Cathy Bryant's Blog: CatBryant.com ~ Journey Blog, page 72
November 19, 2012
Whose Voice?
Remember the old cartoons where a tiny angel sat on one shoulder of the character and the devil sat on the other? I can only speak for myself, but there are times when I feel the same way, and it causes me to question whose voice I'm hearing.
I'm so grateful for verses that deal with hearing God's voice, and I believe with all my heart that when we're in right relationship with Him, we will know when our Shepherd speaks and when an imposter sneaks in.
"My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me..." ~John 10:27 (NASB)
So how can we be sure we're following the right voice?
Commune with Christ
When we spend one-on-one time with another human being on a consistent basis, we learn their voice and their standard operating procedure. It's the same as a disciple of Christ. We know Him through His Word and through prayer and meditation. In addition, He knows us, not only through our intimate fellowship with Him, but as the One who created us and predestined our days.
It's worth mentioning that in the Bible, the word "hear" always includes obedience. It's not enough for us to understand what God wants. We must obey in order to follow Him.
Consider the Enemy's Tactics
Any soldier will tell you that one of the key aspects of war is understanding how your opponent thinks and operates. If you think about it, we do the same thing when playing games. Part of our strategy is trying to think ahead of the other players.
First of all, we need to remember that Satan is a liar, a thief, and a murderer. He roams around looking for those he can devour. He'll stop at nothing to get his way and to trip us up. But we can also gain some clues as to how he operates from the stories of the temptation of Eve (Genesis 3) and in his temptation of Christ (Matthew 4).
He twists truth to make it sound believable.
He plays off our fears, appetites, and desires.
He appeals to our pride.
He casts doubt.
Come to Grips with the Evil Within
Though no one is able to snatch us from the Master's hand, we are all still very much capable of evil because of the old sin nature within us. Even Paul, the apostle, dealt with the evil that resided within (Romans 7:21-25). It's possible for us to give way to an inner voice.
But each one is tempted when he is carried away and enticed by his own lust. Then when lust has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and when sin is accomplished, it brings forth death. ~James 1:14-15 (NASB)
In conclusion, to stay on the right path, it's paramount that we stay in close communion with the Good Shepherd so we can hear His voice and obey. But the enemy will push the limits. Know in advance how he operates. If we find ourselves making decisions based on fear or pride, we can pretty well be assured that Satan has his grubby little paws all over it. Lastly, we must also be aware of our tendency to be drug away by our own lusts and desires. When we keep all this in mind as we journey toward our final home, it helps us learn to listen all the more closely for that still, small voice, who whispers words of peace, joy, love, encouragement and hope.
Father God and Savior, Thank You for being our Good Shepherd, for speaking words of life. Thank You for the joy of following You and Your voice. Make us aware of the enemy's schemes. Teach us to be on guard against his attacks. May we also recognize our own tendency to sin. Keep us from evil--the evil one, the evil within, and the evil without. Thank You for the ability to hear Your voice. Amen.
November 16, 2012
Potential
The old house had definitely seen better days. Cheap linoleum flooring ripped as easy as paper. When we placed a pencil on the floor it rolled to the lowest spot in the house. The refrigerator stood in the dining room, and an indescribable odor penetrated every square inch.
Most people would have turned around and walked out, declining the opportunity to purchase the century-old house. In spite of the obvious flaws, I saw potential. Where others saw current dinginess, I saw future charm and beauty.
It's the same way with us.
We look at ourselves and see our past mistakes and flubs. Others may pinpoint our faults. But when our Creator looks at us, He sees what we can be.
Take Saul of Tarsus for example. Saul was a devout Jew, determined to do away with a sect who followed Jesus of Nazareth. In his determination to stop what he considered heresy, he consented to the death of Stephen and was responsible for throwing many Christians into jail. In other words, he persecuted the followers of Christ, and in doing so persecuted Jesus Himself.
When the disciples of Jesus saw Saul they feared treachery, persecution, jail time, and even death--and rightfully so based on his past behavior. So why would Jesus choose Saul to carry the message of His good news to the Gentiles?
Because He saw Saul's potential. Here was a man committed to a cause, a man who prayed to the God of heaven. He was simply misguided because he had not yet encountered Christ.
Is there a story in all the Bible where a man changed so completely? Talk about a turnaround.
Saul/Paul is only one example where God saw potential. He looked at Abram and saw Abraham, the father of many nations. He looked at a young shepherd boy and saw a king. He looked at a deceiver named Jacob and saw a leader for His new nation, Israel.
I'm so glad that because of the blood of Jesus, God looks past my sins, my flaws, my mistakes, and sees who I have the potential to be.
Most people would have turned around and walked out, declining the opportunity to purchase the century-old house. In spite of the obvious flaws, I saw potential. Where others saw current dinginess, I saw future charm and beauty.
It's the same way with us.
We look at ourselves and see our past mistakes and flubs. Others may pinpoint our faults. But when our Creator looks at us, He sees what we can be.
Take Saul of Tarsus for example. Saul was a devout Jew, determined to do away with a sect who followed Jesus of Nazareth. In his determination to stop what he considered heresy, he consented to the death of Stephen and was responsible for throwing many Christians into jail. In other words, he persecuted the followers of Christ, and in doing so persecuted Jesus Himself.
When the disciples of Jesus saw Saul they feared treachery, persecution, jail time, and even death--and rightfully so based on his past behavior. So why would Jesus choose Saul to carry the message of His good news to the Gentiles?
Because He saw Saul's potential. Here was a man committed to a cause, a man who prayed to the God of heaven. He was simply misguided because he had not yet encountered Christ.
Is there a story in all the Bible where a man changed so completely? Talk about a turnaround.
Saul/Paul is only one example where God saw potential. He looked at Abram and saw Abraham, the father of many nations. He looked at a young shepherd boy and saw a king. He looked at a deceiver named Jacob and saw a leader for His new nation, Israel.
I'm so glad that because of the blood of Jesus, God looks past my sins, my flaws, my mistakes, and sees who I have the potential to be.
November 15, 2012
Novel Research
When I first dipped my toes in the writing waters, I foolishly assumed that research was only necessary if you were writing a historical novel. Boy, was I wrong!
While it is true that historical novels require more research, every book you ever write will more than likely require some type of research. (Unless of course, you're a walking encyclopedia and the All-Star champion of Jeopardy...)
To give you an example from my own writing endeavors, for book one in the Miller's Creek novels, Texas Roads , I had to research how much money it would take to fund the renovation of a small community's downtown area and how grants work. For book two, A Path Less Traveled , I had to understand PTSD in children and how it was treated. I also had to research equine therapy. For The Way of Grace , (book 3) I had to learn when lawyers find out they pass the state bar for Texas. I had to understand the criminal trial process.
And for my novel in progress (NIP), book 4 entitled Pilgrimage of Promise, the research has been more extensive, mainly because it covers the 1960s in Miller's Creek. My research has included: the Vietnam War, the Kennedy assassination, the US conscription laws of that time period, Army bases and colleges near Atlanta, Georgia, popular songs and vehicles for the 60s, barrel-racing, and even what happened in Texas schools on the day JFK was shot.
Thank goodness for the internet!!!! By simply googling my questions, I found all the information I could ever need to make my story come to life. My favorite part of the research has been reading people's memories of their life on the day of the Kennedy assassination. The sense of shock and even sheer terror was palpable in those eye witness testimonies.
Another great way to research is to talk to people who lived during that time period. I was only two years old when Kennedy was shot and a child during the Vietnam War, but my mother has been a great resource. I found it fascinating that because the Vietnam War was played out on television in the living rooms of U.S. citizens for such a long time, people grew so weary of the coverage that they eventually tuned it out. Could that be part of the reason Vietnam vets weren't greeted with the same ceremony as veterans from other wars? Hmmmm....
Have a character with a career that you know nothing about? Find someone who has that career and pick their brain. (I had to do this a lot with the character of Gracie Soldano in The Way of Grace. So glad my oldest son is an attorney or I would've struggled with this one.)
Need to know the average salary of a schoolteacher in Rhode Island? Google it.
Yet another good way to do research is to read books and watch movies that are set in the same time period. This helps you see how other artists have added details to their work. For Pilgrimage of Promise I have created a list of movies to watch to help me with the realities of the Vietnam War. (Trust me when I say this is soooooo not my usual video fare. I don't do gore well, so I'll probably end up covering my eyes and poking my fingers in my ears for the really bad stuff.)
I've also found YouTube to be a great resource for research. It helped me with my barrel racing scene in Pilgrimage of Promise, and allowed me to experience the sights and sounds of the rodeo event without attending in person.
The totality of our research may never make it into our story, but those little details we unearth and add to the story will give it an authenticity our readers need for the story to come alive on the page.
Happy research (and writing!),
While it is true that historical novels require more research, every book you ever write will more than likely require some type of research. (Unless of course, you're a walking encyclopedia and the All-Star champion of Jeopardy...)
To give you an example from my own writing endeavors, for book one in the Miller's Creek novels, Texas Roads , I had to research how much money it would take to fund the renovation of a small community's downtown area and how grants work. For book two, A Path Less Traveled , I had to understand PTSD in children and how it was treated. I also had to research equine therapy. For The Way of Grace , (book 3) I had to learn when lawyers find out they pass the state bar for Texas. I had to understand the criminal trial process.
And for my novel in progress (NIP), book 4 entitled Pilgrimage of Promise, the research has been more extensive, mainly because it covers the 1960s in Miller's Creek. My research has included: the Vietnam War, the Kennedy assassination, the US conscription laws of that time period, Army bases and colleges near Atlanta, Georgia, popular songs and vehicles for the 60s, barrel-racing, and even what happened in Texas schools on the day JFK was shot.
Thank goodness for the internet!!!! By simply googling my questions, I found all the information I could ever need to make my story come to life. My favorite part of the research has been reading people's memories of their life on the day of the Kennedy assassination. The sense of shock and even sheer terror was palpable in those eye witness testimonies.
Another great way to research is to talk to people who lived during that time period. I was only two years old when Kennedy was shot and a child during the Vietnam War, but my mother has been a great resource. I found it fascinating that because the Vietnam War was played out on television in the living rooms of U.S. citizens for such a long time, people grew so weary of the coverage that they eventually tuned it out. Could that be part of the reason Vietnam vets weren't greeted with the same ceremony as veterans from other wars? Hmmmm....
Have a character with a career that you know nothing about? Find someone who has that career and pick their brain. (I had to do this a lot with the character of Gracie Soldano in The Way of Grace. So glad my oldest son is an attorney or I would've struggled with this one.)
Need to know the average salary of a schoolteacher in Rhode Island? Google it.
Yet another good way to do research is to read books and watch movies that are set in the same time period. This helps you see how other artists have added details to their work. For Pilgrimage of Promise I have created a list of movies to watch to help me with the realities of the Vietnam War. (Trust me when I say this is soooooo not my usual video fare. I don't do gore well, so I'll probably end up covering my eyes and poking my fingers in my ears for the really bad stuff.)
I've also found YouTube to be a great resource for research. It helped me with my barrel racing scene in Pilgrimage of Promise, and allowed me to experience the sights and sounds of the rodeo event without attending in person.
The totality of our research may never make it into our story, but those little details we unearth and add to the story will give it an authenticity our readers need for the story to come alive on the page.
Happy research (and writing!),
November 14, 2012
Because I Told You So
Were there any words I hated more as a child than "Because I told you so"? I especially hated hearing these words from my mother and swore I would never say them to my kids. Guess what? After a while, as parents we grow weary of having to explain why to our children. After all, we're the ones in charge, and "why?" soon becomes a challenge to our authority. In addition, the reasons for our directions are usually in the best interest of our kids. For example, we want them home at a certain time as a means of protecting them. So the question "why?" is moot point. Our answer "Because I told you so" is all the answer they need.
Interestingly enough, as God's children we often question "why?" to His direction in our lives. Have we not asked Him to be Lord of our life, agreeing that we will submit our will to His? As a gracious Father, sometimes He will tell us why, but often He doesn't. Why? (*cheeky grin*) Because He wants to test our obedience, to see if we are willing to obey Him completely without reservation and without question.
We see it time and time again in the Bible. In the garden with Adam and Eve, God gives them everything, but warns against the fruit of one tree. In the life of Abraham, God asks Abraham to offer the son of God's promise, Isaac, on an altar. (Boy, did Abraham pass the test of obedience!) In the life of Saul, the newly anointed king Israel had called for. Let's look at what God commanded:
Samuel said to Saul, “I am the one the Lord sent to anoint you king over his people Israel; so listen now to the message from the Lord. This is what the Lord Almighty says: ‘I will punish the Amalekites for what they did to Israel when they waylaid them as they came up from Egypt. Now go, attack the Amalekites and totally destroy[a] all that belongs to them. Do not spare them; put to death men and women, children and infants, cattle and sheep, camels and donkeys.’” ~1 Samuel 15:1-3 (NIV)
Just notice how graciously God offers the why--He is punishing the Amalekites for how they treated His chosen people.
But...His command is a little difficult to swallow for me. Totally destroy everything? Even the women and children and babies? That seems harsh and a little over the top to our way of thinking, at least to me.
Saul had no problem with that part of God's command. Kill all the people? Sure thing, God. Part of his obedience problem came with killing a fellow king. After all, wouldn't that be setting a precedent for the people that king killing was okay? The other part of his obedience problem came with destroying the spoils of war. Why kill perfectly good animals? He even justified his way of thinking--at least when the prophet Samuel confronted him--with using the animals to sacrifice to God. (Oh yeah, and there was that little thing about passing the blame on to the soldiers...)
But Samuel replied:
“Does the Lord delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices
as much as in obeying the Lord?
To obey is better than sacrifice,
and to heed is better than the fat of rams.
For rebellion is like the sin of divination,
and arrogance like the evil of idolatry.
