Amanda Stephan's Blog: God is Good, God is Great, page 29

Spiritual Books For Small Fry

Last year when I participated in the Kentucky Book Fair I made several wonderful new author friends and among them was the lovely Dandi Daley Mackall. I absolutely adored her children's book, There's A Baby In There, especially after she shared the story behind the creation of the book with me.









So when I sat down to write this post about Spiritual Books For Small Fry, you can imagine my surprise to find out that one of the books that Emily and I have been reading for several years was written by none other then Miss Dandi. It's called Go, Go Fish and tells the story of Jesus walking on water from the point of view of a small fish who is afraid of everything until he witnesses the light of Christ as he walks overhead.















What's even more wonderful is the fact that this is only one of the books in a series called I'm Not Afraid. Each book is a different Bible story with the wonderful message of how Christ can make our fears disappear.

There's No, No Noah, and Don't Cry, Lion, and Little Lost Donkey.

































Hopefully I will run into Miss Dandi again in the near future and when I do perhaps she will be kind enough to autograph our much love copy of Go, Go Fish!



 So ends another episode of Kids Korner with me, Children's Author Aileen Stewart. Join me next week for another exciting episode same krazy time, same krazy channel. And feel free to drop by my personal blog Aileen's Thoughts any day of the week for even more on reading, writing, and life in general. 




www.BooksByAmanda.com

Christian Devotional - Sacrifice of Fools, part 2

“God, if you’ll just do this for me, I promise I’ll …..”

You can complete that sentence above with so many things. Just
a few I’ve heard before: I promise I’ll stop drinking, stop cussing, stop cheating
on my husband. I promise I’ll start going to church, start tithing, start praying
before my meals.

We’re looking at the second part of the sacrifice of fools
today. The sacrifice of fools is mentioned in Ecclesiastes 5 and this part is in
verse 4, “When you make a vow to God, do not delay to fulfill it. He has no
pleasure in fools; fulfill your vow.”

The second part of the sacrifice of fools is making a vow to
God and not fulfilling it. Do we follow every promise we make to God, even the last
minute, in-the-midst-of-crisis, vows to God? A thoughtless vow to God is still
a vow. Are we men and women of our word? The consequences of breaking our vow (besides
being labeled a fool) are mentioned in the following verses. “It is better not
to make a vow than to make one and not fulfill it. Do not let your mouth lead
you into sin. And do not protest to the temple messenger, ‘My vow was a
mistake.’ Why should God be angry at what you say and destroy the work of your
hands?”
What is the result of breaking a vow to God? God will
destroy what you have done. Our vows are important to God. They are our verbal
commitment to Him of a decision we have made in our heart. They should be made
carefully and with much thought.




Have you made a vow to God? Are you actively seeking to
fulfill that vow? If not, confess and repent to God and start anew to fulfill
your vow. After all, this is one way God will seek to bless and honor the work
that you have done.
Kristi Burchfiel, Christian devotional author and speaker

Living in the World – Living out the Word

Check out my website and daily devotions either on my blog or on my Facebook page
www.BooksByAmanda.com

Meet Author Lisa J. Lickel and Get a Sneak Peek!

       
Where are you right now (LVR, DR, Bathroom) and what are you wearing? You have to tell the truth.  J 
      Oh, gravy—caught me dead. I’m in the living room at the “big” computer – which does NOT have a web cam, in my pajamas. Gulp. Right, thanks, now someone’s going to come to the door. Never fails.

What is one of the most interesting things you’ve learned when researching a story? Ricin is the assassin’s poison, as it doesn’t leave a trace.

Many writers will say they see stories all around them. Is there any place unusual you’ve found a story?I think for me it’s more like I find unusual stories in usual places. The story of a drowning during the flapper era at the lake we visited a couple summers ago; using coded signals in traffic jams while on the freeway; okay—I guess this qualifies as an unusual place: underground tunnels that many cities built during various war times for protection of goods and people.

What is your favorite part of writing? Did anyone inspire you to write or was this something you always wanted to do? The favorite part is coming up with the idea and early plotting before all the messy stuff, like this or that can’t work when I dig into research. I never really considered writing as a career until I got involved with developing a local historical society and started editing local histories, doing newspaper articles and press releases, then took an online course.

If you could be any character in any literary book who would you be and why?If Agatha Christie counts a literary, right now I’d love to be Miss Marple, who’s lived long enough to develop a patina of wisdom and accountability and self-confidence to be useful to the society in which she exists.

What is something that very few people know about you?
      Well, this could get ugly. How about the fact that I sit around in my pajamas checking my e-mail and responding to interviews first thing in the morning. So much better than revealing I have a secret crush on Edward Cullen.

What is your favorite material item that you own? The first miniature pewter dragon in my collection. It’s handmade, not molded, and perfect.
What do you do to unwind and relax?Relax? What for…um, acupuncture. Seriously. It’s awesome and I may have to take a class so I can do it to myself.

While you were writing, did you ever feel as if you were one of the characters?Well, yes, actually.

What are your expectations for your book? I’d the love the re-release of The Last Bequest to jumpstart the rest of the series.

What dreams have been realized as a result of your writing? I no longer have to embarrass myself in front of the congregation I used to work for by making the angels sin at Christmas time.

Do you have any upcoming appearances that you would like to share with us?I plan to schedule a workshop on micropublishing, but as of this date, haven’t any information.

If you could leave your readers with one bit of wisdom, what would you want it to be?Take care to read deep, take small bites and chew well before swallowing. Savor the melded flavors the author used and lick your lips. We put a lot of effort in creating this dish just for you; don’t ruin it by gobbling it up and letting leftovers get moldy in the fridge.

If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?I had great editors with this round…no, I’m finally content with where we went on this journey.

