewrite from the notes when it was rejected.

2016 Release

Barbour started the Heartsong line of Christian romances in 1992. I obtained the phone number of the publisher and asked if I could send my manuscript. He said yes. That was in October 1991.

I waited three months to ask about my manuscript. No answer. I waited longer and wrote again. Eventually I called him. He said that my manuscript was on the editor’s desk and he connected me to her. She told me that if I would cut 10,000 words from the manuscript, they’d contract the book. I assured her I would.

2016 Release

Needing to get it done quickly so they could consider it for a contract, I worked a whole week on the manuscript and mailed it on Friday. On Saturday, I received the contract in the mail. They started the contract through the channels right after our phone call.


Lena’s Journey Since 1992

God has awesomely blessed me through the years. (Tweet That!) This year He’s really heaping on things. A novella collection I’m in–Mountain Christmas Brides–has spent the last two months on the ECPA bestseller list. It has spent the last three weeks on the Publisher’s Weekly Top 10 Religious novels list.

Expert advice for aspiring writers

Connect with other authors. Network. Attend conferences. Hone your writing skills.

~ ~ ~

Thank you for stopping by to chat, Lena. What a fantastic career! We love knowing a bit more about you, including your awesomely successful marriage. Bravo! 

Readers, you can find Lena and her books at these links:

Website: www.lenanelsondooley.com

Blog: http://lenanelsondooley.blogspot.com

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/lenandooley/

Facebook: http://bit.ly/2g1xhMf

Twitter: www.twitter.com/lenandooley

Goodreads:  http://bit.ly/2gcWKAQ

Instagram: www.instagram.com/lenanelsondooley

Amazon: http://amzn.to/2gvnpqb

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Join Our Author Chat With Caryl McAdoo

Welcome, readers! As we say in Texas, I knew the first moment I laid eyes on Caryl McAdoo I wanted her as a friend.

How right I was! 

Gather ’round as we chat with Caryl Lawrence McAdoo. I think you’ll want her as a friend too.

~ ~ ~

Before Caryl McAdoo, the Author 

What a great opportunity! Though born in Long Beach, California, my parents got me back to Dallas, Texas at six months old, so being a TEXAN is all I know! An only child for eight years might have made me think I was special, at least that’s what all my cousins accused me of.

I went to Letot Elementary in Dallas from the first through the seventh grade. Then we moved to Irving, a suburb and my home for more than fifty years.

Love Shows Up

In my sixteenth summer, I met Ron McAdoo and from our first date on, he and I were together, marrying as soon as we graduated at eighteen!

Well, together except for two of the six months we were divorced…we remarried on our sixth wedding anniversary. Added my only born daughter that next year; she had two big brothers. Then when she was seven and the boys teens, God surprised me with another blessing, a third son who just married his beloved October 29.

Writing with my husband began in earnest in the mid-’80s, then first published in ’99 after being mentored by some awesome folks at the DFW Writers’ Workshop.

I LOVE being an author and pray my story gives God glory! 




A Debut for Caryl McAdoo


Back in ’98, Ron and I were asked to write a antique guide book for a local, regional press. The best part was seeing McAdoo on the spine!

Though I had nine titles when Simon and Schuster bought VOW UNBROKEN, they counted me a “new” author, and THAT release was exceptionally exciting…the entire process…all the different editors and seeing the cover, holding that book for the first time.

I’d love to give a couple commenters a print copy of VOW as a giveaway. *[Readers, comments made through Monday, the 5th, go into the hat! Announcement made here and on Facebook on Tuesday, the 6th.]

Writing, a Journey 

Writing is mostly all about sitting at your computer and doing it! (Tweet That!) Keep at it! Keep getting new books out, and you must keep the buzz gong by posting and having contests and attending parties. 



When Simon and Schuster elected not to exercise their option on book two in the series, many writing friends offered their condolences, but I said, “No, no! I’m not upset at all! This only means God has a different plan!” (Tweet That!)

One day after my contractual release, I independently published book two, HEARTS STOLEN. That was in September 2014. 

In 2015, wholly with God’s help and blessings and favor, I released eleven new titles and marketed successfully enough to get over 250,000 copies of my stories into the hands of readers all over the world.

When 2016 rolled around, God told me to SLOW DOWN. I want to obey Him since that’s how we show Him we love Him. 

But it was like I didn’t know how. It seemed very hard. So I landed up in the hospital three times in the first few months.

Then He sent me on a month long all-expenses paid vacation on a yacht, island hopping in the San Juan and Canada’s Gulf Islands. I did cut back to three releases in 2016 and many, many more new readers—still learning how to slow down!

Author-ly Advice from Caryl McAdoo

My advice? Study your craft. The elements of creative writing can be learned, but it is different from most every other type of writing. I don’t think you can learn storytelling. It’s a gift.

If God has called you to write, study to show yourself approved. 

Do not rush any step and put out an inferior product. It will only hurt your reputation and writing career. It is HARD to be patient, but those who wait upon the Lord will renew their strength and mount up with wings as eagles! Woo hoo!

I LOVE being up high! I want to soar in the Kingdom and accomplish every plan He had for me the day He created me in my mother’s womb.

 (Tweet That!) 

Blessings to you and thank you for stopping by and reading my guest post. Thank you, Linda, for inviting me to come. It’s been a lovely visit because I love you! Linda and I met at ACFW in 2013, that year before VOW UNBROKEN debuted in March. The bonding was instantaneous!

~ ~ ~

Caryl is absolutely right. Our bond was instantaneous! My head has been spinning the past three years as Caryl has released title after title after title. This girl’s on God’s mission, ya’ll!

