Sarah Martin Byrd's Blog, page 2

A Resting Place

Luke 8:1

And it came to pass afterward, that he went throughout every city and village, preaching and shewing the glad tidings of the kingdom of God: and the twelve were with him.

 

Let it be known to the world that I do not like to bed hop. One of the reasons I love camping so much is because I get to sleep in my own bed at night, covered with my own sheet and blanket, snuggled up to my own flat as a fritter pillow. The seventeen days that we were on the road back and forth from the west coast I slept in seventeen different beds, covered with what looked like clean sheets, but the blankets were questionable. I sure did miss my old camper on wheels. Of course we were able to make better time in the van, but when it was time to lay my head down, I was singing the, “I want my own bed blues.”

 

I realize I have been blessed beyond measure to have been able to visit 48 of the 50 states of this great country of ours, the United States of America, but traveling isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, especially when you are a germ-a-phobic like me. I hate, hate, hate to sleep in a bed that God only knows who or what lay in before me. But, I must admit I’m feeling a bit guilty. I am so spoiled. Just think about all those who have no bed to sleep in. What they would give to have a dirty blanket to pull up under their chin on a cold blustery night. People sleep in all kinds of places. A mansion with a king size bed covered in silk sheets, a ghetto in a cardboard box with newspaper for cover? Under an over pass or bridge, in an abandoned building? In the woods under the stars, or on a park bench with a pigeon as their only friend?

 

Yes, I am truly blessed to have such a wonderful resting place at night. What about Jesus? Where did he lay his head every night of those three and a half years he was on the road spreading the gospel? Those three and a half years totaled over twelve hundred nights that Jesus probably slept in a different place. Most likely not in a bed, but on the cold, hard ground. Luke 21:37 tells us that after teaching in the temple Jesus went out, and abode on the mount that is called the Mount of Olives. Certainly Jesus didn’t have a bed, not even a padded sleeping bag, just the earth and stones beneath Him, and a worn cloak to cover himself.

 

Luke 6:12 tell us, “ And it came to pass in those days, that he went out into a mountain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God.” In Matthew 26:36-46 it is also written that Jesus stayed up all night in the Garden of Gethsemane praying. And what about the 40 days and nights in the Wilderness as told in Luke 4:1-2, do you think Jesus shut His eyes for one minute with that old devil continuously throwing temptation His way? Yes, I am certainly feeling guilty for complaining about where I lay my head. Don’t you know Jesus was very happy when he was close enough to Mary, Martha and Lazarus’s house to spend the night with them? Such simple pleasures we sometimes take for granted.

 

While away on our trip we stayed in several Comfort Inns, a few small mom and pop motels which were very nice, a Hampton Inn, Days Inn, Quality Inn, Embassy Suites and my favorite, Sugar Pine Ranch in Groveland, California which is about thirty minutes from Yosemite National Park. Knowing that inside the park rooms would cost us anywhere from $200 – $400 dollars a night we were more than happy to pay the $120 a night at Sugar Pine Ranch. And, they even opened the place up for us. The owners were on vacation and had closed down for the week, but it just so happened their daughter was there and let us stay.

 

At Sugar Pine Ranch we found a quaint little cottage where the deer played in the grove of trees behind our room. We seemed millions of miles away from the hustle and bustle we’d been in for days. My husband, Jerry and I dug out our little camping cook stove, peeled some potato’s we brought from home, chopped up a big ole onion head and fried us up some taters and onions for supper. Best food I ate while on our trip. The cottage didn’t have a television and we didn’t even miss it.

 

I am a firm believer that God knows exactly what we need when we need it. That small cottage gave a homesick girl a much-needed taste of back home. Seeing the world is an awesome thing, but I think this country girl is staying put for a while. Those other two states will just have to wait.

 

 

 

 

Back to Work

It feels so good to be sitting here in front of my computer this morning. For the past four months I’ve been playing grandma to my granddaughter and travel companion to my hubby. What an awesome, busy, whirlwind of a life I’ve experienced these past few months. Starting the summer off in late May my nephew, Luke marries his high school sweetheart, and another nephew, Wesley announces he and his lovely wife are going to be proud new parents in late October. Not to mention my niece, Andi tells us she will be delivering a little girl in January. (My family has been busy.) Then Emma is out of school for the summer and we’re off to the beach for a week. From there I’ve had book events at Rockford General Store, High Country Festival of the Book. Then the really crazy side of me takes over my common sense and I’m riding a dozen or so roller coasters at Carowinds Amusement Park. Finally my good sense kicks back in and I’m back to work peddling books at festivals in China Grove and Sparta.