Because you have rejected the word of the Lord,
he has rejected you as king.” ~1 Samuel 15:22-23 (NIV)
These verses show just how seriously God takes our total obedience. Partial obedience is disobedience. Samuel calls it rebellion and arrogance, and says its like idolatry. He's right. If we only obey partially, we are placing the god of self above the God of Glory. And as much as God enjoys our sacrifices, our obedience is more important.
Complete and total obedience to God is hard for us self-willed sinners. We're quick to find loop holes and to justify our disobedience, rebellion, and arrogance--to excuse our idolatry.
Oh, God of all creation and Lord of our lives. Forgive our lack of total obedience. Make us quick to obey, even when its something we don't want to do. Even when we're afraid. Even when what You command seems crazy to our way of thinking. Thank You, Father, that You always act in our best interest. Help us to trust You completely so we might obey You completely. In the name of Jesus, Amen.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to Him,
and he will make your paths straight. ~Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)
Interestingly enough, as God's children we often question "why?" to His direction in our lives. Have we not asked Him to be Lord of our life, agreeing that we will submit our will to His? As a gracious Father, sometimes He will tell us why, but often He doesn't. Why? (*cheeky grin*) Because He wants to test our obedience, to see if we are willing to obey Him completely without reservation and without question.
We see it time and time again in the Bible. In the garden with Adam and Eve, God gives them everything, but warns against the fruit of one tree. In the life of Abraham, God asks Abraham to offer the son of God's promise, Isaac, on an altar. (Boy, did Abraham pass the test of obedience!) In the life of Saul, the newly anointed king Israel had called for. Let's look at what God commanded:
Samuel said to Saul, “I am the one the Lord sent to anoint you king over his people Israel; so listen now to the message from the Lord. This is what the Lord Almighty says: ‘I will punish the Amalekites for what they did to Israel when they waylaid them as they came up from Egypt. Now go, attack the Amalekites and totally destroy[a] all that belongs to them. Do not spare them; put to death men and women, children and infants, cattle and sheep, camels and donkeys.’” ~1 Samuel 15:1-3 (NIV)
Just notice how graciously God offers the why--He is punishing the Amalekites for how they treated His chosen people.
But...His command is a little difficult to swallow for me. Totally destroy everything? Even the women and children and babies? That seems harsh and a little over the top to our way of thinking, at least to me.
Saul had no problem with that part of God's command. Kill all the people? Sure thing, God. Part of his obedience problem came with killing a fellow king. After all, wouldn't that be setting a precedent for the people that king killing was okay? The other part of his obedience problem came with destroying the spoils of war. Why kill perfectly good animals? He even justified his way of thinking--at least when the prophet Samuel confronted him--with using the animals to sacrifice to God. (Oh yeah, and there was that little thing about passing the blame on to the soldiers...)
But Samuel replied:
“Does the Lord delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices
as much as in obeying the Lord?
To obey is better than sacrifice,
and to heed is better than the fat of rams.
For rebellion is like the sin of divination,
and arrogance like the evil of idolatry.
Because you have rejected the word of the Lord,
he has rejected you as king.” ~1 Samuel 15:22-23 (NIV)
These verses show just how seriously God takes our total obedience. Partial obedience is disobedience. Samuel calls it rebellion and arrogance, and says its like idolatry. He's right. If we only obey partially, we are placing the god of self above the God of Glory. And as much as God enjoys our sacrifices, our obedience is more important.
Complete and total obedience to God is hard for us self-willed sinners. We're quick to find loop holes and to justify our disobedience, rebellion, and arrogance--to excuse our idolatry.
Oh, God of all creation and Lord of our lives. Forgive our lack of total obedience. Make us quick to obey, even when its something we don't want to do. Even when we're afraid. Even when what You command seems crazy to our way of thinking. Thank You, Father, that You always act in our best interest. Help us to trust You completely so we might obey You completely. In the name of Jesus, Amen.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to Him,
and he will make your paths straight. ~Proverbs 3:5-6 (NIV)
November 13, 2012
Tentative First Chapter Preview of "Pilgrimage of Promise"
Since my time to write blog posts is severely hampered in the writing of the fourth Miller's Creek book, Pilgrimage of Promise, I decided to post the first chapter as it stands right now. (Please remember this is the very rough first draft, and could be changed considerably during edits and rewrites.) I'd love to hear what you think!
Chapter One
January 2012
M
ama
Beth peered down at the only man she’d ever loved and lifted a hand to her
aching chest. Garbed in a hospital gown, Bo somehow seemed small and vulnerable
amidst the towering machines surrounding him. Though his eyes were closed in sleep,
the wrinkle between his now white brows revealed suffering. She allowed her gaze
to linger on every feature of the face she’d memorized years ago, growing fear
returning to gnaw at the last fringes of her unraveling hope.
She
moved to the window of the Baylor Medical Center hospital room and watched the
people scurrying below, hurrying to the warmth of skyscrapers. Another icy cold
and dark day. Another day in a month of days confined to this darkened room.
Dani and Steve had been up over the weekend, but with Dani expecting and running
the day care in her absence, and Steve tending to the business of Miller’s
Creek, they’d left Dallas yesterday to return home. Trish and Andy and the kids
would be up next weekend, but a hospital wasn’t a good place for kids who
needed to run and make noise and expend energy.
With
a heavy sigh she turned to face Bo again, her heart immediately moving to its
familiar position in her throat. Though she’d been through many storms in her
sixty plus years of living, none of them had shaken her to the core of her
faith like this one. She had to somehow find a way to lean on God’s promises to
help her through this valley of the shadow of death.
Lord, bring him through this.
Heal him. Please don’t take him away from me now. You’ve already taken Cecille, and I just
don’t think I can handle any more deaths in the family. Through tear-filled
eyes she once more glimpsed the pain etched on Bo’s face as the machine at the
head of the bed continued its infernal beeping. But I don’t want him to suffer, so if healing him is not part of Your
plan… She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing tears down her face, unable to
finish the prayer.
“You
okay, hon?”
His
whispered words shook her from self-pity, and she quickly swiped her face and
stepped toward him, relieved to see him awake. “Of course. Just being a silly
goose and giving into a little bit of a pity party.” She leaned across the bed
rail and cupped his face with her palm. “Are you feeling okay? Any pain?”
He
closed his eyes and gave his head a little shake. “Not too bad.”
“You’d
best not be feeding me a lie, you know.”
A
gentle laugh eased out of him, forcing his taut lips into a smile, the familiar
twinkle returning to his dark eyes. “Now would I do that?” He searched her face
and lifted one hand. “Never mind. Don’t answer.” He grew quiet momentarily, and
an expression came across his face that unnerved her. “Bethie, I know we
promised when we got married to not bring up the past, but I think it’s time.”
No! Every
fiber of her being screamed the word. That meant he was giving up. “Don’t you
dare give up on me, Bo Miller.”
The
door swung open, and Dr. Kumar whisked into the room. Though small in stature,
his constant motion gave him a large presence. “And how’s Mr. Bo doing today?”
“Okay.”
Dr.
Kumar faced her. “And does Dr. Mama Beth concur?”
“No.
He’s hurting and acting like the macho fool he can sometimes be.” She sent Bo a
semi-teasing wink.
The
surgeon laughed and moved to the other side of the bed to pat Bo’s hand. “You
should know better by now, don’t you think?”
One
corner of Bo’s mouth curved upward. “I keep hoping she’ll let one slide past.”
Dr.
Kumar gave his head a shake. “Don’t think there’s much chance of that happening.”
“Me
either.”
Mama
Beth edged closer and swallowed hard, the question in her heart burning holes
in her patience. “Any news?”
Dr.
Kumar raised his gaze, his smile disappearing. “Yes.”
The
look on his face was enough to make her feel lightheaded as her pulse roared in
her ears. She gripped the rail and waited.
He
pulled up a stool and sat, switching his gaze to Bo. “As you know, the tumor we
removed from your stomach was very large. That’s why you were having breathing
problems. It was pushing up against your lungs. I’m surprised you could breathe
at all. We got the lab results back earlier today. The oncologist wants to
discuss the results with you and should be here at any mo—”
As
if on demand, the door swung open and Dr. Wheeler entered. His head jutted out
further than the rest of his tall lanky body, reminding Mama Beth of a goose.
His round glasses perched atop a long nose on an even longer face. “Good
morning. Sorry I’m running a bit late.” He shook all their hands and then stood
at the end of the bed, his arms crossed across his chest as he cradled a
clipboard, his features giving no clue to the answer she both longed for and
dreaded.
“I
was just telling the Miller’s we received the results this morning and that you
wanted to speak with them.” Dr. Kumar volleyed the comment to the other doctor.
“Yes.
The tests reveal that you have a soft tissue sarcoma as we suspected.
Unfortunately, it has progressed to stage four, which basically means that
there are cancerous cells throughout your body. You could take radiation and
chemotherapy...” His words dwindled away as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say
next.
Just
like that. He delivered the news like it was a common occurrence, and in his
line of work, maybe it was. She pressed her lips together, blinked against
threatening tears, and faced Bo.
His
face was the color of the ashes at the bottom of the fireplace back home. “What
are my chances of recovery?”
Now
Dr. Wheeler twisted his goose-like neck from side to side and shifted his
weight as he peered into the space above the bed. “Well, that’s hard to say
because it depends so much on the patient’s outlook and determination.”
“Just
give it to me straight, doc. I’m a big boy.” Though Bo’s words were softly
spoken, the way they were delivered and the glint in his eye gave evidence to
his sincerity.
The
room grew deathly quiet as the oncologist stared at his feet for a moment. He
finally lifted his gaze. “It’s a longshot, Mr. Miller. I’ve never had a patient
survive this type of cancer that has developed to this stage.”
Mama
Beth once more clutched her chest as a gasp fell from her mouth. Tears fell,
unstoppable. “So you’re telling him to just give up? What kind of advice is
that?”
Bo
reached over and grabbed her hand. “Stop it, Bethie. The man’s just doing his
job.” He turned his attention back to the Dr. Wheeler, his hand still gripping
hers. “What kind of time do I have?”
“Three
to six months with chemo and radiation.”
“And
without it?”
“A
few weeks.” The words froze in mid-air and hung there like razor-sharp icicles.
Bo’s
eyes locked with hers and searched for a long minute as she fought for a
breath. He faced Dr. Wheeler. “Let’s do the chemo and radiation.”
The
oncologist looked at the surgeon then back at Bo. “The side effects won’t be
pleasant and won’t buy you that much time, Mr. Miller. I’d advise you to
reconsider.”
Bo
pinned him down with a steady gaze. “I’m not the only one affected by this
disease. My mind is made up.”
No
longer able to see from the flood of tears, Mama Beth sat in a nearby chair and
buried her head in her hands, her body racked with uncontrollable sobs. Two
hands patted her shoulder, and the sound of receding footsteps and the door
closing let her know the doctors had left the room. After several minutes, her
tears at last spent, she stood and walked to Bo’s bed, carefully lowered one
rail, and, dodging tubes and wires, crawled into bed beside him.
He
nestled her into the crook of his shoulder and rubbed her arms with his hands.
“You fit just right in this spot, Bethie. Almost like God made it just for
you.”
The
tears resumed, but she angrily swiped at them and sniffled. “Then why is God
taking you away from me?” Just having his arms around her soothed her in a way
that nothing else could. And the knowledge that she only had those arms for a
little while longer was more than she could bear.
“This
isn’t like you, Bethie.” His tone held censure. “You’ve always been the one
with rock-solid faith.”
Her
throat cinched closed. Hadn’t she been faithful throughout her life? Hadn’t she
endured separation from Bo for long enough. “It’s just not fair. I feel like I
just got you back and now this.”
Bo’s
chest flattened and a breath whooshed from him. “I know, sweetheart, but life
isn’t fair. Trust me when I say that I’ve questioned God’s fairness on more
than one occasion in my life. But I’ve learned to be glad God isn’t fair.”
She
pulled away, resting the weight of her body on one hand, her eyes perusing his
face.
He
released a soft chuckle. “Don’t look at me that way.”
“What
way?”
“Like
I’m from another planet.”
“Well,
sometimes I think you are.” She laid her head back next to his chest, the
beating of his heart another reminder of what she stood to lose. “How can you
be glad about God not being fair?”
“I
think you already know the answer if you think about it.” He grew quiet,
instinctively knowing she would think about it.
It
was true. God wasn’t fair, but He was always right, even in circumstances so
monstrous they threatened to sweep her away. If God was fair, no one stood a
chance. It was only His mercy that allowed another breath, another beat of the
heart, the gift of salvation and eternal life. She released a sigh. No, God
wasn’t fair by human standards, but He had reasons for everything and could
bring good out of even the most heinous trials. “Okay, you win.”
“Well
at least you finally let me win one.”
In
spite of her heavy heart, she giggled and propped her weight on her elbow to
stare into the soft brown eyes she loved so much. “You know me better than
that. I’ve never ‘let’ anyone win in
my entire life. If you won, it’s because you won fair and square.”
His
face wrinkled in merriment. “Boy, do you have that right.” Bo’s eyes took on a
distance that told her he was reliving the past. “I’ll never forget the first
time I saw you ride.”
ef
July 1963
Bo
swung one leg over the wooden fence at the Miller’s Creek fair and rodeo
grounds, shifted his weight, then pulled the other leg over and rested the
heels of his boots on a lower rung. J.C. and Vernon followed suit to his right,
while Coot huffed and puffed to his left, finally able to swing his more-than-ample
weight over the fence. The wooden rails wobbled beneath them. Bo gripped the
rail tighter, waiting for the wobble to stop. “Man, Coot. Without football
practice to keep your weight in check, you’re gonna outweigh the rest of us put
together before summer’s over.”
