Carol Cox's Blog, page 3

I’m blogging over on Writes of Passage today: Happy New...

I’m blogging over on Writes of Passage today:

 

Happy New Year!

Don’t you love the idea of a clean slate, a fresh start? Facing a brand new year makes me think of a fresh blanket of new-fallen snow with nothing to mar its pristine surface–just an inviting expanse of endless possibilities.

 

Read the rest and join in the conversation here!

 

In His Steps

Do you remember what you were doing earlier this month on Ice Friday, the day that brought the coldest weather the western part of the U.S. has seen for decades? While huddling indoors to stay warm seemed like the sensible thing to do, my family and I wound up trekking around Arizona’s snowy northland.

 

When we set out that morning, weather reports showed Juneau and Fairbanks 30 degrees WARMER than here. Is it just me, or is something amiss when temps in Alaska seem balmy in comparison to Arizona?

To be honest, I grumbled a bit when we first set out, but it didn’t take long before I found myself caught up in the wonder of that snow-covered scene. It felt like we had just stepped into a Christmas card. And we weren’t the only ones enjoying the beauty of the forest that day.

Not long before we passed this way, a rabbit scampered through the fresh snow.

 

Elk tend to drag their feet when they walk. Sometimes I feel the same way!

Signs of tiny creatures hopping around the bushes, looking for a seed feast.

The animals seemed to be doing far better than I was. I found it harder and harder to slog through the deepening white stuff as we hiked along. My steps started to lag, and I dropped back behind my husband, walking in the prints he left behind. 

 

 

Only a slight shift in position, but what a difference it made! Suddenly the walking became much easier. And that was when the lyrics of “Good King Wenceslas” started floating through my mind.

Do you remember the old song? It tells the story of Wenceslas, ruler of Bohemia in 10th century, who looked out his window on a frigid winter’s eve and spied a poor man gathering fuel for his fire. When the king questioned his page, he learned that the man lived miles away. Wenceslas could have retired to his warm hearth with a token comment of sympathy for the wretched man’s plight. Instead, he ordered his servant to bring meat, wine, and firewood, declaring the two of them would carry those gifts to the man’s house that very evening.

They set out into the bitter, windy night, and before long, the page was ready to give up and go home. It was dark. It was cold. He didn’t see how he could keep going.

Rather than chiding him, Wenceslas told his servant to walk in the king’s own footsteps,  in the same way I was following my husband’s. And apparently it worked just as well for the page, for the last lines of the song tell us:

 

“In his master’s steps he trod, where the snow lay dinted. Heat was in the very sod which the saint had printed. Therefore, Christian men be sure, wealth or rank possessing, ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.”

Ever since I was a small child, I’ve loved hearing this story sung over and over. And I would love to envision myself as having the same charitable heart as Wenceslas, being just as quick to respond to God’s prompting to meet the needs around me. But I have to admit I often feel more like the page—tired and weary, unable to see my way clearly, ready to give up. Sometimes it’s hard to find a reason to keep going.

But Jesus, my King, has gone before me. If only I could remember that! All I have to do is follow in the steps He’s laid out for me. When I do that, I draw on His strength, and the way grows easier.

As we celebrate the birth of our Savior and prepare to greet a new year, may we look for the path He has set before us and follow it. May we follow Him step by step, no matter how deep the snow or how dark the night.

 

 

Merry Christmas to you and yours!

Until next time…

 

The Heart of a Community

 

 

 

 

 

Growing up in Phoenix, my family’s preparation for Memorial Day followed a set routine. First, a stop at the flower stand on Indian School Road, where we’d pick up bunches of asters and other late spring blooms.

 

Back at home, we’d divide the flowers into coffee cans my mother had wrapped in foil before packing them into the car and heading to the cemetery.

Once there, we’d drive past row after row of headstones set in manicured, grassy lawns. Upon reaching the family plot, we would lift out the flowers and place them beside each headstone with care, then stand in silence for a moment, reflecting on memories of days gone by. Then it was time to climb back in the car for the drive home, knowing the process would be repeated the following year. As a family tradition, it was meaningful, and yet . . .

It always bothered me a bit that the names on the headstones nearby were names of people I didn’t know. Our departed relatives seemed to form an island unto themselves in a sea of strangers.

I’ve always enjoyed stories about small-town life, where everyone pulls together as a community. Maybe that’s why I love setting my stories in places where people know and care about their neighbors—the kind of place where I live today.

A little over a week ago, a band of volunteers, ranging from teens to octogenarians, turned out at our local cemetery. Armed with rakes, hoes, shovels, and weed eaters, we set out to spruce it up for our town’s Memorial Day service.