Do you remember how your interest in writing originated?
      If I did, I would run screaming.

 Would you like to share a little about your current work in progress? Perhaps the first chapter of your book? Absolutely. I’m working on the third book in the mystery series, currently called The Newspaper Code (comes after The Map Quilt). Of course, this hasn’t been through the editor yet. It’s due out in April 2013.



The Newspaper Code , Book 3 of the Buried Treasure Series
Dead-heading the petunias isn’t just a gardening expression in Robertsville.
Judy Wingate’s NOT-BFF, Olivia Hargrove of the Robertsville Reporter, uncovers a 150-year-old secret stash of four and a half million dollars—and the statue of the founding father is behind—above—it. When an elderly civil servant is murdered and the statue stolen, who can Judy and Olivia trust? 

Chapter One    “Aaaaack!”    Judy Wingate stretched her eyebrows at the sounds of dismay coming from the house. She paused in the act of rapping on her friend Ardyth’s screen door, and instead cuddled her infant daughter higher in her arms. Elizabeth kicked her in the ribs. Stifling a gasp, Judy leaned toward the screen door, then took a hasty step back when Ardyth peered back from inside.    “Well, I never!” Ardyth sniffed and huffed. “There you are.”    “Ne-never what?” Judy asked, then turned sideways to keep the door from smacking her and Elizabeth as Ardyth pushed it open.                “Sorry, dear. Come in, do. Oh, my. I just don’t know how I’m going to break the news, that’s all.” Ardyth’s plaid tennies slapped the glossy narrow oak floor boards of her hallway as she led the way to the little bungalow’s kitchen.     “Explain what, Ardyth? You’ve lost me.”     Judy’s elderly and histrionically inclined friend opened her sunny yellow refrigerator door, covered with childish cat drawings, plucked out the lemonade pitcher and poured a glass. Judy, in slow motion, sank into a seat at the kitchen table. Ardyth stared at the telephone handset perched on the kitchen counter next to the chrome sink. She didn’t even offer Judy a glass, or exclaim over how much Elizabeth had grown.     Elizabeth cooed and waved her little fist.     “Oh! Where are my manners.” Ardyth bustled to pour another glassful of her special homemade drink.     Judy decided on a sympathetic tactic. “I can see you’re upset. Perhaps Elizabeth and I should go water the flowers ourselves this time.”     Ardyth drew in her normally poofed crepe-skinned cheeks. “Well, of course I’m upset. Who wouldn’t be? I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”     “Won’t you tell me about it?”     Ardyth gasped. With a quick glance at Elizabeth, she stage-whispered: “Not in front of the baby!”     “Elizabeth is only six weeks old.” Judy held up her hand. “I promise. I won’t let her tell anyone.”     Failure to elicit a kidding rebuke, or any response, fanned Judy’s sense of fear. “Are you all right? Is Bryce?” Oh, please, Lord! Don’t let anything happen to either of them! I love them so much. They’ve only had three years of marriage, just as many as Hart and I.     “It’s nothing like that. I’m sorry I scared you, honey.” Ardyth’s cat strutted into the kitchen. Ardyth paled. The brindled gray sat squarely in front of her mistress. Judy squinted. Something was definitely different.     “You!” Ardyth scolded her pet. “How could you do this to me, Cat! You’re grieving me to no end.” Ardyth actually shook her finger at her pet. “Just wait until Bryce gets home! Ah! I don’t know what I’m going to say. How will he take the news?”     “Ardyth!”     Ardyth sniffed and addressed the ceiling. “Cat’s—well, she’s—” her voice dropped to a whisper. “Expect­ing.”     Judy blinked and bit the inside of her cheek. She took a deep breath, then hid her face in Elizabeth’s little tummy. Don’t laugh…do not laugh. “Um…you never let her outside, I thought.”     Ardyth drew her shoulders back regally. “I don’t!”     “Bryce wouldn’t—”     “Of course not. He knows better.”     “Then how…who?”     Ardyth abruptly faced the kitchen window where she braced her hands on either side of the sink as if for battle. “That Lois! That’s who.”     For a woman who named her pet cat “Cat,” Ardyth was really laying it on thick. Judy sucked in her cheeks to hide a smirk. “You think Lois Birdseye snuck over here and let Cat out?”     “Didn’t have to sneak. I gave her a key.”     “Oh. You mean when she watched your house when you and Bryce went on vacation last month.”     Ardyth folded her arms and nodded her gray head until her shoulder-length curls bounced.         “You know what they say. When the folks are away…the cats will play.”     Cat gave a low yowl, as if affronted.     Ardyth ignored her pet and snatched up a green and yellow plaid visor that matched her footwear. “Come on, dearie, time to give old Robert Roberts a good dousing.” She grabbed a flamingo-overdosed-on-shrimp pink plastic watering can on the way out of the back door.     Judy made her stop at the end of the walk so she could buckle Elizabeth back into her stroller. Ardyth plopped the can on a Red Flyer, then deftly splashed water from the hose into it before twisting the faucet handle and yanking the wagon behind her down the street.      Judy had to walk fast to keep up with the muttering Ardyth. Occasional phrases, ones that sounded like “If I ever catch her twitching her tail at another…” and “I’ll fix him…” echoed back.     “Ardyth!” Judy puffed. “Slow down!” The two of them were taking their turn to water the flower patch surrounding the statue of the founder of Robertsville. Judy had gotten used to jokes about how to tell a townie from a newcomer: the length of time it takes them to stop laughing at the ridiculous placement of the monument.     Robert Roberts’s formidable likeness was planted in the middle of one length of the sidewalk framing the town square. The leading ladies later formed a gardening society to soften the shock of the huge statue by planting a ring of flowers about the base. The ugly pipe fence was added later to discourage stepping on the plants and defacing the statue.     “Hey, Ardyth! Wait up!” Judy called. “I’m not in as good of shape as you, yet!”       Septuagenarian Ardyth, in her agitation, could have lapped twenty-seven-year-old Judy around the block. “Remember that meeting when Esme Espe asked the Garden Club—”     “Whew!” Ardyth came to a halt and blew back her bangs. “I guess we don’t need to hurry. I’m just befuddled. Yes, yes, of course I do. It was your first meeting, wasn’t it? Awful nice of you to volunteer. Wasn’t that long ago.”     “Three years. I’ll never forget that first time, anyway.”     Laura Reynolds was the perennial president of the club. The sight of Esme toddling around with her walker was about the only thing that seemed to rattle her. Blonde, chic Mrs. Reynolds, whose real estate developer attorney husband wanted Judy’s farmland, had pinched her lips together so tightly her lipstick slid down her chin.     