 

My granddaughter is not one to sit idly by so before the grass can grow under our feet we are off to Dollywood in the beautiful Smoky Mountains of Tennessee riding more roller coasters. Before we catch our breath it was time for Emma to go back to school. The crazy didn’t stop there. Back in January the hubby and I started planning another trip out west. Jerry only had five more states to visit to have been in all fifty. So our quest began to pass through Kansas, Oregon, Utah, Nevada, and Arizona. On a pitch-black morning on September 2nd our adventure began, seventeen days and nights of exploring the world. It was a wonderful trip. We saw some amazing handy work that the Lord created for us to enjoy. I have tons of stories to tell you, but you’ll have to wait because this blog is going to shift to another subject, my new novel, The River Keeper.

 

While on our trip the design department at my publishing company, Ambassador International was hard at work designing the interior of The River Keeper. My trip wasn’t all fun and games. I had to go through the book three times while away, making minor changes and approving interior design. Then it was time for the publisher to get to work on the front cover. I was so excited. Before I left I had taken dozens of pictures of my granddaughter, Emma for them to use on the cover. I fashioned the main character of the book, Callie Mae McCauley to look like my Emma.

 

Then an awful thing happened, the designer emailed me and told me that the quality of my photos was not high enough in resolution to use on the cover. Okay, here I am 2000 miles from home, what am I to do? Where there is a will, there is always a way. I call my daughter and ask her if she knows anyone with a really good camera that could take more pictures of Emma and email them to the publisher. She says, yes, her friend Cindy has a nice camera. Things are looking up. New pictures are taken; all is well in the world… until, my daughter texts me and says she is not able to email the new pictures in a high enough resolution.

 

But, I have a very smart daughter. Wendy soon replies, why can’t I put the pictures on a CD and overnight it to the design department at Ambassador International? I answer, yes, why can’t you. And so the CD is mailed and all the next day while riding down the highway of life I anxiously await an email from the designer telling me the new pictures will work.

 

Long about 4 o’clock that afternoon I get the email, it reads, “All the pictures are great quality, I should have you a cover to review very soon with Emma’s picture on it.” Low and behold the next day I get an email and attached is the cover of my dreams. I was almost in tears. My beautiful granddaughter, Emma was right there on the cover of my new novel. I’ve not been that happy in a long time.

 

This new novel is very special to me. All who know me know that I am in love with the New River. It is a magical place for me to run and hide, or sometimes find myself. When the world is overpowering the wonderful things in life I can stand out on my porch that overlooks that great river and breathe a little calmer. I can smell the misty vapors of an early morning fog and hear the bass jump out of the water. The river whispers sweet nothings in my ear.

 

The River Keeper is full of my own heart felt feelings about the river and is loaded with historical facts concerning the second oldest river in the world. I am so excited to be able to unveil the new cover to you today. Hopefully the book will be released by mid-October. The definite date has not yet been set, but I’ll keep you informed. I also want to treat you to the first few pages of The River Keeper. Keep in mind this novel is written in mountain dialect. Hope you enjoy.

 

 

 

Callie Mae McCauley

Thursday, March 7, 1940

Mouth of Wilson

 

Nahum 2:6

The gates of the rivers shall be opened, and the palace shall be dissolved.

 

 

I was born at Mouth of Wilson, Virginia, on a piece of land right past where the north and south branches of the New River join up. My years on that stretch of land are numbered almost eight. The spring flood of 1940 was the highest flood on record; it changed everything, especially who I was. It even changed who I am to become.

 

The rain started yesterday ’bout the time Ma set dinner on the table. Not just a shower. It’s like God might be dumping out the wash water. This morning it’s a-pounding down even harder on this tin above my head. Sounds like somebody is a-peppering it with buckshot.

I throw back the patchwork quilt that Aunt Pearlie gave to Ma on her wedding day. That quilt has laid over me all the nights of my memory. It’s made out of every color piece of cloth—plaid, paisley, and solid—that Aunt Pearlie ever owned.

Ma is nigh on twenty years younger than Aunt Pearlie. Ma is what everybody calls a late-in-life baby, one what weren’t supposed to be. Ma always says Aunt Pearlie is more like a mama than a sister to her.

I can’t wait to get outside and stomp around in them rain puddles. My toes is a-itching to be in the mud. At the door I reach up and pull down Pa’s old slicker.

“Where do you think you’re a-going, young lady? You ain’t et your breakfast yet.”

“I’ll be back in a little while, Ma. I just want to see how high the river’s a-running.”

“Well, put your boots on. You’ll catch a death cold a-tromping around in the wet. And hurry on back, you hear?” Ma says.

With Pa’s slicker whooping all around me like the wash a-dancing in the wind, I step into my boots and head out the door with Ma still a-squawking. I hear her a-mumbling, “Can’t do a thang with that child. Acts like she was born out back in the chicken coop.”

Ma’s words make me grin. She’s always a-trying to teach me to cook and help in the house, and I’m getting right good at ironing a shirt, but housework ain’t for me. I got to be outside.