Through
the rodeo speakers Buck Owens belted his latest hit, Act Naturally, as Coot patted his ever-growing pot belly. “Just
more of me to love.”
All
four of them laughed. Vernon elbowed J.C., who probably didn’t weigh more than
a hundred and twenty soaking wet. “What cha think, J.C.? Think we should place
a wager on that?”
J.C.
grinned and ducked his head. “Nah. I might lose weight over the summer.”
Laughter
erupted again and J.C. turned pink.
“Always
the diplomat, aren’t ya, J.C.?” Bo slapped him on the back to show he was just
teasing. J.C. Watson, the son of Levi Watson, who owned the town’s only
drugstore, never had an unkind word to say about anybody. They just didn’t make
guys any nicer.
The
rodeo speakers crackled to life, and up in the stadium box, Coot’s dad
announced in a booming voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now time for the
barrel racers, girl’s division. Let’s give all the girls a hand as they make a
trot around the arena.” Applause broke out and a few people rose to their feet
to call out encouragement to one of the riders.
Vernon,
Bo’s best friend, pointed to the front rider, who sat atop a massive Appaloosa.
“That’s the one I’m picking to win. Just look at the haunches on that horse.”
A
brown quarter horse much smaller than the others took up the rear of the pack,
and a low rumble of laughter erupted from the crowd.
One
fellow, obviously operating with one too many under his belt, wobbled to his
feet, pointing and laughing. “Is that the rodeo clown?”
People
around him laughed, but pulled him down into a sitting position.
The
tiny girl on top of the horse had obviously heard the man, because as she
rounded the curve she looked up at him and pulled her horse to a stop. She
stared him down a minute then brought a hand to tip her black hat before she
resumed the trot. This only made the audience howl with laughter.
“Atta
girl.” Beside him, J.C. muttered the words under his breath.
“You
know her?”
“Yep.
That’s Mona Beth Adams, Cecille’s little sister.”
“Cecille?
The girl in our class who’s always hanging around?”
“Yep.”
He glanced at Bo. “And before long, everyone in this arena is gonna know her
little sister’s name.”
Bo’s
eyebrows furrowed.”Whaddaya mean?”
J.C.
just nodded his head to watch the blond-haired girl approach on horse. “You’ll
see soon enough.”
“Hi,
J.C.” The petite girl flashed a brilliant smile as she passed.
“Hey,
Mona Beth.”
“They
grow ‘em a little small down on the farm, don’t they?” Coot trumpeted the words
in his usual style, then dissolved in a fit of laughter.
Though
the small horse and rider had already passed, the horse came to an abrupt stop
and sat there momentarily. Then the girl turned the horse in a circle and
sauntered back to where Coot sat. She pulled the reins, rested both hands on
the saddle horn, and pushed the brim of her hat higher on her forehead. “Maybe
so,” she answered, before eyeing him up and down with the most intense blue
eyes Bo had ever seen. “Which tells me you definitely didn’t come from the
farm.”
“Ooh.
Guess she told you,” spouted Vernon from his perch at the other end. All of
them started to laugh. Even Coot, though his face was beet red, laughed.
But
the girl only smiled and tipped her hat before she turned and galloped from the
arena.
Bo
watched in fascination as girl after girl made their runs on the barrels. The big
Appaloosa and his rider turned out not to be so great, knocking over two of the
three barrels. By the time they reached the end of the pack, the rider of a
gorgeous Palomino that reminded him of his own horse, Buttercup, held the
night’s record, with a time of sixteen fifty-three.
“And
our last barrel racer, Miss Mona Beth Adams, from right here in Miller’s Creek,
riding her horse Daisy.”
In
a flash, the little horse thundered into the arena, headed for the first
barrel. The girl’s knee came perilously close to the barrel as the horse leaned
to an almost horizontal position on the first turn. The crowd began to lean
forward in their seats, totally mesmerized with the way the girl and horse
seemed to ride as one.
“Go,
girl, go,” whispered J.C. under his breath.
Though
the Adams girl had clamped her legs around the horse on the turn, she now
straightened her legs and used the force of them to spur her horse on faster.
On the second turn, the horse leaned so close to the ground, the girl’s foot
almost dragged the ground. But as she raced for the final barrel, something
broke on the bridle, and the bit fell from the horse’s mouth. The whole crowd
gasped in unison and a low murmur began as people pointed.
The
rider leaned closer to the little mare’s neck and grabbed hold of her mane as
they careened in perfect alignment around the third barrel. As the little horse
tore up the turf on her way out of the arena, the people in the stands went
crazy.
“Wow!”
Coot’s dad shouted the word. “Mona Beth Adams just busted not only a bridle,
but the record for the night. Her time is half a second under the closest time
at sixteen twenty-three!” Again the stands went wild as all the riders entered
the arena to be recognized.
After
receiving her first place medal, the petite blond, her hair flowing out from under
her black hat, made a quick ride to where they sat. She pulled the horse short
just shy of where Coot sat and looked him square in the eye, her chin jutted
out. “As you can see, small doesn’t equate with slow. You might remember that
before you pop off and spout the first idiotic words that come to your brain.”
Without another word, she turned her horse to head out of the arena.
Bo
caught her eye as she passed, but she gave him the same look of disdain she’d
just given Coot.
The
only person she spoke to on her way out was J.C., who wore a grin as big as
Texas.
Bo
slapped a hand on J.C.’s back. “You planning on asking her to be your girl,
J.C.?”
His
friend looked at him like he was crazy. “Nah. Knowing her, she’s probably not looking
for a boyfriend. I mean, she’s a nice girl and everything, but she’s too young.
Why do you ask?”
He
rose to his feet to watch Mona Beth Adams exit the arena. “Cause if you’re not,
I’m goin’ to.”
Vernon,
his best friend since first grade, stood and popped him on the head with the
palm of his hand. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”
Bo
looked around at his friends’ expressions. They obviously felt the same way,
but only Vernon had the courage to express it. “Why is it stupid?”
“How
long do you have?” His friend’s green eyes never wavered. “First of all, since
when have you been a cradle robber? Second, you have less than a year until
graduation and college. Third, your mama and daddy will never go for it.
Fourth—”
“Okay,
okay, I get the picture.”
Suddenly
a familiar voice caught his attention. “Well, if it’s not Bo Miller.” He looked
down just as Cecille Adams and a couple of other girls from their class stalked
up.
“Hey,
Cecille.” He glanced down long enough to notice that she’d bobbed her hair and
had done up her eyes like Liz Taylor in Cleopatra,
and then craned his neck to follow the little mare with the black-hatted rider.
Never had he seen a girl handle a horse like that. “You ride horses?”
A
haughty laugh sounded from her. “Me? Not hardly. Why would I want to mess up my
hair on the back of a sweaty and smelly animal?” She moved closer. “Come down
here and talk to me. Or do I have to come up there?”
Normally,
he would’ve stayed put. He had no interest in Cecille Adams, or her type for
that matter. But he had another plan in mind, so he climbed to the top of the
fence and hopped down in front of her.
A
feline-like smile curved her lips as she stepped closer. “Want to ride the
Ferris wheel with me?”
“Maybe,
but first I’d like to meet that little sister of yours.”
“Mona
Beth?” She looked at him like he’d gone down a notch in her estimation.
“Whatever for?”
“I
like her horse.” His friends snickered from the fence behind him.
She
narrowed her eyes. “If I take you to see her horse will you win me a stuffed
animal at the carnival?”
“Sure
thing.”
A
few minutes later they all stood in the grassy field that served as parking lot
beside a homemade trailer. The little brown mare was tethered to the trailer
and munched happily on some of the grass as Mona Beth, now dressed in blue jean
shorts and a red and white gingham shirt, combed her down. Both the horse and
rider looked up as they approached. The girl did a double take when she saw
Cecille’s new look. “Good gravy, Cecille. Mama and Daddy are gonna have a
conniption fit if they see you lookin’ that-a-way. You have on enough make-up
for all the women in China.”
Cecille
sniffed. “You’re one to talk. You look like a hillbilly in those cut-offs. All
you need is a corn-cob pipe.”
Mona
Beth glared at her, but returned to brushing down her horse.
Bo
sauntered closer and held out a hand, while his friends and Cecille and her
friends hung back. “Hi. You did a good job with those barrels.”
She
looked at his hand, but continued to brush down her horse. “Thanks.”
“Uh,
you know who I am, right?”
“Yeah.
You’re Bo Miller from the Miller ranch. Your daddy’s a big-time rancher and
your great-grandfather is who the town is named after.” She continued brushing.
Bo
frowned. Usually the girls liked that about him, but she didn’t seem impressed at
all. “We’re about to head to the carnival. Wanna come with us?”
Mona
Beth looked up, her clear blue eyes wide with surprise.
Cecille
stepped forward with a slight laugh and draped an arm through his. “Mona Beth
is more at home slopping the pigs than she is hanging out. C’mon. Let’s go.”
She tugged on his arm.
Bo
stood his ground. “I asked your sister a question. Any girl that can ride like
that is big enough to answer for herself.” He sent her a wink the others
couldn’t see.
The
glare Mona Beth had been aiming at her sister now turned to a look of victory.
“As a matter of fact, I was just finishing up here and about to head to the
carnival. I think I will tag along.” She laid down her brush and took a place
next to J.C., pulling back her hair into a ponytail and securing it with a
rubber band. “I’m ready when y’all are.”
Chapter One
January 2012
M
ama
Beth peered down at the only man she’d ever loved and lifted a hand to her
aching chest. Garbed in a hospital gown, Bo somehow seemed small and vulnerable
amidst the towering machines surrounding him. Though his eyes were closed in sleep,
the wrinkle between his now white brows revealed suffering. She allowed her gaze
to linger on every feature of the face she’d memorized years ago, growing fear
returning to gnaw at the last fringes of her unraveling hope.
She
moved to the window of the Baylor Medical Center hospital room and watched the
people scurrying below, hurrying to the warmth of skyscrapers. Another icy cold
and dark day. Another day in a month of days confined to this darkened room.
Dani and Steve had been up over the weekend, but with Dani expecting and running
the day care in her absence, and Steve tending to the business of Miller’s
Creek, they’d left Dallas yesterday to return home. Trish and Andy and the kids
would be up next weekend, but a hospital wasn’t a good place for kids who
needed to run and make noise and expend energy.
With
a heavy sigh she turned to face Bo again, her heart immediately moving to its
familiar position in her throat. Though she’d been through many storms in her
sixty plus years of living, none of them had shaken her to the core of her
faith like this one. She had to somehow find a way to lean on God’s promises to
help her through this valley of the shadow of death.
Lord, bring him through this.
Heal him. Please don’t take him away from me now. You’ve already taken Cecille, and I just
don’t think I can handle any more deaths in the family. Through tear-filled
eyes she once more glimpsed the pain etched on Bo’s face as the machine at the
head of the bed continued its infernal beeping. But I don’t want him to suffer, so if healing him is not part of Your
plan… She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing tears down her face, unable to
finish the prayer.
“You
okay, hon?”
His
whispered words shook her from self-pity, and she quickly swiped her face and
stepped toward him, relieved to see him awake. “Of course. Just being a silly
goose and giving into a little bit of a pity party.” She leaned across the bed
rail and cupped his face with her palm. “Are you feeling okay? Any pain?”
He
closed his eyes and gave his head a little shake. “Not too bad.”
“You’d
best not be feeding me a lie, you know.”
A
gentle laugh eased out of him, forcing his taut lips into a smile, the familiar
twinkle returning to his dark eyes. “Now would I do that?” He searched her face
and lifted one hand. “Never mind. Don’t answer.” He grew quiet momentarily, and
an expression came across his face that unnerved her. “Bethie, I know we
promised when we got married to not bring up the past, but I think it’s time.”
No! Every
fiber of her being screamed the word. That meant he was giving up. “Don’t you
dare give up on me, Bo Miller.”
The
door swung open, and Dr. Kumar whisked into the room. Though small in stature,
his constant motion gave him a large presence. “And how’s Mr. Bo doing today?”
“Okay.”
Dr.
Kumar faced her. “And does Dr. Mama Beth concur?”
“No.
He’s hurting and acting like the macho fool he can sometimes be.” She sent Bo a
semi-teasing wink.
The
surgeon laughed and moved to the other side of the bed to pat Bo’s hand. “You
should know better by now, don’t you think?”
One
corner of Bo’s mouth curved upward. “I keep hoping she’ll let one slide past.”
Dr.
Kumar gave his head a shake. “Don’t think there’s much chance of that happening.”
“Me
either.”
Mama
Beth edged closer and swallowed hard, the question in her heart burning holes
in her patience. “Any news?”
Dr.
Kumar raised his gaze, his smile disappearing. “Yes.”
The
look on his face was enough to make her feel lightheaded as her pulse roared in
her ears. She gripped the rail and waited.
He
pulled up a stool and sat, switching his gaze to Bo. “As you know, the tumor we
removed from your stomach was very large. That’s why you were having breathing
problems. It was pushing up against your lungs. I’m surprised you could breathe
at all. We got the lab results back earlier today. The oncologist wants to
discuss the results with you and should be here at any mo—”
As
if on demand, the door swung open and Dr. Wheeler entered. His head jutted out
further than the rest of his tall lanky body, reminding Mama Beth of a goose.
His round glasses perched atop a long nose on an even longer face. “Good
morning. Sorry I’m running a bit late.” He shook all their hands and then stood
at the end of the bed, his arms crossed across his chest as he cradled a
clipboard, his features giving no clue to the answer she both longed for and
dreaded.
“I
was just telling the Miller’s we received the results this morning and that you
wanted to speak with them.” Dr. Kumar volleyed the comment to the other doctor.
“Yes.
The tests reveal that you have a soft tissue sarcoma as we suspected.
Unfortunately, it has progressed to stage four, which basically means that
there are cancerous cells throughout your body. You could take radiation and
chemotherapy...” His words dwindled away as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say
next.