Ardyth struck a hunched-over pose and peered up at Judy, her faded bachelor button-blue eyes twinkling. “Ah don’t want you plantin’ or nothing,” she said, imitating Esme’s husky Joan Crawford voice. “Ah got a reg’lar rotation, you know. Ah kin keep up weedin’. Jes cain’t cart wadder bucket no more.”     “I only hope I have as much energy as she does when I’m ninety-nine,” Judy said. “Do you think we dare deadhead the petunias?”     “Well, Esme’s eyesight is starting to go.”     “I heard Mayor Thompson wants to throw her a birthday party.”     Ardyth giggled. “A retirement party is what I heard.”     “I wondered why there were some red petunias mixed in with the purple this year. So, her eyes are that bad? How can she still drive?”     Ardyth stopped a few yards shy of the statue, just beyond the waving plots of petunias softening the fencing that guarded Robert’s personal space. “Well, when you’ve been around as long as she has, everybody knows her. They just stay out of her way when they see her old Fairlane coming.”     Judy recalled more than one occasion when that mostly blue road yacht took up more than its share of the road. She stopped beside her friend and regarded Robert. “I can’t imagine anyone whose last name was Roberts would plant the same first name on a kid.”     “It’s not exactly the same.”     Judy raised a brow. “I guess not.”     “It’s Scottish.”     “Yes.”     “They were frugal people, you know.” Ardyth turned a deadpan look at Judy. “Even economizing over a name.”     Judy doubled over the stroller in her laughing fit.     Elizabeth waved both little legs and burbled. Ardyth knelt to tickle the baby’s feet. “I didn’t even say a proper hello to this young lady. How are you this fine August morning, sweetheart? Such a precious thing, you are. I can’t believe it. Just six weeks ago, there we were in the middle of the night, outside in the dark, scrambling down the banks of Macsen Stream, afraid for our lives, while your husband was hanging out with Barry,...”     “And you’re worried about talking about your pregnant Cat in front of her!” Judy interrupted.       “You’ll give her nightmares.”     Ardyth straightened. “Nonsense. I’ll give nightmares to myself just remembering all that. Thank heavens those monsters were caught. Well, come on. We might as well get this over with.” She grabbed her wagon handle and trundled ahead of it. “Speaking of frugal, I can’t believe that school board not even trying to get a resolution passed to get a new school built. Anyone can see Robertsville Elementary is falling apart! It’s practically unsafe for you to go to work there, let alone the children. And what’s going to happen by the time Elizabeth is old enough for kindergarten? I’m almost ashamed of Robertsville. Robert Roberts must be rolling in his grave.”     “Raising taxes would be a hardship for so many people,” Judy puffed a bit in her effort to keep pace with the Red Flyer.     “I’d rather be a little poorer than embarrassed. What’ll happen if we can’t have school? Where will the children go then? No one will want to move here. Then there’ll be no one left to pay taxes for anything. Huh!”     Judy pushed Elizabeth faster in Ardyth’s righteous wake. Judy couldn’t accept Ardyth’s dire prediction of the demise of public education in Robertsville. They’d had discussions on the subject on and off all summer, as the town paper kept up a running report on the state of the school after the plumbing went haywire and flooded the building, resulting in a necessary replacement of much of the tile, which in turn led to a discovery of asbestos, which led to a discovery that the maintenance fund was depleted.      She wasn’t going to let thoughts of a future without a teaching job ruin her morning. Time for a lighter subject. Judy arrived at the fence surrounding Robert Roberts, his tarnished head held high and holding the town charter in one hand. His other hand pointed in a direction that had been debated for over a hundred and fifty years. “Have you heard any more about moving the statue?”     Ardyth offered Judy her characteristic sniff of displeasure. “Stuff and nonsense. Mr. Roberts has been here forever. No reason to get your goat up.” She began to tip her watering can over the striped flowers. “This is his neighborhood—you know—”     “Yes, I know.” Judy grinned. “But, still, why did it have to go in the middle of the sidewalk? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have put it…oh, say…” Judy swiveled on one toe to point toward the center of the green. “Over there? Closer to the band shell?”     “Well, then it might get in the way of kids playing.” Ardyth plucked a few deadheads. “Hmm. Can’t believe Esme let this go. She’s usually so prompt with her care.”     “People have been writing letters to the paper lately. Olivia’s printed several in the Reporter. About moving the statue.”     “New folks. Don’t understand our ways.”     “They’re petitioning the Council. It’ll have to go on the agenda if enough people request it.”     “Vote it down, they will.”     “Oh, come on, Ardyth. You can’t tell me this is the best place to put a statue?”     They ducked inside the rusty black pipe fencing surrounding the statue on three sides.      “Somebody smarter than me thought it was.” Ardyth bent over to reach for a waving dandelion, just around the corner of the big square cement block base of the statue.     “Besides, Judge Hampton rubs Robert’s knuckles for luck on the way to court every day.”     “Luck! I doubt the judge believes in luck.” Judy glanced at Robert’s shiny knuckles, remembering last month’s trial, where Ardyth’s grandson and his friends had been found guilty of trespass and theft. That other boy with them, Jason, had narrowly escaped a murder rap. The incident had nearly broken Ardyth’s heart. Thus the two-week trip to Hawaii that Bryce called a second honeymoon.     The trip in which, apparently, Cat was let out of the bag—er, house. Judy sighed. “I see some weeds over here. That’s not like Esme, even with her bad eyes.” Judy left the stroller outside the pipe fence and ducked underneath a bar. “I’ll go pull these, then get more…. Ardyth?”     “What?”     “Come here, quick!”     There was no mistaking the figure that leaned in unnatural repose at the base of the statue. Esme’s flowered skirt flapped in the breeze, exposing the ruffled ends of what could only have been bloomers. Esme would have been absolutely mortified if she knew people were looking at her bloomers.
     Ardyth gasped and knelt next to Judy. Ardyth’s image wouldn’t stay in focus, and a whooshing sound reverberated in Judy’s head. She reached to grab the edge of the statue’s base for support. A piece of it came off in her hands. She closed her fist around it automatically. “Do you think…”
     “We can’t touch her,” Ardyth said. “Poor Esme.”     “Is she…how could…why…who—”     “That garden claw stuck in her forehead explains quite a bit,” Ardyth replied in a grim tone. “Do you have your cell thing handy?”