I climb up the hill where I can see up and down the river real far. Finally I’m standing on the rise ’bout two hundred yards from our place looking at our house and a half-mile up and downriver. Pa built our place way up from the bottomland, but now I’m a-wondering if anywhere is high enough. While we slept, all up and down as far as I can see, the New has spread to its full girth and then some, taking on a wide path across the bottoms and soaking halfway up the birch tree not a hundred yards from our barn.

I look down at the only house I’ve ever known. Pa bought the land it sits on before him and Ma hitched up. It weren’t but one big room to start out with. Over the years Pa kept adding on and fixing it up. He put in a side addition for him and Ma’s bedroom and boarded up the rafters in the attic, so it would look like a real room for any young’uns what might come along. He even leaned the roof to make a fine front porch so Ma could set and watch the river pass by.

It still don’t look much, but at least Pa keeps them outside weatherboards whitewashed. Yes, that old house down there is right cozy. Don’t much rain leak through the tin roof, and the wood stove what sets in the kitchen keeps us all toasty warm until the wood burns up during the night. Them floors is mighty cold on bare feet in the mornings.

I pull Pa’s slicker a little tighter around me to ward off the chill of the morning. Reckon Ma is right. Without these boots my toes would be stone blue-cold right now. I’ll turn eight in April and, in all my years of watching this river, I’ve never seen nothing like it is now. I’ve heard stories all my life ’bout it flooding up toward the New River Gorge, but never anything like this around here. The sight of it is a-making me feel right skittish.

Perched here on this hill, I watch as Pa walks out on the porch. He tucks one hand up under his arm and scratches his day-old beard with the other hand. Pondering is what he’s a-doing. He told Ma while they was eating oatmeal a few minutes ago that we might all better pack up a few things and head up to higher ground, maybe go the two miles upriver to Aunt Pearlie’s.

Ma said, “Don’t talk foolish. Pearlie’s closer to the river than we are. She might already have left her place. Anyways, I won’t be toting my babies out in this weather. No sir-ree. I ain’t a-leaving my house because of a little rain coming down.”

A commotion upriver brings my thinking back to the here and now. It’s getting louder and louder. Sounds like a wheat thrashing machine a-starting up. And what’s that smell? The scent of pinesap clings to my nose hairs, just like when Pa cuts down a pine for firewood.

Lord, have mercy! I ain’t believing what I’m a-seeing. There comes a wall of water pushing downriver, and it’s a-popping trees in two like they is twigs. Sounds like limbs a-cracking during an ice storm. ’Cept there ain’t no ice on the trees. All that ice is in the river, big thousand-pound chunks a-speeding right for me.

 

A Heck of a Fellow, Tom Harbin

Today I heard about the passing of an old friend, Thomas Newton “Tom” Harbin, he was only 72 years young. Tom was as worthy a friend as any one could possibly ask for. We shared secrets that I know he took to the grave. For twenty years he honored those of us who worked at The Tribune with a visit every few months and he always came with goodies for us to eat. I often wondered if he loved us or was just trying to fatten us up for the sales pitch kill.

 

Tom was a salesman. He sold advertising for our newspaper as well as numerous other media outlets in North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia. Tom would show up at our place of business before football and basketball season and lay stakes to an area near a phone to sell ads for our football and basketball contests. For several days Tom could be seen coming and going with his notebook in hand and a smile on his face. I can see him now grinning and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as if trying to hide the joy that bubbled up from inside him self. Even when cancer took part of his face he never lost that delight he held for life.

 

Tom was not always the funny man with a joke on his lips he could be quite serious. His love for children was evident when he would casually help out a single mom by making sure her son was supplied with a few luxuries. He never wanted any acknowledgment or praise. He was simply just a good ole soul.

 

When Tom would visit and sit down with me he’d ask how I was. Not just because that was the polite thing to do, he wanted to know. He wasn’t all into himself, he cared about the people of the world and not what the world and its people could give him. Tom was genuine. He treated folks the same every time he saw them.

 

Was Tom perfect? No. Is anyone? No. Tom was a lover. He loved people. He loved life. He loved his family and always talked about his wife, their life, and the shenanigans and unique personalities of his daughters. When he spoke of those grandchildren of his Tom’s eyes would dance and sparkle. Love shone through him like a kaleidoscope of bright colors grasping and hugging all who came within arms reach.

 

The one thing that I will remember most about Tom is that he left me with something very special. He taught me that no matter how old I become it is never too late to dream. When I spoke to him about my writing he encouraged me and dared me to think big. To me if Tom Harbin had of lived to be ninety he would never have been old. Why? Because he had a love for life that would some day transport him to a place of perfect peace.