You can find Caryl on Twitter at https://twitter.com/CarylMcAdoo

On Facebook at http://bit.ly/2gWgBFW

~ ~ ~

Dear Lord, only You are AWEsome. We are filled with wonder in Your presence! Whether reader or writer, knowing we’re on mission with the God of Heaven is beyond every dream or desire. Bless Caryl as she spreads the Good News of Jesus Christ in her stories. Touch the hearts of readers and give us writers more and more of You each day. ~ For Jesus’ sake.

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Worrywart Confesses All

Chalk it up to old-fashioned anxiety. Fear of the unknown. Or learning from the World’s Greatest Worrier—my mother. Whatever tag you slap on it, I morphed into a worrywart years ago.

Worried About Worry

Worry is plain-ol’ sin. I know.

It’s lack of trust in our trustworthy God.

Fear elbowing out faith. 

Doubt doubling down.

And pride pushing aside praise. 

Do the Saved Worry?

Don’t get me wrong. I’m saved by the blood of Jesus. Bound for the Promised Land. A daughter of the King of Heaven. And I’m one of those victors at the back of the Book.

But may I get dreadfully honest? I’ve wrestled for years with a wily enemy. He scoped me out when I was girl, spied on me at playtime. At school. On the bus. And at slumber parties. 

Not that he was particularly astute, mind you. I was easy to read.

The Worry-lessness of Childhood

I shrugged off others’ stories of misery. Bad things happened to other people. Not a Brooks. God wouldn’t let it.

Now let’s go play.

Worrywart-hood didn’t happen when my brother drove his small car under a parked 18-wheeler and clung to life, comatose, for a month. My thirteen-year-old assumptions were called into question, I admit. Butch was accident prone. That was all.

It didn’t happen the day my firstborn, a son, came into the world. And died.

Nor a year later when my daughter was born and I checked her breathing–her chest rising and falling–at midnight … three a.m. … and again at four.

Or when my second son was born, and the doctor walked into the room with news: “Your baby will have to remain in the hospital.” 

No, I had learned how to worry long before.

Learning to Worry

Early one morning when I was fourteen, I awoke with my mother sitting on my bed, crying. 

“What is it?”

“It’s Daddy.”

“What about him?”

“He’s sick.”

I tried in the silence to imagine Daddy abed with a thermometer in his mouth, but the image wouldn’t stay put. Daddy wasn’t sick … ever. But then again, he could be….  Couldn’t he?

Daddy wasn’t Jesus Himself. Granted. But he was mighty close. So … OK. Daddy’s sick. 

But why in the world would that steal a moment of Mother’s sleep? 

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Muscular dystrophy. Doc says he has two years.”

The Effects of Worry

You know how a kaleidoscope takes the same array of colored shapes and rearranges them into different designs? That’s what happened to my world. The pieces shifted.

But the colors faded to gray.

They gathered into a great boulder that followed me around, waiting to drop atop the house Daddy built. 

All these years later (and that’s a lot of years, folks), I still remember: The colors faded and fear set in. Suddenly it didn’t pay to be a Brooks.

As it turned out, muscular dystrophy wasn’t the culprit. Nor was ALS. Or muscular sclerosis. Physicians couldn’t put a label on it. But I could. 

It was a ten-year knot in my stomach. A twinge when the phone rang. A pang when I hugged Daddy, bony and frail. It was a stab in my heart at the sight of my hero, wheelchair bound, bent over at the table to reach his plate.

And it was battling to defend one thin line of hope. Daddy taught a Bible class from his electric wheelchair, his body and head braced straight. Somehow he would keep breathing. I just knew he would. (Tweet That)

Until he couldn’t.

And didn’t.

Satan’s Foothold

You see, Satan got a foothold that day in my girlhood when Mother sobbed at my bedside. I’ve been shoving him out ever since. Just when I think I’ve kicked in his boot toe for good, he smashes the door wide open. And here we go again.

Thankfully I don’t have to call out my own sullied name. At the name of Jesus even the demons tremble. My only defense is the Holy Spirit. At the sight of Him, the devil flees. No weapon or armor can stand against the Lord God Almighty.

But–oh–how my flesh craves the delusion of strength, the power of my will. How foolish.

Jesus’ Three-Part Solution

There’s one way and one way alone to abide in peace, and that’s to abide in Jesus. In Him I am fed. In Him I am fulfilled. And in Him I am satisfied. 

Man shall not live on bread alone. Luke 4:4

Worship the Lord your God and serve him only. Luke 4:8

Do not put the Lord your God to the test. Luke 4:12

Does this sound familiar, anyone? As we look forward to the bounty of Thanksgiving Day, let’s pray for one another.

Dear Lord, you promised your children peace–not as the world gives, but as only you can provide. Peace is among the fruits of the Spirit. So why do your children war? Why do we battle and struggle and fear? On Thanksgiving Day and everyday, help us make room for the Spirit of Peace–in our minds and hearts and homes. Make us childlike in our trust of You. Hollow us out so we can receive more of you, the Prince of Peace. ~ For Jesus’ sake

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

John 14:27

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Happy Birthday to my Husband, Al!

Happy Birthday to my husband, Al.

I want to grow up to be like my husband, Al.

First of all, human hearts don’t come kinder. The Lord blessed my husband with a sixth sense: for need. His eyes snap to the one no one else notices.

Motives don’t come purer. His are Windex clear. He’s selfless–pure and simple.

And love doesn’t come steadier. Don’t kid yourself. You won’t shake his Teton love. 

Nor does devotion run deeper. His is a trench. Drill all you want. You won’t reach the bottom of his Mariana devotion. When Al spoke the vow “I do,” he meant it.

So … Happy Birthday, Husband-Mine. You’re God’s gift to me. 

If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it.

1 Corinthians 12:26

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!

Philippians 4:4

Well done, good and faithful servant!

Matthew 25:21a

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