Read a Sample of
The Last Bequest
by 
Lisa Lickel
(formerly published by Barbour Publishing as The Gold Standard)


Chapter One                 Judy Winters made divots in the lawn with her church shoes, the ones with the high heels she saved to wear once a week. She stopped her frenetic crisscross pacing under the clothesline to look at her trail. Hah! She could dethatch the entire yard if she kept walking. She needed a few minutes away from everyone in the house. Just a few minutes to grieve alone. And to think about poison.                 Hand at her brow to shield the sun’s harsh light, Judy surveyed her late aunt’s farm. The half-acre surrounding the house sure could use work. What had Aunt Louise Jamison done these past two years to allow her once lovely yard to decline into crabgrass and thistles? Birds might enjoy the seeds. But only a recent lawn-mowing kept the dandelions from taking over. Judy brushed a tear off her cheek, wondering inanely who had mowed since Louise’s death. Certainly not one of her new “earth hugger” friends who’d probably convinced her that mowing was bad.                 Judy had offered to visit last week when Louise acted suspiciously lethargic during their Thursday night phone call.                 “Nothing to worry about,” her aunt assured her. “I don’t want you catching whatever bug I’ve come down with, Judy dear.”                 Louise hadn’t answered the phone the next night. While Judy dithered whether to drive over anyway, she’d received the shocking phone call from her aunt’s solicitor, Gene Reynolds. “Sorry to inform you, Miss Winters, but your aunt, Louise Jamison, has died.”                 Before Judy could catch a breath, Reynolds continued in his monotone, “The initial report indicates some kind of poisoning—not sure what kind.”                 What was the saying? That Louise bought the farm? Judy shook her head. What a horrible way to occupy her thoughts with her closest living relative freshly buried.                 “Your aunt had gotten into some of those odd nature food hippy granola crazes, you know,” Mr. Reynolds had said. No, Judy hadn’t known that. “She even tried to have me invest in some wheat juice thing for her. I told her I’d research it.”                 Wheat juice wouldn’t have killed Aunt Louise. But—poison? Louise’s condition at the time of death led the emergency room doctor and the sheriff to suspect a toxic substance of some kind. She’d obviously been sick and her skin was mottled, according to the doctor. But Louise was the smartest person Judy knew. Her demise couldn’t have been accidental, no matter what the doctor thought.                 Barry Hutchinson, the chief of police in Robertsville, agreed with Judy. But how to prove it? The autopsy report with toxicology screen would not be available for weeks.                 Judy continued to meander through the yard. Walking might keep her from wailing in grief in front of all these people. Louise had been all the family she had ever known.                 As she wandered to the back door, Gene Reynolds propelled himself toward her on feet that were much too dainty to hold up his great bulk. “Miss Winters, again our condolences.” He took her hand into his pudgy moist one. Judy steeled herself not to shudder. “I have the legal paperwork regarding Louise’s estate to go over with you, at your convenience.”                 Reynolds’s pupils flickered just enough for her notice. He has something to gain.  Sometimes Judy’s ability to decode body language came in handy. She’d picked up the trait in one of her continuing education courses and never seemed to be able to stop “ reading” people afterward.                 Judy removed her hand from his. “Thank you.” Other friends followed Reynolds to seek her out before taking their leave. She accepted a shoulder squeeze from a neighbor, an offering of sympathy, and an invitation to church while Reynolds stood guard on her right.                 She’d wanted to meet some of those people Louise gushed about, and wondered now if, in that last phone call, Louise had been making an excuse to keep her away.                 When they were alone, Judy asked, “Would this afternoon work out for you, Mr. Reynolds? I don’t want to rush or seem greedy, but I have two weeks left of the school year in Lewiston, and        need to get back to work.”                 “Miss Winters, this afternoon would be fine. How about I go to the office, pick up the files and return, say in an hour or so? We can go over everything here.”                 “Yes. I appreciate your time.” Judy watched him clasp his hands together before joining his stately blonde wife in the driveway. He wants something, I can tell.                 She said goodbye to the last lingering guest, a woman dressed wildly in clashing plaids whose    name Judy couldn’t conjure. She could hardly remember the names and faces of Louise’s many friends. If not for Graham Montgomery standing at her side all day until he had to leave for his own job, she didn’t know how she would have dealt with her aunt’s untimely and wholly unexpected death. Graham had not complained once about making small talk with strangers.                 While she waited for Reynolds to come back, Judy continued to poke holes in the creeping charley under the clothesline. This was where they’d found Louise.                 Mr. Reynolds said she’d been into natural foods. The news reported people always getting some sort of disease from sprouts and what not. But surely the doctor would have known that.                 No one had removed the laundry Louise carried to the yard after apparently ingesting some lethal concoction. The basket still sat near the lilac bush, clothing dried and no doubt hopelessly wrinkled. A yellow twin sheet that Louise managed to pin up before her collapse snapped in the stiff breeze. At the resounding echo Judy heard a flutter of cackles from the chicken coop, built against the barn a few hundred yards behind her. Louise kept animals on her working farm. Not just the noisy colorful chickens, but cows, too. Judy visited occasional weekends, and even helped with chores under Louise’s watchful eyes, but she didn’t have the foggiest idea how to tend to their general day-to-day care.                 