 

I will remember Tom all the days of my life and never forget the fun, laughs, and bond that we developed through the years. Rest in peace my friend. See you soon.

 

To view Tom’s obituary follow this link:

http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/citi...

Signed, Sealed, and Delivered in November

Well it’s official, my third novel, The River Keeper is now under contract. For all of you who have been patiently waiting for my new book, the tentative publish date will be mid-November. I know that may seem like a long time, but how do you think I feel since starting this novel in August of 2011? Yes, I’ve been working on this little jewel for almost three years. And, I must admit I had to make myself send it to my publisher. I wanted to critique it just one more time and add a bit more creative history, but then I realized if I didn’t let this baby loose soon I would be dead and it would never be published. So, I let it go.

 

I was a bit nervous about sending The River Keeper to my publisher, Ambassador International. The story, and writing style is very different than my last novel, The Color of My Heart. However I was pleased with the publisher’s response, here’s what he said, “Sarah has here another sweeping tale. The story conveys many messages and I believe may find an audience beyond the younger adult. Frankly quite fascinating. Characters are very believable and as with all good stories, great ending. I learned a great deal about our region as I read selectively in the work.”

 

This book is very special to me. Growing up on the Big Elkin Creek I came to love and respect the river. A river is ever changing. It grows with the rain and diminishes without it. It is home to so many creatures: Mud turtles, all kinds of fish, snakes, crawdads, mink, muskrats, hellgrammites, minnows, geese, and Lord only knows what else. Since buying a small lot on New River several years ago I have seen her full-to-overflowing, and so low and clear that I could count the rocks that lie on the bottom.

 

A river is a mysterious creature. She is alive, ever flowing, full of character, taking care of everything that lies in its waters and crawls along the bank. What would happen if you lived along the water with your family and one day you saw that river surge over the top of your house and wash your kin away? Would you hate the river, curse its name and turn your heart against it? I believe it would be tempting to do just that, but you know what? A river has no control over how much rain falls into it or how much snow melts and runs down into its depths.

 

In 1940 eight-year old Callie Mae McCauley sees her family swept under by the raging waters of New River during the highest flood level on record in Grayson County. She knows she should hate the river, but she doesn’t. In fact she works her entire life to save the waters of the New from being dammed up by a hydroelectric power company. She, as well as many others believed that the New River Valley should stay just the way God made it. The battle cry of the people who worked so hard to preserve and protect the New River Valley still sounds loud and clear, “New River – Like It Is.”

 

The story is fiction but it carries many historical truths. I hope you enjoy The River Keeper as she takes you away with the current, the ride might be a bit rough and wet at times, but the thrill of the swells will be well worth the journey.

 

 

(On another note I now have copies of The Manger Mouse for sale. This sweet little children’s book sold out quickly last winter but now there has been a reprint and I have books. Contact me for your personally signed copy at: sbyrd@embarqmail.com

Or visit me at one of my book signings: These events are posted on my web site at: www.SarahMartinByrd.com)

Taking a Break

Taking a Break

 

Hey guys, sorry I’m running a little late with this weeks blog. The long holiday weekend got me sort of behind, but a girls just got to work a little fishing into her schedule. And, by the way I caught one more fish than my husband on a recent afternoon of fishing. First time that’s ever happened, and probably the last. He is a very good fisherman.

 

Well summer break officially starts for my granddaughter Emma next week on June 3rd. Taking a break from school is a very exciting time, we can all remember back to the days when we lived for that last day of school. No more homework, or testing. Just simple days filled with wading the creek, catching lightning bugs, staying up late, and of course working in the garden and helping Mama can vegetables. Life can’t be all fun and games.

 

Things do change with the times though don’t they? I spent summers doing a whole lot of nothing, but when I look at the calendar and see all that Emma has going on these next couple of months it sort of makes my head spin. Church camp, Volleyball camp, Basketball camp, a week long trip to the beach, and what’s left of the summer she’ll be hanging out with me. Sounds like I’m going to be running a summer taxi service.

 

We’re going to spend a few days down at Goose Creek on the Intercoastal Waterway, go camping at Homeplace in Mount Airy, and take day trips to Carowinds and The Biltmore House. Weekend festivals, selling copies of Guardian Spirit, The Color of My Heart, and The Manger Mouse will keep us busy too. And, of course we’ll be hanging out at New River fishing every chance we get.

 

With all this being said you can see why I’ll be taking a little break from writing my weekly blog. I will scribble one in every chance I get but don’t be alarmed if you don’t see me around much this summer. My only granddaughter is growing up way too fast and I want to be with her making memories all I can while she still thinks I’m sort of cool.

 

Please check out my website for upcoming book signing events: This Saturday I’ll be in Rural Hall for their 40th Anniversary Celebration from 9am to 4pm. If you need a good book to read for the summer come on out and I’ll be glad to personalize a copy for you. Below find a few reviews for The Color of My Heart, copied and pasted straight from Amazon. These might convince you that people really do like my writing.