Just
like that. He delivered the news like it was a common occurrence, and in his
line of work, maybe it was. She pressed her lips together, blinked against
threatening tears, and faced Bo.
His
face was the color of the ashes at the bottom of the fireplace back home. “What
are my chances of recovery?”
Now
Dr. Wheeler twisted his goose-like neck from side to side and shifted his
weight as he peered into the space above the bed. “Well, that’s hard to say
because it depends so much on the patient’s outlook and determination.”
“Just
give it to me straight, doc. I’m a big boy.” Though Bo’s words were softly
spoken, the way they were delivered and the glint in his eye gave evidence to
his sincerity.
The
room grew deathly quiet as the oncologist stared at his feet for a moment. He
finally lifted his gaze. “It’s a longshot, Mr. Miller. I’ve never had a patient
survive this type of cancer that has developed to this stage.”
Mama
Beth once more clutched her chest as a gasp fell from her mouth. Tears fell,
unstoppable. “So you’re telling him to just give up? What kind of advice is
that?”
Bo
reached over and grabbed her hand. “Stop it, Bethie. The man’s just doing his
job.” He turned his attention back to the Dr. Wheeler, his hand still gripping
hers. “What kind of time do I have?”
“Three
to six months with chemo and radiation.”
“And
without it?”
“A
few weeks.” The words froze in mid-air and hung there like razor-sharp icicles.
Bo’s
eyes locked with hers and searched for a long minute as she fought for a
breath. He faced Dr. Wheeler. “Let’s do the chemo and radiation.”
The
oncologist looked at the surgeon then back at Bo. “The side effects won’t be
pleasant and won’t buy you that much time, Mr. Miller. I’d advise you to
reconsider.”
Bo
pinned him down with a steady gaze. “I’m not the only one affected by this
disease. My mind is made up.”
No
longer able to see from the flood of tears, Mama Beth sat in a nearby chair and
buried her head in her hands, her body racked with uncontrollable sobs. Two
hands patted her shoulder, and the sound of receding footsteps and the door
closing let her know the doctors had left the room. After several minutes, her
tears at last spent, she stood and walked to Bo’s bed, carefully lowered one
rail, and, dodging tubes and wires, crawled into bed beside him.
He
nestled her into the crook of his shoulder and rubbed her arms with his hands.
“You fit just right in this spot, Bethie. Almost like God made it just for
you.”
The
tears resumed, but she angrily swiped at them and sniffled. “Then why is God
taking you away from me?” Just having his arms around her soothed her in a way
that nothing else could. And the knowledge that she only had those arms for a
little while longer was more than she could bear.
“This
isn’t like you, Bethie.” His tone held censure. “You’ve always been the one
with rock-solid faith.”
Her
throat cinched closed. Hadn’t she been faithful throughout her life? Hadn’t she
endured separation from Bo for long enough. “It’s just not fair. I feel like I
just got you back and now this.”
Bo’s
chest flattened and a breath whooshed from him. “I know, sweetheart, but life
isn’t fair. Trust me when I say that I’ve questioned God’s fairness on more
than one occasion in my life. But I’ve learned to be glad God isn’t fair.”
She
pulled away, resting the weight of her body on one hand, her eyes perusing his
face.
He
released a soft chuckle. “Don’t look at me that way.”
“What
way?”
“Like
I’m from another planet.”
“Well,
sometimes I think you are.” She laid her head back next to his chest, the
beating of his heart another reminder of what she stood to lose. “How can you
be glad about God not being fair?”
“I
think you already know the answer if you think about it.” He grew quiet,
instinctively knowing she would think about it.
It
was true. God wasn’t fair, but He was always right, even in circumstances so
monstrous they threatened to sweep her away. If God was fair, no one stood a
chance. It was only His mercy that allowed another breath, another beat of the
heart, the gift of salvation and eternal life. She released a sigh. No, God
wasn’t fair by human standards, but He had reasons for everything and could
bring good out of even the most heinous trials. “Okay, you win.”
“Well
at least you finally let me win one.”
In
spite of her heavy heart, she giggled and propped her weight on her elbow to
stare into the soft brown eyes she loved so much. “You know me better than
that. I’ve never ‘let’ anyone win in
my entire life. If you won, it’s because you won fair and square.”
His
face wrinkled in merriment. “Boy, do you have that right.” Bo’s eyes took on a
distance that told her he was reliving the past. “I’ll never forget the first
time I saw you ride.”
ef
July 1963
Bo
swung one leg over the wooden fence at the Miller’s Creek fair and rodeo
grounds, shifted his weight, then pulled the other leg over and rested the
heels of his boots on a lower rung. J.C. and Vernon followed suit to his right,
while Coot huffed and puffed to his left, finally able to swing his more-than-ample
weight over the fence. The wooden rails wobbled beneath them. Bo gripped the
rail tighter, waiting for the wobble to stop. “Man, Coot. Without football
practice to keep your weight in check, you’re gonna outweigh the rest of us put
together before summer’s over.”
Through
the rodeo speakers Buck Owens belted his latest hit, Act Naturally, as Coot patted his ever-growing pot belly. “Just
more of me to love.”
All
four of them laughed. Vernon elbowed J.C., who probably didn’t weigh more than
a hundred and twenty soaking wet. “What cha think, J.C.? Think we should place
a wager on that?”
J.C.
grinned and ducked his head. “Nah. I might lose weight over the summer.”
Laughter
erupted again and J.C. turned pink.
“Always
the diplomat, aren’t ya, J.C.?” Bo slapped him on the back to show he was just
teasing. J.C. Watson, the son of Levi Watson, who owned the town’s only
drugstore, never had an unkind word to say about anybody. They just didn’t make
guys any nicer.
The
rodeo speakers crackled to life, and up in the stadium box, Coot’s dad
announced in a booming voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now time for the
barrel racers, girl’s division. Let’s give all the girls a hand as they make a
trot around the arena.” Applause broke out and a few people rose to their feet
to call out encouragement to one of the riders.
Vernon,
Bo’s best friend, pointed to the front rider, who sat atop a massive Appaloosa.
“That’s the one I’m picking to win. Just look at the haunches on that horse.”
A
brown quarter horse much smaller than the others took up the rear of the pack,
and a low rumble of laughter erupted from the crowd.
One
fellow, obviously operating with one too many under his belt, wobbled to his
feet, pointing and laughing. “Is that the rodeo clown?”
People
around him laughed, but pulled him down into a sitting position.
The
tiny girl on top of the horse had obviously heard the man, because as she
rounded the curve she looked up at him and pulled her horse to a stop. She
stared him down a minute then brought a hand to tip her black hat before she
resumed the trot. This only made the audience howl with laughter.
“Atta
girl.” Beside him, J.C. muttered the words under his breath.
“You
know her?”
“Yep.
That’s Mona Beth Adams, Cecille’s little sister.”
“Cecille?
The girl in our class who’s always hanging around?”
“Yep.”
He glanced at Bo. “And before long, everyone in this arena is gonna know her
little sister’s name.”
Bo’s
eyebrows furrowed.”Whaddaya mean?”
J.C.
just nodded his head to watch the blond-haired girl approach on horse. “You’ll
see soon enough.”
“Hi,
J.C.” The petite girl flashed a brilliant smile as she passed.
“Hey,
Mona Beth.”
“They
grow ‘em a little small down on the farm, don’t they?” Coot trumpeted the words
in his usual style, then dissolved in a fit of laughter.
Though
the small horse and rider had already passed, the horse came to an abrupt stop
and sat there momentarily. Then the girl turned the horse in a circle and
sauntered back to where Coot sat. She pulled the reins, rested both hands on
the saddle horn, and pushed the brim of her hat higher on her forehead. “Maybe
so,” she answered, before eyeing him up and down with the most intense blue
eyes Bo had ever seen. “Which tells me you definitely didn’t come from the
farm.”
“Ooh.
Guess she told you,” spouted Vernon from his perch at the other end. All of
them started to laugh. Even Coot, though his face was beet red, laughed.
But
the girl only smiled and tipped her hat before she turned and galloped from the
arena.
Bo
watched in fascination as girl after girl made their runs on the barrels. The big
Appaloosa and his rider turned out not to be so great, knocking over two of the
three barrels. By the time they reached the end of the pack, the rider of a
gorgeous Palomino that reminded him of his own horse, Buttercup, held the
night’s record, with a time of sixteen fifty-three.
“And
our last barrel racer, Miss Mona Beth Adams, from right here in Miller’s Creek,
riding her horse Daisy.”
In
a flash, the little horse thundered into the arena, headed for the first
barrel. The girl’s knee came perilously close to the barrel as the horse leaned
to an almost horizontal position on the first turn. The crowd began to lean
forward in their seats, totally mesmerized with the way the girl and horse
seemed to ride as one.
“Go,
girl, go,” whispered J.C. under his breath.
Though
the Adams girl had clamped her legs around the horse on the turn, she now
straightened her legs and used the force of them to spur her horse on faster.
On the second turn, the horse leaned so close to the ground, the girl’s foot
almost dragged the ground. But as she raced for the final barrel, something
broke on the bridle, and the bit fell from the horse’s mouth. The whole crowd
gasped in unison and a low murmur began as people pointed.
The
rider leaned closer to the little mare’s neck and grabbed hold of her mane as
they careened in perfect alignment around the third barrel. As the little horse
tore up the turf on her way out of the arena, the people in the stands went
crazy.
“Wow!”
Coot’s dad shouted the word. “Mona Beth Adams just busted not only a bridle,
but the record for the night. Her time is half a second under the closest time
at sixteen twenty-three!” Again the stands went wild as all the riders entered
the arena to be recognized.
After
receiving her first place medal, the petite blond, her hair flowing out from under
her black hat, made a quick ride to where they sat. She pulled the horse short
just shy of where Coot sat and looked him square in the eye, her chin jutted
out. “As you can see, small doesn’t equate with slow. You might remember that
before you pop off and spout the first idiotic words that come to your brain.”
Without another word, she turned her horse to head out of the arena.
Bo
caught her eye as she passed, but she gave him the same look of disdain she’d
just given Coot.
The
only person she spoke to on her way out was J.C., who wore a grin as big as
Texas.
Bo
slapped a hand on J.C.’s back. “You planning on asking her to be your girl,
J.C.?”
His
friend looked at him like he was crazy. “Nah. Knowing her, she’s probably not looking
for a boyfriend. I mean, she’s a nice girl and everything, but she’s too young.
Why do you ask?”
He
rose to his feet to watch Mona Beth Adams exit the arena. “Cause if you’re not,
I’m goin’ to.”
Vernon,
his best friend since first grade, stood and popped him on the head with the
palm of his hand. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”
Bo
looked around at his friends’ expressions. They obviously felt the same way,
but only Vernon had the courage to express it. “Why is it stupid?”
“How
long do you have?” His friend’s green eyes never wavered. “First of all, since
when have you been a cradle robber? Second, you have less than a year until
graduation and college. Third, your mama and daddy will never go for it.
Fourth—”
“Okay,
okay, I get the picture.”
Suddenly
a familiar voice caught his attention. “Well, if it’s not Bo Miller.” He looked
down just as Cecille Adams and a couple of other girls from their class stalked
up.
“Hey,
Cecille.” He glanced down long enough to notice that she’d bobbed her hair and
had done up her eyes like Liz Taylor in Cleopatra,
and then craned his neck to follow the little mare with the black-hatted rider.
Never had he seen a girl handle a horse like that. “You ride horses?”
A
haughty laugh sounded from her. “Me? Not hardly. Why would I want to mess up my
hair on the back of a sweaty and smelly animal?” She moved closer. “Come down
here and talk to me. Or do I have to come up there?”
Normally,
he would’ve stayed put. He had no interest in Cecille Adams, or her type for
that matter. But he had another plan in mind, so he climbed to the top of the
fence and hopped down in front of her.
A
feline-like smile curved her lips as she stepped closer. “Want to ride the
Ferris wheel with me?”
“Maybe,
but first I’d like to meet that little sister of yours.”
“Mona
Beth?” She looked at him like he’d gone down a notch in her estimation.
“Whatever for?”
“I
like her horse.” His friends snickered from the fence behind him.
She
narrowed her eyes. “If I take you to see her horse will you win me a stuffed
animal at the carnival?”
“Sure
thing.”
A
few minutes later they all stood in the grassy field that served as parking lot
beside a homemade trailer. The little brown mare was tethered to the trailer
and munched happily on some of the grass as Mona Beth, now dressed in blue jean
shorts and a red and white gingham shirt, combed her down. Both the horse and
rider looked up as they approached. The girl did a double take when she saw
Cecille’s new look. “Good gravy, Cecille. Mama and Daddy are gonna have a
conniption fit if they see you lookin’ that-a-way. You have on enough make-up
for all the women in China.”
Cecille
sniffed. “You’re one to talk. You look like a hillbilly in those cut-offs. All
you need is a corn-cob pipe.”
Mona
Beth glared at her, but returned to brushing down her horse.
Bo
sauntered closer and held out a hand, while his friends and Cecille and her
friends hung back. “Hi. You did a good job with those barrels.”
She
looked at his hand, but continued to brush down her horse. “Thanks.”
“Uh,
you know who I am, right?”
“Yeah.
You’re Bo Miller from the Miller ranch. Your daddy’s a big-time rancher and
your great-grandfather is who the town is named after.” She continued brushing.
Bo
frowned. Usually the girls liked that about him, but she didn’t seem impressed at
all. “We’re about to head to the carnival. Wanna come with us?”
Mona
Beth looked up, her clear blue eyes wide with surprise.
Cecille
stepped forward with a slight laugh and draped an arm through his. “Mona Beth
is more at home slopping the pigs than she is hanging out. C’mon. Let’s go.”
She tugged on his arm.