She had given little thought to the farm since rushing to tiny Robertsville from her home across Wisconsin in Lewiston on learning of her former guardian’s death, Someone must be caring for the animals, she hoped.                 Judy resumed her agitated pacing, shoving a bothersome brown wisp of hair behind her ear.                 What was that in the laundry basket? Something moved. Judy narrowed her eyes. There it was again. A black tipped tail twitched from the depths of the willow carrier.                 “Carranza! What are you doing in there?” Drat. Judy had forgotten about the ferocious cat Louise brought when she moved back here. Carranza obeyed only Louise, and then only when he felt like it. He lifted his head lazily in her direction and offered the malevolent stare she remembered well. She shivered.                 “Carranza, please go away,” Judy said weakly, hoping the animal wouldn’t come her way. He flicked the ear with a bra strap draped around it. Then he shook his head and blinked before insolently licking an outstretched paw, claws extended.                 Enough of that. No way was she going to get into a power struggle with a pet cat. Her class of eighth graders, maybe; felines, no. Judy turned her back. The air was redolent of fresh-cut alfalfa.                 Her aunt rented acreage to a neighbor, Red Hobart who grew it. Judy inhaled enough to feel dizzy with the fragrance she normally loved. Today the scent nauseated her, worried as she was about what Mr. Reynolds would tell her.                  Walk!  Heading toward the orchard, she almost tripped on an overturned bucket at the edge of the mown area. Sinking to her knees to better see what was buried there, Judy pushed aside the foxtails to discover a tiny rose plant with buds so large they would have tipped the slender stalks had they not been held up by the sturdier weeds.                 “Poor thing!” She yanked out some of the taller field daisies that blocked the sunlight from the roses. “That should help a little.” She should really try to tidy all this up and get the yard in shape in case Mr. Reynolds had buyers lined up. If only she’d known, really taken a good look at how much Louise had needed help, she would have…would have what? Left her new job and come home like some little girl who couldn’t make it on her own? She was doing well, handling her independence. In fact, her principal had recently called her work exemplary. Her students needed her.                 Judy leaned back on her haunches, face to the sun, and listened. Catbirds in stereo with the tinny, peaceful hum of distant cicadas took her mind off Lewiston and her job. She pushed herself to her feet to continue her inspection of the overgrown orchard. A flood of childhood memories of apple blossom petals falling like snow and picking fruit in the fall assailed her.                 A cloud scuttered overhead. Judy shivered. She rubbed her arms and checked her watch. Four-thirty. Back in the main yard, she stopped in front of a gnarled stump. A single mossy branch          dangled like a broken arm but bore a number of determined green leaves. Judy smiled and touched the deeply grooved brown bark. A bee bumbled nearby. She walked around to the other side where a weathered emblem appeared carved into the trunk and bent low to trace a misshapen heart.                 “Can I help you, Miss Winters?”                 Judy looked up from her vulnerable crouch and froze at the sight of a well built young man in     aviator sunglasses striding up the unkempt row. The man came to a halt at the edge of her personal comfort zone. She watched lines form between his eyes and realized her nervous smirk scored no points. Not a good way to make a first impression. Or second, since he apparently knew her name.                 “I don’t think so,” she said in her most polite voice. Judy pushed herself up and held out her hand. “And you are?”                 The man had his hands on his hips. He belatedly reached out to grab hers. “Hart Wingate.                 Mine’s the adjoining farm. I helped Louise, and her father before her, with chores. The police asked me to keep an eye out for strangers.”                 Judy nodded. “Yes. My aunt mentioned she had someone in to help. I assumed she meant a hired hand. You don’t know what really happened here, do you?”                 “No. I wish I did. And I don’t work for Louise. I helped her when she needed it. I don’t recall seeing you here before the funeral.”                 Taken aback, Judy opened her mouth to reply that she hadn’t met him before, either, when they were hailed from the yard.







10.   Where can people find you? Twitter, Facebook, GoodReads, Websites…etc.Honestly, the best place to find me is through my web site: http://www.lisalickel.com; any social sites where you want to connect are there; Facebook, Facebook author page, any blogs, Goodreads, and so forth. I think I’ve forgotten half the places I’m registered and I haven’t given in to the Twit monster yet, so pick and choose! I’ll like you back. Honestly.

Wise Investing

My husband and I are pretty normal, (normal being relative here…to the topic, not normal normal, if you know what I mean). We work. We eat. We sleep. Our work may not be normal, the hours we sleep are definitely not normal and what we eat, well, that’s probably not normal either. It’s the fact that we do those things that is normal.



We also shop like normal people. Depending on the day, we may find ourselves running into the local Walmart or the Dollar Store around the corner for a loaf of bread. Money has been tight the past few years so we’ve cut corners and shopped according to our pocketbook instead of quality.