 

Have a great summer.

 

5.0 out of 5 stars

May be the best book I have ever read., August 6, 2013

By

Bonnie Haymore

 

This review is from: The Color of My Heart (Paperback)

The Color of My Heart is a wonderful book. I felt as if I was on the slave ship “The Wanderer” as it made its way across the seas from Africa. I could hardly put this book down. I became so wrapped up in the lives of Lucia Mae Hunt and the generations that followed, I was disappointed when I finished the book. It is a book that everyone should read. If everyone read it, there would be no racial prejudice in the world.

 

 

5.0 out of 5 stars

Fantastic read!, April 23, 2014

By

HydeTider

 

This review is from: The Color of My Heart (Kindle Edition)

This was one of the best books I have read in a while. I hardly could put it down. There were lessons of seeing people as they truly are and forgiving others as Christ forgave us.

 

 

5.0 out of 5 stars

WOW, March 11, 2014

By

bowmanc

 

This review is from: The Color of My Heart (Kindle Edition)

This is a story that is very relevant for today. It’s themes play out across the country, across the world. I am emotionally wrung out but elated at the goodness of God shown to and through the people in this book.

 

 

 

 

Writer’s Butt

Proverbs 31:17

She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms.

 

 

Attention Writers: Beware of this raging epidemic, Writer’s Butt, not to be confused with writer’s block, which is also a dreaded disease.

 

Some of you might be saying what in the world is Writer’s Butt? Who are you kidding? You know exactly what I’m talking about. Call it what you may, middle age spread, chunky butt, or secretary saddlebags. But truth is, fat is fat, and being out of shape means exactly what it says, “out of shape.”

 

Up until the past few years I have always been very active. Though I drove around selling advertising for a living I was constantly in and out of my car and on the move. Things changed when I started staying at home seven years ago to write full-time.

 

Words don’t get on paper unless you sit down and put them there. Whether you’re typing on a computer or writing free hand, you’re sitting on your butt doing it. So… I just want to share with you my advice on how to get rid of “your” Writer’s Butt, simple, get off it.

 

How does one do that when their life’s desire is to write eight to ten hours a day? When I am in the throes of bringing one of my novels to life I don’t want the energy to stop. I know how hard it is to get the creative juices flowing again once you’ve stepped away for a while, so I just want to keep writing. If you sit for long periods at a time your chair should have a beeper that sounds when you’ve been on your rump too long: Beep… Beep…Warning! Too much sitting is hazardous to your health. Failure to heed this advice may cause seams to burst, blood clots to form, and arteries to explode.

 

All kidding a side, I love to write, but I also love to exercise. To push myself and feel the burn, well maybe that is a bit exaggerated, but it sounded good didn’t it? I do love the way I feel after working out. My choice of exercise has also been walking a couple of miles as many days of the week as I can possibly pull myself away from my computer. On cold winter days I walk on the treadmill or ride my stationary bike. I have worn more than one bike out in my many years of peddling.

 

A few months ago new neighbors moved in and suddenly there were five dogs nipping at my heels as I strolled by their house. For quite some time I had been thinking about joining a local “women’s only” gym so I can thank those dogs for pushing me in the direction of Circle For Fitness, located only a couple of miles from my house at 1802 North Bridge Street, Elkin, NC.

 

Almost three months ago I signed up for a one-month free trial. It was a bit awkward at first learning to use some of the machines, and even more disturbing when I heard a lady my age or older say she could work out on one of the step machines for thirty minutes. What, I thought I’d die after being on that high stepping monster for five minutes. Yes, that first week was humbling and enlightening. I had forgotten how many different muscles I have. Walking is wonderful, but it doesn’t work your entire body.

 

Another plus about going to the gym is it gives me a chance to socialize. Writers are known to hibernate, only going out when they absolutely have to. I had forgotten how much I enjoy the interaction between myself and other ladies. Even if I am not engaged in a conversation with someone I hear others telling stories and laughing. Laughter is good for the soul.

 

Yes, taking an hour a day, three to five times a week has been the best thing I’ve done for myself in a long, long time. I feel better knowing I am building up my bone density, I can wear some clothes that I haven’t been comfortable in for years, and the best part is I can actually tell the bat wings on my under arms have filled out with a little muscle.

 

Bottom line is this: Take time for yourself. Get up, do something, get active, don’t let your brain tell you you’re too old or too out of shape. Sometimes we need to step out of our comfort zone and dare to indulge our self in a few minutes of sweat and grind. A lady the other day told me this: I might be getting old, but I’m going to fight it every step of the way. Pretty good advice if you ask me.