Bo
stood his ground. “I asked your sister a question. Any girl that can ride like
that is big enough to answer for herself.” He sent her a wink the others
couldn’t see.
The
glare Mona Beth had been aiming at her sister now turned to a look of victory.
“As a matter of fact, I was just finishing up here and about to head to the
carnival. I think I will tag along.” She laid down her brush and took a place
next to J.C., pulling back her hair into a ponytail and securing it with a
rubber band. “I’m ready when y’all are.”
Tentative First Chapter Preview of "Pigrimage of Promise"
Since my time to write blog posts is severely hampered in the writing of the fourth Miller's Creek book, Pilgrimage of Promise, I decided to post the first chapter as it stands right now. (Please remember this is the very rough first draft, and could be changed considerably during edits and rewrites.) I'd love to hear what you think!
Chapter One
January 2012
M
ama
Beth peered down at the only man she’d ever loved and lifted a hand to her
aching chest. Garbed in a hospital gown, Bo somehow seemed small and vulnerable
amidst the towering machines surrounding him. Though his eyes were closed in sleep,
the wrinkle between his now white brows revealed suffering. She allowed her gaze
to linger on every feature of the face she’d memorized years ago, growing fear
returning to gnaw at the last fringes of her unraveling hope.
She
moved to the window of the Baylor Medical Center hospital room and watched the
people scurrying below, hurrying to the warmth of skyscrapers. Another icy cold
and dark day. Another day in a month of days confined to this darkened room.
Dani and Steve had been up over the weekend, but with Dani expecting and running
the day care in her absence, and Steve tending to the business of Miller’s
Creek, they’d left Dallas yesterday to return home. Trish and Andy and the kids
would be up next weekend, but a hospital wasn’t a good place for kids who
needed to run and make noise and expend energy.
With
a heavy sigh she turned to face Bo again, her heart immediately moving to its
familiar position in her throat. Though she’d been through many storms in her
sixty plus years of living, none of them had shaken her to the core of her
faith like this one. She had to somehow find a way to lean on God’s promises to
help her through this valley of the shadow of death.
Lord, bring him through this.
Heal him. Please don’t take him away from me now. You’ve already taken Cecille, and I just
don’t think I can handle any more deaths in the family. Through tear-filled
eyes she once more glimpsed the pain etched on Bo’s face as the machine at the
head of the bed continued its infernal beeping. But I don’t want him to suffer, so if healing him is not part of Your
plan… She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing tears down her face, unable to
finish the prayer.
“You
okay, hon?”
His
whispered words shook her from self-pity, and she quickly swiped her face and
stepped toward him, relieved to see him awake. “Of course. Just being a silly
goose and giving into a little bit of a pity party.” She leaned across the bed
rail and cupped his face with her palm. “Are you feeling okay? Any pain?”
He
closed his eyes and gave his head a little shake. “Not too bad.”
“You’d
best not be feeding me a lie, you know.”
A
gentle laugh eased out of him, forcing his taut lips into a smile, the familiar
twinkle returning to his dark eyes. “Now would I do that?” He searched her face
and lifted one hand. “Never mind. Don’t answer.” He grew quiet momentarily, and
an expression came across his face that unnerved her. “Bethie, I know we
promised when we got married to not bring up the past, but I think it’s time.”
No! Every
fiber of her being screamed the word. That meant he was giving up. “Don’t you
dare give up on me, Bo Miller.”
The
door swung open, and Dr. Kumar whisked into the room. Though small in stature,
his constant motion gave him a large presence. “And how’s Mr. Bo doing today?”
“Okay.”
Dr.
Kumar faced her. “And does Dr. Mama Beth concur?”
“No.
He’s hurting and acting like the macho fool he can sometimes be.” She sent Bo a
semi-teasing wink.
The
surgeon laughed and moved to the other side of the bed to pat Bo’s hand. “You
should know better by now, don’t you think?”
One
corner of Bo’s mouth curved upward. “I keep hoping she’ll let one slide past.”
Dr.
Kumar gave his head a shake. “Don’t think there’s much chance of that happening.”
“Me
either.”
Mama
Beth edged closer and swallowed hard, the question in her heart burning holes
in her patience. “Any news?”
Dr.
Kumar raised his gaze, his smile disappearing. “Yes.”
The
look on his face was enough to make her feel lightheaded as her pulse roared in
her ears. She gripped the rail and waited.
He
pulled up a stool and sat, switching his gaze to Bo. “As you know, the tumor we
removed from your stomach was very large. That’s why you were having breathing
problems. It was pushing up against your lungs. I’m surprised you could breathe
at all. We got the lab results back earlier today. The oncologist wants to
discuss the results with you and should be here at any mo—”
As
if on demand, the door swung open and Dr. Wheeler entered. His head jutted out
further than the rest of his tall lanky body, reminding Mama Beth of a goose.
His round glasses perched atop a long nose on an even longer face. “Good
morning. Sorry I’m running a bit late.” He shook all their hands and then stood
at the end of the bed, his arms crossed across his chest as he cradled a
clipboard, his features giving no clue to the answer she both longed for and
dreaded.
“I
was just telling the Miller’s we received the results this morning and that you
wanted to speak with them.” Dr. Kumar volleyed the comment to the other doctor.
“Yes.
The tests reveal that you have a soft tissue sarcoma as we suspected.
Unfortunately, it has progressed to stage four, which basically means that
there are cancerous cells throughout your body. You could take radiation and
chemotherapy...” His words dwindled away as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say
next.
Just
like that. He delivered the news like it was a common occurrence, and in his
line of work, maybe it was. She pressed her lips together, blinked against
threatening tears, and faced Bo.
His
face was the color of the ashes at the bottom of the fireplace back home. “What
are my chances of recovery?”
Now
Dr. Wheeler twisted his goose-like neck from side to side and shifted his
weight as he peered into the space above the bed. “Well, that’s hard to say
because it depends so much on the patient’s outlook and determination.”
“Just
give it to me straight, doc. I’m a big boy.” Though Bo’s words were softly
spoken, the way they were delivered and the glint in his eye gave evidence to
his sincerity.
The
room grew deathly quiet as the oncologist stared at his feet for a moment. He
finally lifted his gaze. “It’s a longshot, Mr. Miller. I’ve never had a patient
survive this type of cancer that has developed to this stage.”
Mama
Beth once more clutched her chest as a gasp fell from her mouth. Tears fell,
unstoppable. “So you’re telling him to just give up? What kind of advice is
that?”
Bo
reached over and grabbed her hand. “Stop it, Bethie. The man’s just doing his
job.” He turned his attention back to the Dr. Wheeler, his hand still gripping
hers. “What kind of time do I have?”
“Three
to six months with chemo and radiation.”
“And
without it?”
“A
few weeks.” The words froze in mid-air and hung there like razor-sharp icicles.
Bo’s
eyes locked with hers and searched for a long minute as she fought for a
breath. He faced Dr. Wheeler. “Let’s do the chemo and radiation.”
The
oncologist looked at the surgeon then back at Bo. “The side effects won’t be
pleasant and won’t buy you that much time, Mr. Miller. I’d advise you to
reconsider.”
Bo
pinned him down with a steady gaze. “I’m not the only one affected by this
disease. My mind is made up.”
No
longer able to see from the flood of tears, Mama Beth sat in a nearby chair and
buried her head in her hands, her body racked with uncontrollable sobs. Two
hands patted her shoulder, and the sound of receding footsteps and the door
closing let her know the doctors had left the room. After several minutes, her
tears at last spent, she stood and walked to Bo’s bed, carefully lowered one
rail, and, dodging tubes and wires, crawled into bed beside him.
He
nestled her into the crook of his shoulder and rubbed her arms with his hands.
“You fit just right in this spot, Bethie. Almost like God made it just for
you.”
The
tears resumed, but she angrily swiped at them and sniffled. “Then why is God
taking you away from me?” Just having his arms around her soothed her in a way
that nothing else could. And the knowledge that she only had those arms for a
little while longer was more than she could bear.
“This
isn’t like you, Bethie.” His tone held censure. “You’ve always been the one
with rock-solid faith.”
Her
throat cinched closed. Hadn’t she been faithful throughout her life? Hadn’t she
endured separation from Bo for long enough. “It’s just not fair. I feel like I
just got you back and now this.”
Bo’s
chest flattened and a breath whooshed from him. “I know, sweetheart, but life
isn’t fair. Trust me when I say that I’ve questioned God’s fairness on more
than one occasion in my life. But I’ve learned to be glad God isn’t fair.”
She
pulled away, resting the weight of her body on one hand, her eyes perusing his
face.
He
released a soft chuckle. “Don’t look at me that way.”
“What
way?”
“Like
I’m from another planet.”
“Well,
sometimes I think you are.” She laid her head back next to his chest, the
beating of his heart another reminder of what she stood to lose. “How can you
be glad about God not being fair?”
“I
think you already know the answer if you think about it.” He grew quiet,
instinctively knowing she would think about it.
It
was true. God wasn’t fair, but He was always right, even in circumstances so
monstrous they threatened to sweep her away. If God was fair, no one stood a
chance. It was only His mercy that allowed another breath, another beat of the
heart, the gift of salvation and eternal life. She released a sigh. No, God
wasn’t fair by human standards, but He had reasons for everything and could
bring good out of even the most heinous trials. “Okay, you win.”
“Well
at least you finally let me win one.”
In
spite of her heavy heart, she giggled and propped her weight on her elbow to
stare into the soft brown eyes she loved so much. “You know me better than
that. I’ve never ‘let’ anyone win in
my entire life. If you won, it’s because you won fair and square.”
His
face wrinkled in merriment. “Boy, do you have that right.” Bo’s eyes took on a
distance that told her he was reliving the past. “I’ll never forget the first
time I saw you ride.”
ef
July 1963
Bo
swung one leg over the wooden fence at the Miller’s Creek fair and rodeo
grounds, shifted his weight, then pulled the other leg over and rested the
heels of his boots on a lower rung. J.C. and Vernon followed suit to his right,
while Coot huffed and puffed to his left, finally able to swing his more-than-ample
weight over the fence. The wooden rails wobbled beneath them. Bo gripped the
rail tighter, waiting for the wobble to stop. “Man, Coot. Without football
practice to keep your weight in check, you’re gonna outweigh the rest of us put
together before summer’s over.”
Through
the rodeo speakers Buck Owens belted his latest hit, Act Naturally, as Coot patted his ever-growing pot belly. “Just
more of me to love.”
All
four of them laughed. Vernon elbowed J.C., who probably didn’t weigh more than
a hundred and twenty soaking wet. “What cha think, J.C.? Think we should place
a wager on that?”
J.C.
grinned and ducked his head. “Nah. I might lose weight over the summer.”
Laughter
erupted again and J.C. turned pink.
“Always
the diplomat, aren’t ya, J.C.?” Bo slapped him on the back to show he was just
teasing. J.C. Watson, the son of Levi Watson, who owned the town’s only
drugstore, never had an unkind word to say about anybody. They just didn’t make
guys any nicer.
The
rodeo speakers crackled to life, and up in the stadium box, Coot’s dad
announced in a booming voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now time for the
barrel racers, girl’s division. Let’s give all the girls a hand as they make a
trot around the arena.” Applause broke out and a few people rose to their feet
to call out encouragement to one of the riders.
Vernon,
Bo’s best friend, pointed to the front rider, who sat atop a massive Appaloosa.
“That’s the one I’m picking to win. Just look at the haunches on that horse.”
A
brown quarter horse much smaller than the others took up the rear of the pack,
and a low rumble of laughter erupted from the crowd.
One
fellow, obviously operating with one too many under his belt, wobbled to his
feet, pointing and laughing. “Is that the rodeo clown?”
People
around him laughed, but pulled him down into a sitting position.
The
tiny girl on top of the horse had obviously heard the man, because as she
rounded the curve she looked up at him and pulled her horse to a stop. She
stared him down a minute then brought a hand to tip her black hat before she
resumed the trot. This only made the audience howl with laughter.
“Atta
girl.” Beside him, J.C. muttered the words under his breath.
“You
know her?”
“Yep.
That’s Mona Beth Adams, Cecille’s little sister.”
“Cecille?
The girl in our class who’s always hanging around?”
“Yep.”
He glanced at Bo. “And before long, everyone in this arena is gonna know her
little sister’s name.”
Bo’s
eyebrows furrowed.”Whaddaya mean?”
J.C.
just nodded his head to watch the blond-haired girl approach on horse. “You’ll
see soon enough.”
“Hi,
J.C.” The petite girl flashed a brilliant smile as she passed.
“Hey,
Mona Beth.”
“They
grow ‘em a little small down on the farm, don’t they?” Coot trumpeted the words
in his usual style, then dissolved in a fit of laughter.
Though
the small horse and rider had already passed, the horse came to an abrupt stop
and sat there momentarily. Then the girl turned the horse in a circle and
sauntered back to where Coot sat. She pulled the reins, rested both hands on
the saddle horn, and pushed the brim of her hat higher on her forehead. “Maybe
so,” she answered, before eyeing him up and down with the most intense blue
eyes Bo had ever seen. “Which tells me you definitely didn’t come from the
farm.”
“Ooh.
Guess she told you,” spouted Vernon from his perch at the other end. All of
them started to laugh. Even Coot, though his face was beet red, laughed.
But
the girl only smiled and tipped her hat before she turned and galloped from the
arena.
Bo
watched in fascination as girl after girl made their runs on the barrels. The big
Appaloosa and his rider turned out not to be so great, knocking over two of the
three barrels. By the time they reached the end of the pack, the rider of a
gorgeous Palomino that reminded him of his own horse, Buttercup, held the
night’s record, with a time of sixteen fifty-three.
“And
our last barrel racer, Miss Mona Beth Adams, from right here in Miller’s Creek,
riding her horse Daisy.”