Well, that is about to change and while quality is nice, it is not the reason.



No, we didn’t win the lottery. And no, there have not yet been any offers to turn my books into movies. What has changed you ask?



Great, thanks for asking. I’ll be glad to tell you.



I have found, when the Lord puts something on your heart, He will make a way for it to happen.







Recently, I had the occasion in which I needed to purchase a gift. Instead of heading to Walmart or the mall, I ordered from a Christian friend who had the perfect item. When the transaction was complete, it gave me joy. I began thinking about why it made me joyful. I also asked myself if I feel such joy over this simple transaction, why do I not do this more often?



The Lord began to plant thoughts in my heart. Like, what if we Christians supported our brothers and sisters in Christ? What if we shopped at Christian owned stores? What if we asked our neighborhood Christian plumber to work on our plumbing and the Christian owned restaurant to host our next family outing? Can you imagine if we all started to support one another?



Can you imagine the fruit that would come from planting seeds in the lives of other Christians?







I think about the parable of the master and the talents in Matthew chapter 25. There was a master who gave his servants talents, to take care of for him while he was away. (A talent being a measure of fine metal such as gold and silver. Basically, it was something of great value that could have been used wisely or unwisely.) To one servant, the master gave five talents. To another he gave two. And to yet another he gave one. Then the master went on a long journey.



When he returned, the servant whom he had given five talents to had doubled his money and presented him with ten. The servant whom he had given two to, had also doubled their money and presented him with four. The servant whom he had given one to, did nothing with the money. In fact, he hid the money thinking it would be better to protect what he was entrusted with. He did not put his talent to good use. The master was pleased with both of the servants who used their money wisely and he blessed them greatly. To the one who hid his talent in the sand, he called him wicked and lazy and instead of rewarding him, the servant was punished.



There are many interpretations to these scriptures. I believe every time we are in the Word, the Holy Spirit will open our eyes to understand more, layer upon layer. And as I thought about these scriptures, I thought of this scenario.



We have three choices.







One, we can do nothing with our money, with our talents. We can spend our money foolishly on ourselves; on our own wants without any regard for anyone else.



Two, we can do what is expected. We can throw a little money in the offering plate at church. We can toss a few coins in the can sitting next to the homeless man. If a friend needs a loan, we can loan him a bit of cash as long as he signs in blood that it will be returned.



Or three, we can go all out. We can invest with wild abandon into people who will in turn invest in the Kingdom. We can give more, more than we ever dreamed. Even with limited income, if we invest our money wisely, it can multiplied again and again to make a huge impact for the Kingdom of Heaven.



Can you imagine, standing before God and Him saying, well done good and faithful servant. The $20 you spent to purchase a gift, was then used to help build a well in Nigeria, a boy who had fresh water grew up healthy and strong and was used to turn a nation to God? When we use our resources to further God’s plan…I believe we will stand amazed before the throne of God.



What will you do with your talents? It’s up to you.



Thanks for taking the time to grow with me this Wednesday.

Darlene Shortridge, Scribe for Christ







www.BooksByAmanda.com

Quitters Quit.

It was me against the world. All of it. I was standing alone. No comforting cushion of friends or family to urge me on and to face my fears.



I was by myself at a writer's conference. My second, in fact. The first was kind of like a dry run to get me comfortable with getting out of my comfort zone (HA!) and learning how these things progress. You know. A much-needed learning experience. A chance to grow.



I had come to do this very thing, and now, here I was, chickening out.

Well. Not exactly. I was positive the Lord was whispering in my ear that I didn't need to go to this one appointment.







See, I had just had one appointment with an agent that I thought went, well, less than desirable. Not that I'm complaining. It was a learning experience, and well, I was there to learn. This agent wasn't mean, hateful, ornery, or anything of the sort. They were very encouraging; just not interested in what I'd written. Which I knew was bound to happen, but still, it does rather shake one up when you receive the news to your face.



So of course, I was wary and more than a little petrified to visit my next appointment. The very last one on my list. This is the one I was *positive* God was leading me away from. My heart wasn't in it, my mind wasn't in it, my feelings weren't in it, in fact, I was ready to go home. Well, all 20 miles back to the hotel we were staying at, anyway!











My stomach churned; palms were sweaty. I clutched my binder with my one sheets and business cards to my chest.



It won't hurt anyone if I don't go, right? The words cascaded over and over again in my mind and I was almost convinced. This isn't the appointment for me. I should just walk away and conveniently forget.



But that's not professional. That's not good business. That's just not right. And then, I heard a small voice in the back of my mind whisper...



You came here to do this. You came here to face your fears and get better, right? This is one of those things you can learn from. Facing someone you're not sure about. Talking to someone that scares you and takes you out of your comfort zone. 



That wee little voice was right.

I had a job to do and I was going to see it through. To the end, and if that meant being more than a little scared and breaking out of my timidity, then so be it.



With God's help, I was going to do this.



I wiped my palms on my pants, clutched my binder tighter, took a deep breath, and faced my fears. I sat down in front of this person whom I'd never met before ~ who I had the audacity to hope would like my book (or me) enough to request I send them a proposal ~ and...



out spewed some of the stupidest stuff I'd ever said.



I know, right? Talk about face palms of gargantuan enormity!

No kidding. I'm not lying. I wish I were, but that's the bare-faced truth of the matter.



In a matter of seconds, I had removed any and all doubt that I was an idiot. Then the strangest thing happened. This person who had instilled a healthy terror into me, leaned forward and asked one simple question. Just one.



"When did you know you wanted to be a writer?"

Well that was an easy one to answer. My response was probably less than desirable.

"Never. I've never lain awake and thought about becoming an author. I just always wrote. It's something I do because I love it."