 

Circle For Fitness is a wonderful place. The staff is friendly and helpful. You can do a vigorous workout, or you can stroll along at two miles an hour on the treadmill. The workout machines concentrate on using a variety of  muscles in your body. They are not weight resistant they are hydro resistant, low impact on your joints. You can use the circuit machines, the treadmills, stationary bikes, ellipticals, stability balls, exercising bands or workout by choosing one of 40 different videos. They have workouts for seniors and for cardio strength and rehabilitation.

 

The best part is right now Circle For Fitness is offering a summer fitness discount for new members from June 2 through June 30. You can join for three months for only $100.00. There is no limit on how many times a week you can go. Shucks, you can workout twice a day if that’s what trips your trigger.

 

Whether you work it hard and fast, or slow and easy, at least you’re working it. Get up and get at it. You’ll be a better person inside and out because of it.

 

For more information contact Circle For Fitness at 336-526-7232 or visit their website at http://circleforfitness.com/

 

 

Blue-Eyed, Yellow-Eyed Kitty

It’s been a while since I’ve written about my cats, or I should say, “our cats,” my granddaughter Emma’s and husband Jerry’s. Yes, all three of us love our felines. Even with cleaning the litter box, changing their water daily, and sweeping up all that cat hair. Honestly, I don’t see how in the world either three of them have a single hair left on their bodies because it is all over my basement.

 

My entire married life I have been the crazy cat lady. For some reason cats just suddenly appear at my door. Kittens, toms, mommy’s ready to have babies, you name it and I’ve welcomed them with open arms. But, sometimes you have to say, “Stop.” A few years back it seemed like every day or two a new cat appeared at my house. I’d love on them and get attached, then one day they just wouldn’t show up for breakfast. Honestly, after losing a dozen or more cats and feeling the loss of every one of them I decided I wasn’t going to put myself through the devastation of loosing another kitty. But of course the pleas of my granddaughter overrode my senses and two years ago we adopted Charcoal and Pumpkin.

 

I knew that the only way to keep these two new additions to the family safe would be to keep them in the basement at night. It seemed that coyotes had invaded our territory and were snatching my cats at night, dragging them off to their den, leaving no trace of blood, hair or skin. I spoke with an animal biologist and he said that was their way… grab them and run.

 

Not long after Charcoal and Pumpkin came to live with us Emma and I were coming home from school one afternoon and not far from my house there sat a solid white kitten on the side of the road. Of course I stopped… and of course I loaded her up and brought her home. That poor kitten was staved half to death and infested with fleas. It literally took me months of treatments to shed her of those little varmints. Emma named her Snowball, she has one blue eye and one yellow eye.

 

I had always heard that white cats with blue eyes are blind, but after doing my homework I came to find out that blue-eyed, white cats are not more prone to blindness than any other cat. However, hereditary deafness is a major concern in white cats, even more so if one or both irises are blue in color. Only 17 – 22 percent of white cats with non-blue eyes are born deaf, the percentage rises to 40 percent if the cat has one blue eye, while almost 65 – 85 percent of all white cats with both eyes blue are deaf. The side with the blue eye is usually the ear that is prone to be deaf.

 

But no need to worry, whether Snowball is deaf in one ear or blind in one eye she appears to be very normal. In fact most cat owners who have cats with these handicaps may never know anything is wrong with their pet. If in fact your cat is deaf in both ears you must be extra careful with them. They can’t hear a dog barking or a car rushing by so it might be a good idea to keep these cats inside all the time. Also, white cats sunburn very easily so be mindful of that too.

 

Our cats are part of the family, they have habits and routines just like we do. They especially have different personalities. Charcoal is a big baby, he runs from every strange sound, and he meows when he wants out of the basement while Pumpkin and Snowball seldom make a sound. Pumpkin loves to chase the little red pen light and Snowball will do anything to get you to rub her. They are all happily spayed, neutered and living life to the fullest, each in his or her own world of wonders and amazement.

 

You know we humans sometime form opinions from what another person tells us about someone, or we look at an individual and think, man who is that with all those piercings, and tattoo’s? If someone doesn’t fit into what the world thinks they should look and act like then they are judged. Why can’t we just treat people like we do our animals? It doesn’t matter what color our pets are, or if they are fat, hairless, grumpy, have three legs instead of four, or have different colored eyes. We love them no matter what. Just like Jesus, He loves us with every one of our flaws, the ones on the outside and the ones on the inside. Before we judge others, we may want to look in the mirror, do you see perfection, or do you see one blue eye and one yellow eye?

 

 

Matthew 7:1-5 ESV

“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.”

  

Truthful Fiction

I am often asked, “How do you come up with your stories? Is it hard to think of something to write about?” What most people don’t understand is that we are living a story everyday. Each month and year adds more chapters.