In
a flash, the little horse thundered into the arena, headed for the first
barrel. The girl’s knee came perilously close to the barrel as the horse leaned
to an almost horizontal position on the first turn. The crowd began to lean
forward in their seats, totally mesmerized with the way the girl and horse
seemed to ride as one.
“Go,
girl, go,” whispered J.C. under his breath.
Though
the Adams girl had clamped her legs around the horse on the turn, she now
straightened her legs and used the force of them to spur her horse on faster.
On the second turn, the horse leaned so close to the ground, the girl’s foot
almost dragged the ground. But as she raced for the final barrel, something
broke on the bridle, and the bit fell from the horse’s mouth. The whole crowd
gasped in unison and a low murmur began as people pointed.
The
rider leaned closer to the little mare’s neck and grabbed hold of her mane as
they careened in perfect alignment around the third barrel. As the little horse
tore up the turf on her way out of the arena, the people in the stands went
crazy.
“Wow!”
Coot’s dad shouted the word. “Mona Beth Adams just busted not only a bridle,
but the record for the night. Her time is half a second under the closest time
at sixteen twenty-three!” Again the stands went wild as all the riders entered
the arena to be recognized.
After
receiving her first place medal, the petite blond, her hair flowing out from under
her black hat, made a quick ride to where they sat. She pulled the horse short
just shy of where Coot sat and looked him square in the eye, her chin jutted
out. “As you can see, small doesn’t equate with slow. You might remember that
before you pop off and spout the first idiotic words that come to your brain.”
Without another word, she turned her horse to head out of the arena.
Bo
caught her eye as she passed, but she gave him the same look of disdain she’d
just given Coot.
The
only person she spoke to on her way out was J.C., who wore a grin as big as
Texas.
Bo
slapped a hand on J.C.’s back. “You planning on asking her to be your girl,
J.C.?”
His
friend looked at him like he was crazy. “Nah. Knowing her, she’s probably not looking
for a boyfriend. I mean, she’s a nice girl and everything, but she’s too young.
Why do you ask?”
He
rose to his feet to watch Mona Beth Adams exit the arena. “Cause if you’re not,
I’m goin’ to.”
Vernon,
his best friend since first grade, stood and popped him on the head with the
palm of his hand. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”
Bo
looked around at his friends’ expressions. They obviously felt the same way,
but only Vernon had the courage to express it. “Why is it stupid?”
“How
long do you have?” His friend’s green eyes never wavered. “First of all, since
when have you been a cradle robber? Second, you have less than a year until
graduation and college. Third, your mama and daddy will never go for it.
Fourth—”
“Okay,
okay, I get the picture.”
Suddenly
a familiar voice caught his attention. “Well, if it’s not Bo Miller.” He looked
down just as Cecille Adams and a couple of other girls from their class stalked
up.
“Hey,
Cecille.” He glanced down long enough to notice that she’d bobbed her hair and
had done up her eyes like Liz Taylor in Cleopatra,
and then craned his neck to follow the little mare with the black-hatted rider.
Never had he seen a girl handle a horse like that. “You ride horses?”
A
haughty laugh sounded from her. “Me? Not hardly. Why would I want to mess up my
hair on the back of a sweaty and smelly animal?” She moved closer. “Come down
here and talk to me. Or do I have to come up there?”
Normally,
he would’ve stayed put. He had no interest in Cecille Adams, or her type for
that matter. But he had another plan in mind, so he climbed to the top of the
fence and hopped down in front of her.
A
feline-like smile curved her lips as she stepped closer. “Want to ride the
Ferris wheel with me?”
“Maybe,
but first I’d like to meet that little sister of yours.”
“Mona
Beth?” She looked at him like he’d gone down a notch in her estimation.
“Whatever for?”
“I
like her horse.” His friends snickered from the fence behind him.
She
narrowed her eyes. “If I take you to see her horse will you win me a stuffed
animal at the carnival?”
“Sure
thing.”
A
few minutes later they all stood in the grassy field that served as parking lot
beside a homemade trailer. The little brown mare was tethered to the trailer
and munched happily on some of the grass as Mona Beth, now dressed in blue jean
shorts and a red and white gingham shirt, combed her down. Both the horse and
rider looked up as they approached. The girl did a double take when she saw
Cecille’s new look. “Good gravy, Cecille. Mama and Daddy are gonna have a
conniption fit if they see you lookin’ that-a-way. You have on enough make-up
for all the women in China.”
Cecille
sniffed. “You’re one to talk. You look like a hillbilly in those cut-offs. All
you need is a corn-cob pipe.”
Mona
Beth glared at her, but returned to brushing down her horse.
Bo
sauntered closer and held out a hand, while his friends and Cecille and her
friends hung back. “Hi. You did a good job with those barrels.”
She
looked at his hand, but continued to brush down her horse. “Thanks.”
“Uh,
you know who I am, right?”
“Yeah.
You’re Bo Miller from the Miller ranch. Your daddy’s a big-time rancher and
your great-grandfather is who the town is named after.” She continued brushing.
Bo
frowned. Usually the girls liked that about him, but she didn’t seem impressed at
all. “We’re about to head to the carnival. Wanna come with us?”
Mona
Beth looked up, her clear blue eyes wide with surprise.
Cecille
stepped forward with a slight laugh and draped an arm through his. “Mona Beth
is more at home slopping the pigs than she is hanging out. C’mon. Let’s go.”
She tugged on his arm.
Bo
stood his ground. “I asked your sister a question. Any girl that can ride like
that is big enough to answer for herself.” He sent her a wink the others
couldn’t see.
The
glare Mona Beth had been aiming at her sister now turned to a look of victory.
“As a matter of fact, I was just finishing up here and about to head to the
carnival. I think I will tag along.” She laid down her brush and took a place
next to J.C., pulling back her hair into a ponytail and securing it with a
rubber band. “I’m ready when y’all are.”
Chapter One
January 2012
M
ama
Beth peered down at the only man she’d ever loved and lifted a hand to her
aching chest. Garbed in a hospital gown, Bo somehow seemed small and vulnerable
amidst the towering machines surrounding him. Though his eyes were closed in sleep,
the wrinkle between his now white brows revealed suffering. She allowed her gaze
to linger on every feature of the face she’d memorized years ago, growing fear
returning to gnaw at the last fringes of her unraveling hope.
She
moved to the window of the Baylor Medical Center hospital room and watched the
people scurrying below, hurrying to the warmth of skyscrapers. Another icy cold
and dark day. Another day in a month of days confined to this darkened room.
Dani and Steve had been up over the weekend, but with Dani expecting and running
the day care in her absence, and Steve tending to the business of Miller’s
Creek, they’d left Dallas yesterday to return home. Trish and Andy and the kids
would be up next weekend, but a hospital wasn’t a good place for kids who
needed to run and make noise and expend energy.
With
a heavy sigh she turned to face Bo again, her heart immediately moving to its
familiar position in her throat. Though she’d been through many storms in her
sixty plus years of living, none of them had shaken her to the core of her
faith like this one. She had to somehow find a way to lean on God’s promises to
help her through this valley of the shadow of death.
Lord, bring him through this.
Heal him. Please don’t take him away from me now. You’ve already taken Cecille, and I just
don’t think I can handle any more deaths in the family. Through tear-filled
eyes she once more glimpsed the pain etched on Bo’s face as the machine at the
head of the bed continued its infernal beeping. But I don’t want him to suffer, so if healing him is not part of Your
plan… She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing tears down her face, unable to
finish the prayer.
“You
okay, hon?”
His
whispered words shook her from self-pity, and she quickly swiped her face and
stepped toward him, relieved to see him awake. “Of course. Just being a silly
goose and giving into a little bit of a pity party.” She leaned across the bed
rail and cupped his face with her palm. “Are you feeling okay? Any pain?”
He
closed his eyes and gave his head a little shake. “Not too bad.”
“You’d
best not be feeding me a lie, you know.”
A
gentle laugh eased out of him, forcing his taut lips into a smile, the familiar
twinkle returning to his dark eyes. “Now would I do that?” He searched her face
and lifted one hand. “Never mind. Don’t answer.” He grew quiet momentarily, and
an expression came across his face that unnerved her. “Bethie, I know we
promised when we got married to not bring up the past, but I think it’s time.”
No! Every
fiber of her being screamed the word. That meant he was giving up. “Don’t you
dare give up on me, Bo Miller.”
The
door swung open, and Dr. Kumar whisked into the room. Though small in stature,
his constant motion gave him a large presence. “And how’s Mr. Bo doing today?”
“Okay.”
Dr.
Kumar faced her. “And does Dr. Mama Beth concur?”
“No.
He’s hurting and acting like the macho fool he can sometimes be.” She sent Bo a
semi-teasing wink.
The
surgeon laughed and moved to the other side of the bed to pat Bo’s hand. “You
should know better by now, don’t you think?”
One
corner of Bo’s mouth curved upward. “I keep hoping she’ll let one slide past.”
Dr.
Kumar gave his head a shake. “Don’t think there’s much chance of that happening.”
“Me
either.”
Mama
Beth edged closer and swallowed hard, the question in her heart burning holes
in her patience. “Any news?”
Dr.
Kumar raised his gaze, his smile disappearing. “Yes.”
The
look on his face was enough to make her feel lightheaded as her pulse roared in
her ears. She gripped the rail and waited.
He
pulled up a stool and sat, switching his gaze to Bo. “As you know, the tumor we
removed from your stomach was very large. That’s why you were having breathing
problems. It was pushing up against your lungs. I’m surprised you could breathe
at all. We got the lab results back earlier today. The oncologist wants to
discuss the results with you and should be here at any mo—”
As
if on demand, the door swung open and Dr. Wheeler entered. His head jutted out
further than the rest of his tall lanky body, reminding Mama Beth of a goose.
His round glasses perched atop a long nose on an even longer face. “Good
morning. Sorry I’m running a bit late.” He shook all their hands and then stood
at the end of the bed, his arms crossed across his chest as he cradled a
clipboard, his features giving no clue to the answer she both longed for and
dreaded.
“I
was just telling the Miller’s we received the results this morning and that you
wanted to speak with them.” Dr. Kumar volleyed the comment to the other doctor.
“Yes.
The tests reveal that you have a soft tissue sarcoma as we suspected.
Unfortunately, it has progressed to stage four, which basically means that
there are cancerous cells throughout your body. You could take radiation and
chemotherapy...” His words dwindled away as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say
next.
Just
like that. He delivered the news like it was a common occurrence, and in his
line of work, maybe it was. She pressed her lips together, blinked against
threatening tears, and faced Bo.
His
face was the color of the ashes at the bottom of the fireplace back home. “What
are my chances of recovery?”
Now
Dr. Wheeler twisted his goose-like neck from side to side and shifted his
weight as he peered into the space above the bed. “Well, that’s hard to say
because it depends so much on the patient’s outlook and determination.”
“Just
give it to me straight, doc. I’m a big boy.” Though Bo’s words were softly
spoken, the way they were delivered and the glint in his eye gave evidence to
his sincerity.
The
room grew deathly quiet as the oncologist stared at his feet for a moment. He
finally lifted his gaze. “It’s a longshot, Mr. Miller. I’ve never had a patient
survive this type of cancer that has developed to this stage.”
Mama
Beth once more clutched her chest as a gasp fell from her mouth. Tears fell,
unstoppable. “So you’re telling him to just give up? What kind of advice is
that?”
Bo
reached over and grabbed her hand. “Stop it, Bethie. The man’s just doing his
job.” He turned his attention back to the Dr. Wheeler, his hand still gripping
hers. “What kind of time do I have?”
“Three
to six months with chemo and radiation.”
“And
without it?”
“A
few weeks.” The words froze in mid-air and hung there like razor-sharp icicles.
Bo’s
eyes locked with hers and searched for a long minute as she fought for a
breath. He faced Dr. Wheeler. “Let’s do the chemo and radiation.”
The
oncologist looked at the surgeon then back at Bo. “The side effects won’t be
pleasant and won’t buy you that much time, Mr. Miller. I’d advise you to
reconsider.”
Bo
pinned him down with a steady gaze. “I’m not the only one affected by this
disease. My mind is made up.”
No
longer able to see from the flood of tears, Mama Beth sat in a nearby chair and
buried her head in her hands, her body racked with uncontrollable sobs. Two
hands patted her shoulder, and the sound of receding footsteps and the door
closing let her know the doctors had left the room. After several minutes, her
tears at last spent, she stood and walked to Bo’s bed, carefully lowered one
rail, and, dodging tubes and wires, crawled into bed beside him.
He
nestled her into the crook of his shoulder and rubbed her arms with his hands.
“You fit just right in this spot, Bethie. Almost like God made it just for
you.”
The
tears resumed, but she angrily swiped at them and sniffled. “Then why is God
taking you away from me?” Just having his arms around her soothed her in a way
that nothing else could. And the knowledge that she only had those arms for a
little while longer was more than she could bear.
“This
isn’t like you, Bethie.” His tone held censure. “You’ve always been the one
with rock-solid faith.”
Her
throat cinched closed. Hadn’t she been faithful throughout her life? Hadn’t she
endured separation from Bo for long enough. “It’s just not fair. I feel like I
just got you back and now this.”
Bo’s
chest flattened and a breath whooshed from him. “I know, sweetheart, but life
isn’t fair. Trust me when I say that I’ve questioned God’s fairness on more
than one occasion in my life. But I’ve learned to be glad God isn’t fair.”
She
pulled away, resting the weight of her body on one hand, her eyes perusing his
face.
He
released a soft chuckle. “Don’t look at me that way.”
“What
way?”
“Like
I’m from another planet.”
“Well,
sometimes I think you are.” She laid her head back next to his chest, the
beating of his heart another reminder of what she stood to lose. “How can you
be glad about God not being fair?”