That was it. I had blown it. I closed my binder, because even I know when to stop. Well, maybe not at the precise moment when I should, but close enough to save the tatters of what's left of my self esteem and slink out a door, at least. The next words out of their mouth?



"Send the proposal to this address. Don't worry about rushing to get this to me. Enjoy the rest of the conference."



With numb, shaking fingers, I reached for that card, sure it was about to be pulled away at the last moment because there was no way on God's green earth I had made any sense whatsoever.



 I stood, my knees buckled, and I offered my hand for a handshake. I thanked them for their time and their kindness in seeing me, walked outside,



and burst into tears because once again, God had seen me through when I was ready to quit.



What would have happened if I hadn't gone to see this person? I would have missed an opportunity to grow and learn and trust that God would be there every step of the way.



I would have been comfortable. But I wouldn't have been happy. I would have missed out, and it would have been my own fault. My own doing. And worse?



I would have blamed it on God because I was operating on my emotions; feelings.



Martin Luther said:“Feelings come and feelings go,And feelings are deceiving;My warrant is the Word of God--Naught else is worth believing.

Though all my heart should feel condemnedFor want of some sweet token,There is One greater than my heartWhose Word cannot be broken.

I'll trust in God's unchanging WordTill soul and body sever,For, though all things shall pass away,HIS WORD SHALL STAND FOREVER!”

Even if nothing comes of this proposal, this conference that I went to, I'm happy I went. God controls the situations we're in and nothing takes Him by surprise. And I'm happy with that. I'm content in knowing just WHO it is that holds my future in His hands.

I serve a pretty great God.

Amanda Stephan~Christian AuthorBooksByAmanda.com               

www.BooksByAmanda.com

Easter Devotional For Kids!

Recently I read an Easter devotional for children called Easter Is For Jesus. I was truly impressed with this book which offers fifteen devotions based on things we see at Easter time. The author, Mukkove Johnson, uses everything from jellybeans to the cross and shares a scripture for each. She then explains in a simple and straightforward manner what each symbol or item should remind us about. She also offers discussion questions and activity suggestions for each and every symbol. 











Never before have I seen such a unique and fun devotional for children. Miss Johnson also has a Christmas devotional available called Christmas Is For Jesus. If it is styled in the same manner as Easter Is For Jesus, then it is definitely another great book worth checking out.









I can hardly wait to share this book with my daughter, niece, and nephew this coming Easter. I think it will give greater meaning to our celebration and fun moments like finding eggs. So if you need a great Easter book and some activity ideas, be sure to order your copy today which has the added bonus of a free audio book download. Be sure to check out  by her blog Focus On Jesus as well!



So ends another episode of Kids Korner with me, Children's Author Aileen Stewart. Join me next week for another exciting episode same krazy time, same krazy channel. And feel free to drop by my personal blog Aileen's Thoughts any day of the week for even more on reading, writing, and life in general.















www.BooksByAmanda.com

Christian Devotional - Sacrifice of Fools, part 1

Did you know that the Bible talks about a sacrifice of
fools?



True, there are several different sacrifices that were
mentioned in the Bible and they were offered for several different reasons,
however, Ecclesiastes 5 discusses one sacrifice that we ought to avoid: the
sacrifice of fools. There are two parts of that sacrifice and we’ll look at one
today.



The first way we offer God a sacrifice of fools is by being
hasty with our words before God. Check out Ecclesiastes 5:1-2 “Guard your steps
when you go to the house of God. Go near to listen rather than to offer the
sacrifice of fools, who do not know that they do wrong. Do not be quick with
your mouth, do not be hasty in your God. God is in heaven and you are on earth,
so let your words be few. “



Now, raise your hand if you’ve ever spent time whining to
God? OK everyone, put your hands down. I know I’ve made statements like, “But
God, I didn’t think things would be this way.” “But God, I don’t like how this
is going.” “But God… but God… but God…”



I know I’ve listened to my kids whine at me, but I had never
thought about how my prayers sounded to God sometimes. I realized that I had
been offering God a sacrifice of a fool. Instead, we must realize that God is
in heaven. He knows what is best for us. He knows the big picture of life in a
way that we can’t possibly understand. We must come to a place where we trust
Him to handle our life. He knows our life better than we do anyway. That’s what
this is talking about. We get so quick to tell God what to do and how to do it
that we start to act like we are the ones in charge and calling the shots. We’re
not. God is in heaven. Having faith in Him and trusting in Him means not
whining about our circumstances and accepting His love and will for our lives.



How about you? Are you offering God a sacrifice of fools?
Repent for whining to Him and trust in Him.




Next week, we'll look at the second way we offer a sacrifice of fools to God.



Kristi Burchfiel, Christian devotional author and speaker

Living in the World – Living out the Word

Check out my website and daily devotions either on my blog or on my Facebook page
www.BooksByAmanda.com

Fear by Association

A long time ago, as in once upon a time (think skinnier, younger,…um maybe not quite as wise though) I took upon myself the task of training a formerly abused horse. Well, technically it was a mule.











(Breed a female horse with a male donkey and you get a mule!)





To start with, I had nothing to do with the mule. I would simply stand at the round gate and watch the others, those with experience training such animals, train the mule.



He was skittish. He had been treated horribly and had a general mistrust of people (wouldn’t you?).



Day after day, he would run from their attempts. Soon, we all noticed a pattern with him. He would run to me. He would stand next to me. The trainers watched this happening and had an idea. “Hey, Darlene…why don’t you come in the round pen and try your hand with him. He seems to trust you.



So, into the round pen I went. At first he wouldn’t let me approach him. But, if I would turn to walk away…he would follow. Just like a puppy dog following me around where ever I went.



It didn’t take long before he was eating out of my hand.



I rode him several times in the round pen before taking him out in the open fields. Being the novice that I was in the area of horsemanship, I had no idea of the pain I was to endure.