 

As with most writers I crave moments alone so I can write down my thoughts, or the notions from the characters that are dancing around in my head. However, spending time around others, listening and watching is where the guts of my stories come from. I am amazed how some people will just come right out and tell you their life, the good, the bad, and the ugly, while others will go to any length to hide their dark secrets under a basket.

 

Attending festivals I meet many people. Often by the end of the day I am hoarse from talking so much, and my ears are sometimes burning from all the chatter. Recently while out peddling my books a cute little girl of about two or three walked up to my table and stared longingly at my bowl of candy. She had the most innocent face I’ve ever seen. The couple she was with looked as if they might be her grandparents.

 

Striking up a conversation I found out that the lady was the little girl’s mommy, but really her grandmother. While the small child licked on a sucker and played with my Matty, the hand puppet mouse the grandmother in a hushed voice proceeded to tell me her story.  “I’ve had Ellie all her life. When she was three days old I went to the prison where my daughter had given birth, picked Ellie up, brought her home, and I’ve never looked back. I will take care of Ellie for as long as God will let me.”

 

Now keep in mind I am not asking this lady any questions, but she continues to tell me about Ellie’s prison mother. “My daughter is pulling twenty years and her husband is serving life for killing my second husband. One day they just walked right into my back yard and killed him.”

 

Again, I ask no questions, she continues. “I didn’t marry very well the first two times. My first husband was a mean drunk. Just like clockwork every three weeks he would beat the crap out of me. When I finally got out of that situation I went looking for love in the wrong places and landed me a drug addict the second time.”

 

She looks over at the man who is with her and says, “This is my third husband. I didn’t find him, God sent him to me. He doesn’t drink or do drugs.” I could tell the couple had been through a few years educating themselves at the school of hard knocks. The scars of their soul shone through their eyes. But, I could also feel a peace about them, and a love for little Ellie that ran very deep.

 

Stroking the little girls head the lady says, “ Ellie is my life now. She is so precious to me. A gift from God.” The lady squats down and looks in Ellie’s eyes and asks her, “Who loves you Ellie?”

 

Of course I thought Ellie would say, “You do Mommy.” But no, she answers, “Jesus loves me.” The woman looks up at me and says, “ We’re trying to raise her right. We take her to church and she loves it.”

 

Okay people if you can’t see a novel starting her then you don’t have a lot of imagination. The lady didn’t tell me how her second husband was killed, so I can fill in the blanks anyway I want to. It could have been something as simple as a gunshot to the head. Or, in a heated argument did the daughter’s husband wrestle the man to the ground while the daughter hacked away at him with the hedge clippers?

 

What provoked such a crime? A drug deal gone wrong, jealousy, fear, revenge, or an affair? The exciting part of writing fiction is that I can make anything happen that I want to. It is a wonderful feeling when you can convey the emotions of people and put it on paper for others to feel.

 

What a great lady this woman had evolved into. It takes a lot for a person to say, “Ellie is a precious gift from God.” Why, because that gift did not come without paying a price, the loss of her own daughter. Yes, I write fiction, but it is honed from real life experiences. Some stories are just too unbelievable to be made up.

 

Proverbs 3:3

Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart:

 

 

Peace Among the Chaos

There is so much going on in my life right now. I’m finding myself going in forty-eleven different directions. One of my nephews is getting married, another nephew just announced that he and his wife are expecting their first baby, and my only living aunt is in the hospital. I’m running with my granddaughter, filling in for the secretary at church so she can have a few days off… and trying to get a new novel in the hands of all of you who are asking for it. Not to mention all the marketing things I need to be doing to promote The Manger Mouse for this years Christmas season. Whew! There is no rest for the weary.

 

What is your day like? Rise and shine early? Morning chores, laundry, take care of the animals, gardening, housework… and oh by the way just to tell you how behind I am I came home from work the other day and my dear husband was washing windows. Yes, that’s right, Jerry Byrd was doing housework. What he doesn’t know is that I knew if I put cleaning those windows off long enough he’d get so frustrated trying to look out the pollen covered panes that he would wash them. You’ve heard of child psychology, well that’s a lesson in husband psychology.

 

No kidding, sometimes our minds are going in so many different directions that we don’t have time to think, much less carry on a conversation with the Lord. My pastor has been preaching a lot lately about putting God first, and not just trying to work Him into our schedule. I for one am guilty of doing that. The start to a perfect day is a conversation with the Lord before my feet hits the floor. When I give the day to God everything works out. But, when my mind is twirling around all the stuff I have to do, or want to do, God seems to get pushed further and further into my day until before I know it it’s bedtime and I have given my Savior nothing.