“I
think you already know the answer if you think about it.” He grew quiet,
instinctively knowing she would think about it.
It
was true. God wasn’t fair, but He was always right, even in circumstances so
monstrous they threatened to sweep her away. If God was fair, no one stood a
chance. It was only His mercy that allowed another breath, another beat of the
heart, the gift of salvation and eternal life. She released a sigh. No, God
wasn’t fair by human standards, but He had reasons for everything and could
bring good out of even the most heinous trials. “Okay, you win.”
“Well
at least you finally let me win one.”
In
spite of her heavy heart, she giggled and propped her weight on her elbow to
stare into the soft brown eyes she loved so much. “You know me better than
that. I’ve never ‘let’ anyone win in
my entire life. If you won, it’s because you won fair and square.”
His
face wrinkled in merriment. “Boy, do you have that right.” Bo’s eyes took on a
distance that told her he was reliving the past. “I’ll never forget the first
time I saw you ride.”
ef
July 1963
Bo
swung one leg over the wooden fence at the Miller’s Creek fair and rodeo
grounds, shifted his weight, then pulled the other leg over and rested the
heels of his boots on a lower rung. J.C. and Vernon followed suit to his right,
while Coot huffed and puffed to his left, finally able to swing his more-than-ample
weight over the fence. The wooden rails wobbled beneath them. Bo gripped the
rail tighter, waiting for the wobble to stop. “Man, Coot. Without football
practice to keep your weight in check, you’re gonna outweigh the rest of us put
together before summer’s over.”
Through
the rodeo speakers Buck Owens belted his latest hit, Act Naturally, as Coot patted his ever-growing pot belly. “Just
more of me to love.”
All
four of them laughed. Vernon elbowed J.C., who probably didn’t weigh more than
a hundred and twenty soaking wet. “What cha think, J.C.? Think we should place
a wager on that?”
J.C.
grinned and ducked his head. “Nah. I might lose weight over the summer.”
Laughter
erupted again and J.C. turned pink.
“Always
the diplomat, aren’t ya, J.C.?” Bo slapped him on the back to show he was just
teasing. J.C. Watson, the son of Levi Watson, who owned the town’s only
drugstore, never had an unkind word to say about anybody. They just didn’t make
guys any nicer.
The
rodeo speakers crackled to life, and up in the stadium box, Coot’s dad
announced in a booming voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now time for the
barrel racers, girl’s division. Let’s give all the girls a hand as they make a
trot around the arena.” Applause broke out and a few people rose to their feet
to call out encouragement to one of the riders.
Vernon,
Bo’s best friend, pointed to the front rider, who sat atop a massive Appaloosa.
“That’s the one I’m picking to win. Just look at the haunches on that horse.”
A
brown quarter horse much smaller than the others took up the rear of the pack,
and a low rumble of laughter erupted from the crowd.
One
fellow, obviously operating with one too many under his belt, wobbled to his
feet, pointing and laughing. “Is that the rodeo clown?”
People
around him laughed, but pulled him down into a sitting position.
The
tiny girl on top of the horse had obviously heard the man, because as she
rounded the curve she looked up at him and pulled her horse to a stop. She
stared him down a minute then brought a hand to tip her black hat before she
resumed the trot. This only made the audience howl with laughter.
“Atta
girl.” Beside him, J.C. muttered the words under his breath.
“You
know her?”
“Yep.
That’s Mona Beth Adams, Cecille’s little sister.”
“Cecille?
The girl in our class who’s always hanging around?”
“Yep.”
He glanced at Bo. “And before long, everyone in this arena is gonna know her
little sister’s name.”
Bo’s
eyebrows furrowed.”Whaddaya mean?”
J.C.
just nodded his head to watch the blond-haired girl approach on horse. “You’ll
see soon enough.”
“Hi,
J.C.” The petite girl flashed a brilliant smile as she passed.
“Hey,
Mona Beth.”
“They
grow ‘em a little small down on the farm, don’t they?” Coot trumpeted the words
in his usual style, then dissolved in a fit of laughter.
Though
the small horse and rider had already passed, the horse came to an abrupt stop
and sat there momentarily. Then the girl turned the horse in a circle and
sauntered back to where Coot sat. She pulled the reins, rested both hands on
the saddle horn, and pushed the brim of her hat higher on her forehead. “Maybe
so,” she answered, before eyeing him up and down with the most intense blue
eyes Bo had ever seen. “Which tells me you definitely didn’t come from the
farm.”
“Ooh.
Guess she told you,” spouted Vernon from his perch at the other end. All of
them started to laugh. Even Coot, though his face was beet red, laughed.
But
the girl only smiled and tipped her hat before she turned and galloped from the
arena.
Bo
watched in fascination as girl after girl made their runs on the barrels. The big
Appaloosa and his rider turned out not to be so great, knocking over two of the
three barrels. By the time they reached the end of the pack, the rider of a
gorgeous Palomino that reminded him of his own horse, Buttercup, held the
night’s record, with a time of sixteen fifty-three.
“And
our last barrel racer, Miss Mona Beth Adams, from right here in Miller’s Creek,
riding her horse Daisy.”
In
a flash, the little horse thundered into the arena, headed for the first
barrel. The girl’s knee came perilously close to the barrel as the horse leaned
to an almost horizontal position on the first turn. The crowd began to lean
forward in their seats, totally mesmerized with the way the girl and horse
seemed to ride as one.
“Go,
girl, go,” whispered J.C. under his breath.
Though
the Adams girl had clamped her legs around the horse on the turn, she now
straightened her legs and used the force of them to spur her horse on faster.
On the second turn, the horse leaned so close to the ground, the girl’s foot
almost dragged the ground. But as she raced for the final barrel, something
broke on the bridle, and the bit fell from the horse’s mouth. The whole crowd
gasped in unison and a low murmur began as people pointed.
The
rider leaned closer to the little mare’s neck and grabbed hold of her mane as
they careened in perfect alignment around the third barrel. As the little horse
tore up the turf on her way out of the arena, the people in the stands went
crazy.
“Wow!”
Coot’s dad shouted the word. “Mona Beth Adams just busted not only a bridle,
but the record for the night. Her time is half a second under the closest time
at sixteen twenty-three!” Again the stands went wild as all the riders entered
the arena to be recognized.
After
receiving her first place medal, the petite blond, her hair flowing out from under
her black hat, made a quick ride to where they sat. She pulled the horse short
just shy of where Coot sat and looked him square in the eye, her chin jutted
out. “As you can see, small doesn’t equate with slow. You might remember that
before you pop off and spout the first idiotic words that come to your brain.”
Without another word, she turned her horse to head out of the arena.
Bo
caught her eye as she passed, but she gave him the same look of disdain she’d
just given Coot.
The
only person she spoke to on her way out was J.C., who wore a grin as big as
Texas.
Bo
slapped a hand on J.C.’s back. “You planning on asking her to be your girl,
J.C.?”
His
friend looked at him like he was crazy. “Nah. Knowing her, she’s probably not looking
for a boyfriend. I mean, she’s a nice girl and everything, but she’s too young.
Why do you ask?”
He
rose to his feet to watch Mona Beth Adams exit the arena. “Cause if you’re not,
I’m goin’ to.”
Vernon,
his best friend since first grade, stood and popped him on the head with the
palm of his hand. “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard.”
Bo
looked around at his friends’ expressions. They obviously felt the same way,
but only Vernon had the courage to express it. “Why is it stupid?”
“How
long do you have?” His friend’s green eyes never wavered. “First of all, since
when have you been a cradle robber? Second, you have less than a year until
graduation and college. Third, your mama and daddy will never go for it.
Fourth—”
“Okay,
okay, I get the picture.”
Suddenly
a familiar voice caught his attention. “Well, if it’s not Bo Miller.” He looked
down just as Cecille Adams and a couple of other girls from their class stalked
up.
“Hey,
Cecille.” He glanced down long enough to notice that she’d bobbed her hair and
had done up her eyes like Liz Taylor in Cleopatra,
and then craned his neck to follow the little mare with the black-hatted rider.
Never had he seen a girl handle a horse like that. “You ride horses?”
A
haughty laugh sounded from her. “Me? Not hardly. Why would I want to mess up my
hair on the back of a sweaty and smelly animal?” She moved closer. “Come down
here and talk to me. Or do I have to come up there?”
Normally,
he would’ve stayed put. He had no interest in Cecille Adams, or her type for
that matter. But he had another plan in mind, so he climbed to the top of the
fence and hopped down in front of her.
A
feline-like smile curved her lips as she stepped closer. “Want to ride the
Ferris wheel with me?”
“Maybe,
but first I’d like to meet that little sister of yours.”
“Mona
Beth?” She looked at him like he’d gone down a notch in her estimation.
“Whatever for?”
“I
like her horse.” His friends snickered from the fence behind him.
She
narrowed her eyes. “If I take you to see her horse will you win me a stuffed
animal at the carnival?”
“Sure
thing.”
A
few minutes later they all stood in the grassy field that served as parking lot
beside a homemade trailer. The little brown mare was tethered to the trailer
and munched happily on some of the grass as Mona Beth, now dressed in blue jean
shorts and a red and white gingham shirt, combed her down. Both the horse and
rider looked up as they approached. The girl did a double take when she saw
Cecille’s new look. “Good gravy, Cecille. Mama and Daddy are gonna have a
conniption fit if they see you lookin’ that-a-way. You have on enough make-up
for all the women in China.”
Cecille
sniffed. “You’re one to talk. You look like a hillbilly in those cut-offs. All
you need is a corn-cob pipe.”
Mona
Beth glared at her, but returned to brushing down her horse.
Bo
sauntered closer and held out a hand, while his friends and Cecille and her
friends hung back. “Hi. You did a good job with those barrels.”
She
looked at his hand, but continued to brush down her horse. “Thanks.”
“Uh,
you know who I am, right?”
“Yeah.
You’re Bo Miller from the Miller ranch. Your daddy’s a big-time rancher and
your great-grandfather is who the town is named after.” She continued brushing.
Bo
frowned. Usually the girls liked that about him, but she didn’t seem impressed at
all. “We’re about to head to the carnival. Wanna come with us?”
Mona
Beth looked up, her clear blue eyes wide with surprise.
Cecille
stepped forward with a slight laugh and draped an arm through his. “Mona Beth
is more at home slopping the pigs than she is hanging out. C’mon. Let’s go.”
She tugged on his arm.
Bo
stood his ground. “I asked your sister a question. Any girl that can ride like
that is big enough to answer for herself.” He sent her a wink the others
couldn’t see.
The
glare Mona Beth had been aiming at her sister now turned to a look of victory.
“As a matter of fact, I was just finishing up here and about to head to the
carnival. I think I will tag along.” She laid down her brush and took a place
next to J.C., pulling back her hair into a ponytail and securing it with a
rubber band. “I’m ready when y’all are.”
November 12, 2012
Book Spotlight and Interview with K. Dawn Byrd
Today we'll be chatting with author K. Dawn Byrd about her latest release, "Amazing Love." Welcome to WordVessel, K. Dawn!
What would you like readers to take away from your book?
Amazing Love is the modern-day
version of the Hosea and Gomer story from the Bible. I'd like for readers to
take away that God loves us with an unconditional love. My heroine, Dee, does
some pretty terrible things and believes that God could never forgive her, but
He does.
Why did you choose to write this book?
A couple of years ago, I was the story of Hosea and Gomer in the Bible and the
thought came to mind that it would be fun to retell the story in a modern
setting.
What is the toughest test you've faced as a writer?
Finding time to write. I work a full-time job and also a lot of weekends, which
means that I have to be really devoted to my writing time. I set aside at least
an hour every night, six days a week if possible. The fact that I start with a
well-developed plot makes things move faster.
What accomplishment(s) are you most proud of,
writing-related or not?
I'm proud of earning a master degree in professional
counseling from Liberty University. I believe this degree helps me to
understand my characters better and what makes them tick.
What kind of planning do you do before writing a novel?
I fill out character sketches in order to get to know my
characters better. I ask myself what their goals are, what motivates them, and
what's keeping them from reaching their goals. Sometimes, I start by writing a
synopsis. This gives me information about the plot as it develops. I usually
have a pretty strong plot before I actually begin the story.
What are your favorite writing conferences and why?
The ACFW conference is my favorite because I absolutely love
the worship. It blesses my heart. It's also really nice to chat with
like-minded people.
What's next for you?
I have three releases in 2012, all young adult. Something
Beautiful in January. The Hot Line Girl in June. Luck of the Draw in November.
Tell us about your latest release
and what you think readers will enjoy about it.
My latest release, Amazing Love, is the modern story of
Hosea and Gomer. It was a tough story to write because my heroine suffers
severe consequences for her sins, but it was necessary to portray how low we
can go and how much God still loves us through it all. I hope readers will take
away the fact that no matter what we do, God loves us with an unconditional
love and is ready to accept us back into His loving arms.
How can readers get in contact with you? (mail, email,
website)
Email: kdawnbyrd@yahoo.com
Blog: www.kdawnbyrd.blogspot.com
Twitter: kdawnbyrd
Pinterist: kdawnbyrd
Facebook: kdawnbyrd
Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLtz_kGEFFk&feature=plcp
About the Book:
Gabe Knight, a
pastor in a small coastal town, finds his life is turned upside down when Dee
Dillow arrives and hires him to remodel an estate she's inherited from her
aunt. Dee dashes his plans for wedded bless when on a drunken binge, she
divulges that she's the highest paid call girl in Nevada and part-owner of the
ritziest brothel in the state.
Gabe falls in love
with her, but can't believe he's hearing the voice of God when a still, small
voice tells him to marry her. After much questioning, they marry and he is
deliriously happy. Until, Dee betrays him.