I was riding him on a lead line when he became spooked and took off at break neck speed. This was no small animal. He was a good fifteen hands and very well built. We were almost to a fence and he had showed absolutely no signs of slowing. I tried to read him. Would he jump the fence? Turn right? Turn left? For some reason (and wrong at that) I anticipated him going left. He went right. I fell down.







While I didn’t break my crown, I did break my pelvic bone. Ouch. I healed. I lived to tell another tale.



He did come nuzzle me while I was lying on the ground. He did not mean to hurt me. It was someone else who spooked him, not me.



Once I healed, I faced my fears and got back on him. I had to.



I have told you this whole story because recently I was reminded of this emotion, this fear that threatened to take away my joy.



I call it the fear of association. I highly doubt that is the technical term. I did try and find one…I truly did.



The fear of sitting a horse that caused pain is a strong association. Horse = pain. That is not too hard to understand.



Other types of fear by association are a little harder to explain. For instance, say you really enjoy shopping at a particular store. One day, upon entering the store, you get into a terrible argument with a friend. Your relationship very well may be damaged beyond repair. From that day forward, your favorite store reminds you of that fight and you forgo shopping there because of that reminder.



Your favorite store is no longer your favorite, not because the quality of their merchandise is diminished, not because their prices went sky high…but simply because of a bad experience that truthfully, the store had nothing to do with.







The other day I found myself driving to a particular place to end a bad association. I enjoy this particular place too much to let an unfortunate happening steal my joy.



Upon walking through the doors…I had to smile. My thoughts that day? I will not allow the enemy to steal my joy and I enjoy this place too much to let it go!



Have you allowed people or things to steal your joy in this manner? It’s time to take back those things that give you joy. Don’t let the enemy steal the blessings God has bestowed upon you!







Thank you for taking the time to grow with me this Wednesday,

Darlene Shortridge, Scribe for Christ







www.BooksByAmanda.com

Two Crafts And A Book

With Easter just around the corner, I thought it would be a good time to pull out some crafts Emily and I have made in Easter's past and share them with you fine folks. And what Easter celebration would be complete without a great Easter Book recommendation?





The first craft is a printable Easter egg. We printed two copies so we could cut out the crosses and use them for tracing templates. We traced our crosses onto the back of self stick foam sheets (so the marks won't show on the good foam side) and cut them out. We then adhered them to our remaining paper egg and used glitter glue in various colors to decorate the grass and stones. This is a great craft for young children because it isn't complicated, only requires a few materials, and looks so pretty when you hang it up!






 







 










The second craft requires a paper plate, some markers, a printable bird, and some self stick foam. Like the first craft, we printed out two copies so we could cut out parts for traceable templates. I didn't have a template for the cloud or the leaves, so I just sort of free drew those. I outlined a tree limb for Emily on the edge of the plate and then I let her color it in. She colored the bird except for the wings which we cut out of self stick foam. We used a small piece of foam underneath the bird so it would look three dimensional. If you would like to hang this on the refrigerator you can glue a magnet on the back or you can punch a hole in the top and add a piece of ribbon from which you can hang the plate.















After making some fun crafts, you can round out the day by reading a great book by Patricia A. Pingry called The Easter Story. We already had The Christmas Story by Patricia which Emily reads on Christmas every year; so we were very excited to find she had written about Easter as well. We have the board book version which is great for little hands to hold and the illustrations are attractive and colorful.















So ends another episode of Kids Korner with me, Children's Author Aileen Stewart. Join me next week for another exciting episode same krazy time, same krazy channel. And feel free to drop by my personal blog Aileen's Thoughts any day of the week for even more on reading, writing, and life in general.
www.BooksByAmanda.com

Christian Devotional - Spring Cleaning

March is here and with it, those two words of infamy: spring cleaning.




I am not usually a big fan of spring cleaning, but several weeks ago I bought a new vacuum cleaner.








I am SOOOOO happy with this vacuum cleaner. Seriously, a
vacuum cleaner should not make a person this happy. Quite frankly for what we
paid for it, it better continue to make me happy for a long time to come, but
that’s a separate point. :)



So what does a vacuum cleaner have to do with a devotional?
Well, as I’ve been cleaning lately, a thought hit me that I want to share with
you.



There is a difference between “cleaning” and “rearranging.”



We are very good at “rearranging” the figurative dirt in our
lives. We know how to scoot it over here, dress it up, slide it back here and
all these other tricks to try and make our life look presentable. Ephesians
2:8-9 “For by grace are you saved through faith, and that not of yourselves, it
is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.”



When we are busy trying to rearrange our dirt, we’re doing
that in our own strength and we can never really get rid of it. We just end up
moving it around or relocating it. We can dress it up and try to make our dirt
look nicer, or even give it a nicer sounding name but really, it’s just
dressed-up-dirt.



Cleaning, on the other hand, is when we allow God to come to
us and actually remove the dirt. Like the verse says, we can’t do that on our
own. We can’t remove the dirt on our own. The best we can do is push it around
and rearrange it. We need the grace of God and his gift that we receive through
faith, in order to clean up our life. Have we come to God in confession and repentance? God, even more than my new vacuum
cleaner, is able to reach down into the tiniest crevice of our life and remove
every spec of dirt that tries to hide. He’s willing and able to do that for us
if we will just let him.



So as we look at our life and start our spring cleaning, spend
some time thinking about whether you are truly allowing God to clean your life,
or are you just feebly attempting to rearrange the dirt on our own?  Bring your life to Him daily and allow Him to
do the deep cleaning!



Kristi Burchfiel, Christian devotional author and speaker

Living in the World – Living out the Word

Check out my website and daily devotions either on my blog or on my Facebook page

www.BooksByAmanda.com