 

To have peace among the chaos I have to find those quiet moments to listen to the wind weave in and through the pine trees. I must “stop” and breathe in the fragrance of life, the smells and texture of living. I need to find solitude in a place far away from everyone’s hands grabbing for my time. That’s hard for me to do since I am a people pleaser, but I must get it in my head that I need to be a God pleaser first. Even Jesus had to find solitude at times:

 

Mark 6:31

And he said unto them, Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while: for there were many coming and going, and they had no leisure so much as to eat.

There’s going to be a lot of “Coming and Going” this summer with a calendar full of book signings. May is shaping up to be a very busy month. This Saturday May 3rd I’ll be in Downtown Mocksville for the Daniel Boone Festival from 10-5. Then on May 17th I’ll be at the Boonville Public Library from 11-Noon. May 31st will find me in Rural Hall to celebrate the town’s birthday at Covington Park from 9-4. And, in between my nephews wedding will be on May 24th. As busy as all this seems I will totally be fine as long as I focus on Jesus’ example and find a desert place to rest for a while and converse with the One who continues to bless me with so much…even though I don’t deserve a single thing.

 

 

Remember Me in Your Youth

The other day I went to visit James, a dear friend of mine who is in hospice care. Being thirty years my senior he has sort of been a mentor to me. In fact his entire family is very special. His sister, Miss Opal was my sidekick for many years. When her health began to fail and after her only remaining child, Joan was killed in a single car accident I sort of tried to fill a void in her life. Being a widow Opal found herself sick, and alone for the first time in decades.

 

Growing up I had a huge crush on her son, Larry. Larry was killed in an automobile accident when he was seventeen years old. I will never forget going to church that Sunday morning after the wreck on Saturday night and hearing that my friend Larry had ran off the road in his black car and hit a house…and died. I wrote a poem titled, The Black Car.” Miss Opal cherished that poem until the day of her passing.

 

Had fate thrown Larry and I together in our youth so that years later I would be provoked to help his mother when she grew unable to drive and needed assistance with laundry and grocery shopping? One day when I face the Lord all these uncertainties will be revealed and God will smile when I ask Him question after question. I truly believe all things happen for a reason.

 

My friend Opal passed away in 1999. She suffered physically that last year of her life, being on a ventilator, not able to eat food or talk. Opal also suffered emotionally for years before her death, losing her son at a young age, a husband and then her only daughter. But she was a blessing to me and she will never be forgotten, just like her brother James and sister Estelle, these siblings have left me with many life lessons to build upon. Estelle and James are both failing as they approach their mid-eighties. I can’t help but think of this scripture as I ponder on our aging bodies:

 

Ecclesiastes 12:1

Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth, before the difficult days come, and the years draw near when you say, “I have no pleasure in them.”

 

Are we thankful enough for our health? Do we thank God for the blessings of just being pain free, able to walk, talk, see, hear, and most especially able to take care of our self? Honestly I don’t know why God lets some people grow old and others go on up to heaven in the springtime of life. But in the above scripture God plainly tells us that old age will bring difficult days and that we may have no pleasure in them.

 

Aging is as natural as breathing. We are born to die, passing the torch to the next generation, but as humans we want to hang on, to live life to the fullest, to experience all there is to experience, to live forever. We don’t want to give up what we know here on earth for something that is foreign to us. But, we have no choice. From the day of our birth we start the dying process. Death does not discriminate it comes to us all.

 

My special friend, Opal taught me many things. She showed me through living her life that we should be thankful for everything that happens to us, the good as well as the bad, and that we should love people. She lost her son, husband, and then her daughter, but did she ever once complain? No. One time when I was dropping her off from church she looked at me with tears in her eyes as we sat in my car. She glanced at her home and said, “I hope God doesn’t take my house too, that’s the only thing I have left.” She wasn’t angry, just stating a fact.

 

What do you have today, a warm home, plenty to eat, a family, a car, a job, excellent health, and your youth? As the scripture says, Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth. Don’t become so arrogant in your youth that you forget where all your blessings come from.

 

God gave us life on earth. I believe that He wants us to flourish, to have abundant happiness and pleasure in the here and now, but I think that we should remember that in the days of our youth, before the afflictions of aging comes upon us we should be about the Lords work and thankful for every day that we are pain free and able to stand on our own two feet.

 

Some people will live on in my heart forever. People who have made me feel special, like James. From the first time I met him many years ago he nicknamed me, “Your Majesty.” Why he calls me that I’ll never know because I am the farthest thing in the world from royalty. When I went to the Hospice house to see him, his daughter said, “Dad, do you know who this is?” James looked at me and plainly spoke, “Your Majesty.” You think that didn’t make my day?

 

Reach out to someone, make them feel special; encourage them through rough times. We never know how what we do today will influence someone’s life. Thank you Opal, James and Estelle for making this old girl feel like a Queen. I will never forget your love and kindness to me. And hopefully I will follow your example and pass on your message of humility to the world.