Gabe soon discovers
just how hard it is to have the unconditional love God calls him to have for
his wife, the kind of love God has for his children. When faced with losing
her, Gabe realizes what true love is, how much it hurts, and just how much God
loves and is willing to sacrifice for his children.
Purchase Link:
http://www.amazon.com/Amazing-Love-ebook/dp/B009W5PQJO/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1351118355&sr=8-2&keywords=byrd+amazing+love
What would you like readers to take away from your book?
Amazing Love is the modern-day
version of the Hosea and Gomer story from the Bible. I'd like for readers to
take away that God loves us with an unconditional love. My heroine, Dee, does
some pretty terrible things and believes that God could never forgive her, but
He does.
Why did you choose to write this book?
A couple of years ago, I was the story of Hosea and Gomer in the Bible and the
thought came to mind that it would be fun to retell the story in a modern
setting.
What is the toughest test you've faced as a writer?
Finding time to write. I work a full-time job and also a lot of weekends, which
means that I have to be really devoted to my writing time. I set aside at least
an hour every night, six days a week if possible. The fact that I start with a
well-developed plot makes things move faster.
What accomplishment(s) are you most proud of,
writing-related or not?
I'm proud of earning a master degree in professional
counseling from Liberty University. I believe this degree helps me to
understand my characters better and what makes them tick.
What kind of planning do you do before writing a novel?
I fill out character sketches in order to get to know my
characters better. I ask myself what their goals are, what motivates them, and
what's keeping them from reaching their goals. Sometimes, I start by writing a
synopsis. This gives me information about the plot as it develops. I usually
have a pretty strong plot before I actually begin the story.
What are your favorite writing conferences and why?
The ACFW conference is my favorite because I absolutely love
the worship. It blesses my heart. It's also really nice to chat with
like-minded people.
What's next for you?
I have three releases in 2012, all young adult. Something
Beautiful in January. The Hot Line Girl in June. Luck of the Draw in November.
Tell us about your latest release
and what you think readers will enjoy about it.
My latest release, Amazing Love, is the modern story of
Hosea and Gomer. It was a tough story to write because my heroine suffers
severe consequences for her sins, but it was necessary to portray how low we
can go and how much God still loves us through it all. I hope readers will take
away the fact that no matter what we do, God loves us with an unconditional
love and is ready to accept us back into His loving arms.
How can readers get in contact with you? (mail, email,
website)
Email: kdawnbyrd@yahoo.com
Blog: www.kdawnbyrd.blogspot.com
Twitter: kdawnbyrd
Pinterist: kdawnbyrd
Facebook: kdawnbyrd
Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLtz_kGEFFk&feature=plcp
About the Book:
Gabe Knight, a
pastor in a small coastal town, finds his life is turned upside down when Dee
Dillow arrives and hires him to remodel an estate she's inherited from her
aunt. Dee dashes his plans for wedded bless when on a drunken binge, she
divulges that she's the highest paid call girl in Nevada and part-owner of the
ritziest brothel in the state.
Gabe falls in love
with her, but can't believe he's hearing the voice of God when a still, small
voice tells him to marry her. After much questioning, they marry and he is
deliriously happy. Until, Dee betrays him.
Gabe soon discovers
just how hard it is to have the unconditional love God calls him to have for
his wife, the kind of love God has for his children. When faced with losing
her, Gabe realizes what true love is, how much it hurts, and just how much God
loves and is willing to sacrifice for his children.
Purchase Link:
http://www.amazon.com/Amazing-Love-ebook/dp/B009W5PQJO/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1351118355&sr=8-2&keywords=byrd+amazing+love
November 9, 2012
Make Your Character Come to Life With Character Charts
Part of my pre-writing process before sitting down to pin my lousy first draft involves filling out character charts for each of my main characters. I certainly complete this step for my hero and heroine, but it's especially important for any character that you don't completely have a grip on--whether your antagonist or even a minor character who plays an important role in the story.
Why is the use of character charts so important?
Because it helps you understand the inner values and beliefs of your character, helps you get to know them from the inside out, to see what makes them tick, and to better understand the motivation behind what they do.
After all, if you don't completely understand your character then how will the reader understand them?
Here are a few details I try to "uncover" when creating a character.
age (birth date)
upbringing
relationships with parents, sibling, friends
full name and meaning
physical appearance (hair, eye and skin color; facial features; height and weight; typical hair style; even how they feel about their physical appearance)
where they live (currently and in the past--a big part of who we are is influenced by our surroundings)
what their surroundings look like
how they feel about their current living conditions
occupation (including how they feel about their work)
pet peeves
prejudices
fears
joys
lies they tell themselves (& believe)
favorites (colors, foods, books, movies, music, places, etc.)
socioeconomic status (and their socioeconomic status in the past)
goals and dreams
hobbies
personality traits and temperament
quirks and habits
strengths and weaknesses
typical attire
the kind of car they drive
religious background
current status of their relationship with God
pertinent background history
greatest accomplishments and failures
defining moments (you know, those major life events that shape who they are)
how other characters describe them
name meaning and nicknames
pets
how they sound when they talk
typical day
attitude
how they handle conflict
posture
gestures
self-perception
I highly recommend doing a Google search for "character charts," and then combining them to make your own. I also recommend personality testing for your characters. Here's the link for the one I use: http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/jtypes2.asp. I also use a book I received during annual teacher training, The Art of Profiling by Dan Korem, which is useful for understanding how people act and communicate.
I've found that filling out a character chart not only helps me understand my character better, but often suggests possible scenes for the story.
What about you? Are there other things you do to discover your characters? Let us know in the comments!
Happy Writing,
Why is the use of character charts so important?
Because it helps you understand the inner values and beliefs of your character, helps you get to know them from the inside out, to see what makes them tick, and to better understand the motivation behind what they do.
After all, if you don't completely understand your character then how will the reader understand them?
Here are a few details I try to "uncover" when creating a character.
age (birth date)
upbringing
relationships with parents, sibling, friends
full name and meaning
physical appearance (hair, eye and skin color; facial features; height and weight; typical hair style; even how they feel about their physical appearance)
where they live (currently and in the past--a big part of who we are is influenced by our surroundings)
what their surroundings look like
how they feel about their current living conditions
occupation (including how they feel about their work)
pet peeves
prejudices
fears
joys
lies they tell themselves (& believe)
favorites (colors, foods, books, movies, music, places, etc.)
socioeconomic status (and their socioeconomic status in the past)
goals and dreams
hobbies
personality traits and temperament
quirks and habits
strengths and weaknesses
typical attire
the kind of car they drive
religious background
current status of their relationship with God
pertinent background history
greatest accomplishments and failures
defining moments (you know, those major life events that shape who they are)
how other characters describe them
name meaning and nicknames
pets
how they sound when they talk
typical day
attitude
how they handle conflict
posture
gestures
self-perception
I highly recommend doing a Google search for "character charts," and then combining them to make your own. I also recommend personality testing for your characters. Here's the link for the one I use: http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/jtypes2.asp. I also use a book I received during annual teacher training, The Art of Profiling by Dan Korem, which is useful for understanding how people act and communicate.
I've found that filling out a character chart not only helps me understand my character better, but often suggests possible scenes for the story.
What about you? Are there other things you do to discover your characters? Let us know in the comments!
Happy Writing,
November 8, 2012
Wayward Branches
A garden left unattended will eventually get overgrown, with vines and branches becoming wayward. Plants have to be trimmed and trained to the wishes and commands of the gardener. In the same way, God disciplines us so that we are conformed to the likeness of His Son.
For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the
likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. ~Romans 8:29 (NIV)
And just as we have borne the likeness of the earthly man, so shall we bear the likeness of the man from heaven. ~1 Corinthians 15:49 (NIV)
And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being
transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes
from the Lord, who is the Spirit. ~2 Corinthians 3:18 (NIV)
The only problem? We don't like discipline. Being conformed to the image of Christ means being moved from our comfortable position of doing what we want when we want it. It can be painful to be trimmed and trained to the wishes of the Master Gardener.
But without His discipline we can't become what He wants us to be, which is conformity to Christ.
My prayer is that I will mature in my faith to the point that I welcome the pruning shears and refining fires of God, knowing that in time, I will become like the One who created me, has a purpose for my life, and will one day have me stand before Him to give an account. I don't want to be a foolish wayward branch. I want to be transformed and conformed to Christ through His discipline, so I can hear Him say: "Well done, my good and faithful servant."
Blessed is the man whom God corrects; so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty. ~Job 5:17
The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and discipline. ~Proverbs 1:7
My son, do not despise the LORD's discipline and do not resent his
rebuke, because the LORD disciplines those he loves, as a father the son
he delights in. Blessed is the man who finds wisdom, the man who gains
understanding, ~Proverbs 3:11-13
Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son
is not disciplined by his father? If you are not disciplined (and
everyone undergoes discipline), then you are illegitimate children and
not true sons. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined
us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the
Father of our spirits and live! Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but
God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on,
however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who
have been trained by it. ~Hebrews 12:7-11
Father God, thank You for Your great love that refuses to let us get away without Your discipline. Help us to welcome Your discipline--no matter how painful--as what is best for us. Thank You for being the gardener of our souls. Amen.
For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the
likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. ~Romans 8:29 (NIV)
And just as we have borne the likeness of the earthly man, so shall we bear the likeness of the man from heaven. ~1 Corinthians 15:49 (NIV)
And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being
transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes
from the Lord, who is the Spirit. ~2 Corinthians 3:18 (NIV)
The only problem? We don't like discipline. Being conformed to the image of Christ means being moved from our comfortable position of doing what we want when we want it. It can be painful to be trimmed and trained to the wishes of the Master Gardener.
But without His discipline we can't become what He wants us to be, which is conformity to Christ.
My prayer is that I will mature in my faith to the point that I welcome the pruning shears and refining fires of God, knowing that in time, I will become like the One who created me, has a purpose for my life, and will one day have me stand before Him to give an account. I don't want to be a foolish wayward branch. I want to be transformed and conformed to Christ through His discipline, so I can hear Him say: "Well done, my good and faithful servant."
Blessed is the man whom God corrects; so do not despise the discipline of the Almighty. ~Job 5:17
The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and discipline. ~Proverbs 1:7
My son, do not despise the LORD's discipline and do not resent his
rebuke, because the LORD disciplines those he loves, as a father the son
he delights in. Blessed is the man who finds wisdom, the man who gains
understanding, ~Proverbs 3:11-13
Endure hardship as discipline; God is treating you as sons. For what son
is not disciplined by his father? If you are not disciplined (and
everyone undergoes discipline), then you are illegitimate children and
not true sons. Moreover, we have all had human fathers who disciplined
us and we respected them for it. How much more should we submit to the
Father of our spirits and live! Our fathers disciplined us for a little while as they thought best; but
God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness. No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on,
however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who
have been trained by it. ~Hebrews 12:7-11
Father God, thank You for Your great love that refuses to let us get away without Your discipline. Help us to welcome Your discipline--no matter how painful--as what is best for us. Thank You for being the gardener of our souls. Amen.
November 7, 2012
The Lousy First Draft
Every story has to begin somewhere. If you're a plotter like me, it starts with the pre-writing process, which includes such things as story structure and characterizations. But once that part of the process is complete, you must, must, MUST get the lousy first draft down on paper in the shortest amount of time possible.
Why?
Because the longer you drag it out, the less likely you will be to finish.
"But it's not perfect," you whine. So what? I doubt very seriously if any author has been completely pleased with their finished manuscript, much less the first draft.
"But I don't know where to go from here," you opine as you stomp from the room. Then start with a different scene in a different location in the book. Who said novels had to be written in a certain order?
"But my characters won't do what I tell them to do," you pout. Good! Misbehaving characters can be very interesting and show you a side of themselves that needs to be included in the story.
The point is: just get it down on paper in as complete a form as you can without allowing your internal editor to take over. When he/she begins to point out the mistakes, tell him/her that you'll deal with it later, jot a reminder note if you want, and then kick him/her out the door! This is your story, and you can call that demanding editor back in the room at a later time.
I don't know of a writer alive (or dead, for that matter) who loves (or even likes) their first draft. There's a reason they're called "rough" drafts. But that rough draft has value. It's a chunk of marble from which you'll fashion your masterpiece.
If you can't take my word for it, then maybe you'll accept Michael Crichton's (Jurassic Park): "Books aren't written - they're rewritten."
So turn off the left side of your brain until you get that lousy first draft written. I promise, you'll be glad you did.
Why?
Because the longer you drag it out, the less likely you will be to finish.
"But it's not perfect," you whine. So what? I doubt very seriously if any author has been completely pleased with their finished manuscript, much less the first draft.
"But I don't know where to go from here," you opine as you stomp from the room. Then start with a different scene in a different location in the book. Who said novels had to be written in a certain order?
"But my characters won't do what I tell them to do," you pout. Good! Misbehaving characters can be very interesting and show you a side of themselves that needs to be included in the story.
The point is: just get it down on paper in as complete a form as you can without allowing your internal editor to take over. When he/she begins to point out the mistakes, tell him/her that you'll deal with it later, jot a reminder note if you want, and then kick him/her out the door! This is your story, and you can call that demanding editor back in the room at a later time.
I don't know of a writer alive (or dead, for that matter) who loves (or even likes) their first draft. There's a reason they're called "rough" drafts. But that rough draft has value. It's a chunk of marble from which you'll fashion your masterpiece.
If you can't take my word for it, then maybe you'll accept Michael Crichton's (Jurassic Park): "Books aren't written - they're rewritten."
So turn off the left side of your brain until you get that lousy first draft written. I promise, you'll be glad you did.
CatBryant.com ~ Journey Blog
FREE digital copy of A PATH LESS TRAVELED (2nd stand-alone book in the Miller's Creek novels and an Amazon Kindle Best-Seller) when you subscribe to Cathy's FROM MY FRONT PORCH newsletter. On my blog
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