 It’s quite a contrast from the professionally landscaped cemetery I knew as a child. The only grasses in evidence are the high desert varieties that grow here naturally. The headstones aren’t laid out in uniform rows. The variety of markers and monuments wouldn’t fit in with that cemetery in Phoenix . . . and that doesn’t bother me one bit.

As we worked from one plot to the next, I took time to read the names on each of the headstones, recognizing most of them. These aren’t the names of strangers—they’re people I’ve known during the quarter century my family and I have lived in this rural community. I know many of their stories, both happy and sad. In this setting, I’m walking among friends.

Every year on Memorial Day, the town gathers to honor the sacrifices made by members of our military. And every time I join that gathering, my heart swells when I see the flags waving, listen to the speeches, and hear members of the American Legion Post fire off a 21-gun salute, followed by the playing of “Taps.”

I look at the faces around me, seeing people I know. People I love. These are the faces that make up a community, a place to belong.

A place where we take care of our own.

 

 

If you, too, enjoy stories of tight-knit communities, I’d like to invite you to meet the people of Cedar Ridge, Arizona, in my latest book, TROUBLE IN STORE.

And to celebrate its release, my wonderful publisher Bethany House is holding a giveaway, featuring hundreds of dollars worth of absolutely amazing prizes!

Win a four-place tea set of fine china, an artisan rosewood music box exactly like the one featured in the story, real 1800s coffee and an antique coffee grinder, and more.

The giveaway will launch June 3.

If you’d like to receive notice when it’s open for entries, “Like” my Facebook page (if you haven’t already), or sign up for my newsletter using the form below.

Your e-mail address will be kept confidential, and never sold or shared, not even for bribes of chocolate!

 

 

Yes, please add me to your mailing list and notify me when the Mercantile Mystery Sweepstakes goes live 

Your Email Address:

 

Until next time…

The Christian Fiction Scavenger Hunt – Stop #18

 

 

 

 

Welcome to the 2013 Summer Scavenger Hunt! This hunt (which begins at noon Mountain Daylight Time) has 32 stops and runs 5/17 – 5/19/13. You can make the loop, reading unique content from 31 different authors, and if you complete the loop, and fill out the Rafflecopter form at Stop #32, you’ll be in the running for an iPad Mini (loaded with all our books), or one of two runner-up prizes—all 31 of our new releases in paperback. In addition, some authors are offering additional prizes, so be sure to read each post thoroughly to be in the running for all that are available. The contest is open internationally.

 

If you’ve JUST discovered the hunt, I recommend you begin at the beginning, Stop #1, found at LisaBergren.com. But you can also begin here, and keep on rolling. Just be aware that you have to have the COMPLETED phrase in order, which you construct by gathering the clue at each stop, within 24 hours of email notification from Lisa Bergren that you won. If Lisa doesn’t hear back from you with the correct phrase within the time limit, she will move on to the next winner Rafflecopter draws. Ready? Here we go…

 

INTRODUCING LORNA SEILSTAD

 

I’m delighted to be hosting Lorna Seilstad! I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with this talented author, and she’s every bit as delightful in person as her characters are on the printed page. Her ability to create stories that combine endearing characters with rich historical detail have put her books on my must-read list.

If you haven’t gotten acquainted with Lorna and her books yet, here’s an official bio:

 

A history buff, antique collector, and freelance graphic designer, Lorna Seilstad is the author of the acclaimed Lake Manawa Summers series, as well as her latest release, When Love Calls. A former high school English and journalism teacher, she has won several online writing contests and is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers. Lorna lives in Council Bluffs, Iowa, with her husband. Find out more about Lorna at www.lornaseilstad.com, on Facebook, and on Twitter.

 

Today, Lorna shares some fun facts about “hello girls”–the switchboard operators of the early 1900s.

 

 

 

 

 

HOW TO BECOME A HELLO GIRL by Lorna Seilstad 

 

Do you remember Lilly Tomlin’s nasally portrayal of a switchboard operator? Hannah, the heroine in When Love Calls, doesn’t quite fit Ms. Tomlin’s portrayal.

 

By 1906, there were 45,000 switchboard operators in the U.S. giving 25 million “hellos” every day. After I began researching the “hello girl,” I knew I had to have heroine go through the rigors of obtaining this position with a telephone company in a city. Rural areas were sometimes more lax with their rules, but the city exchanges, which 30 or 40 operators all working at the same time, maintained strict rules.

 

When Hannah, the main character in When Love Calls, is left with the responsibility of caring for her two younger sisters following the death of their parents, she needs a job that will pay right away. Since switchboard operators were paid during their schooling, she decides she can do this job even if she doesn’t meet all of the requirements. Surely, she can follow all of the rules if she has to. Right?

 

 

Here are some “hello girl” facts:

 

The first switchboard operators were boys, but their rude behavior—running, yelling, and swearing—did not work well. They were replaced by young women who were much more docile and amenable to the rules.


The qualifications for switchboard operators were precise. Only 1 girl in 8 measured up to the standards. The young woman had to possess good eyesight, good hearing, good moral character, a good memory, a good disposition, a good education, and have a pleasant voice. They also had to enunciate well, be intelligent, and be between ages 16 and 25. They also had to be pretty. This was because they were a reflection on the telephone company.


When a “hello girl” was interviewed, she was weighed and measured. She had to be tall enough to reach the top of the board. She also had to give the name of her physician, druggist, and minister as references. Preference was given to girls with financial need as the telephone thought if they needed the job, they’d be more apt to not miss work.


Switchboard operators were trained with lectures, charts, and practice. They learned the mechanics of telephony and had special voice classes where they learned how to speak in “low, melodious voices.” They were trained for about four weeks until they could work “the boards” fast enough to work in an actual exchange.


There were over 200 rules for a “hello girl” at the exchange. There was no crossing of the legs, no turning your head toward or speaking to your neighbor, and you had to raise your hand to blow your nose.


Calls were to be completed in less than six seconds. Someone with a deportment card for each operator sat a desk behind the operators and kept track on any infractions.

 

Could you follow all the rules, day after day? Join Hannah on her new adventure as a “hello girl” in When Love Calls and discover how she handles this demanding situation.

 

 

 

Lorna Seilstad’s new release, WHEN LOVE CALLS, is a delightful story that carries the reader to the exciting first decade of the 20th century, where Hannah Gregory finds herself the sole support of her two sisters in Book 1 of The Gregory Sisters series.

It is available at bookstores or online at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Christian Book Distributors, and elsewhere.

 

 

 

 

 

AND NOW, YOUR NEXT STEPS:

Write down this clue: encourage,

Have it written down? Great! Now head on over to Lorna Seilstad’s Stop #19 for the next clue! Thanks for stopping by–and don’t forget to read about the exciting bonus giveaway below!

 

BONUS!

To celebrate the release of my newest book, TROUBLE IN STORE, my wonderful publisher Bethany House is holding a giveaway, featuring hundreds of dollars worth of absolutely amazing prizes!

Win a glorious, four-place tea set of fine china, an artisan rosewood music box exactly like the one featured in the story, real 1800s coffee and an antique coffee grinder, and more.

The giveaway will launch June 3.

If you’d like to receive notice when it’s open for entries, “Like” my Facebook page (if you haven’t already), or sign up for my newsletter using the form below.

Your e-mail address will be kept confidential, and never sold or shared, not even for bribes of chocolate!

 

 

Yes, please add me to your mailing list and notify me when the Mercantile Mystery Sweepstakes goes live

Your Email Address:

 

 

Sharlot Hall – Keeper of Arizona History

 

 

 

 

Ranch woman, activist, lover of history–and a writer, to boot!

I’m blogging over on the Writes of Passage blog today, talking about Sharlot Hall–another Arizona woman with an independent spirit.

Stop by, and learn about this amazing Arizonan, then share with us about an inspiring woman you know in honor of Women’s History Month!

 

Until next time . . .

 

Nellie Cashman, the Angel of Tombstone

Since March is Women’s History Month, I thought you might like to hear about some noted women in Arizona’s history. When I started looking for women to feature, I didn’t have to search far. Nellie Cashman is one of the most fascinating historical figures I’ve ever come across.

If you just said, “Nellie Who?” you aren’t alone. Apart from diehard Western history buffs, few people have heard of her . . . and that’s a shame.

 

 

 

In doing research for Love in Disguise, I went through stacks of books on the history of southern Arizona, where I came across tons of information on the Earps, Doc Holliday, and other names familiar to us all through the many movies about Tombstone and the O.K. Corral. But there was another name that kept popping up—Nellie Cashman.

Hollywood has a tendency to alter historical events to make them more “dramatic.” But Nellie’s story doesn’t need embellishment. It had drama aplenty, just as it was.

 

Born in County Cork in 1844, this Irish lass seemed an unlikely candidate for a citizen of the wild and wooly West. She and her family joined the multitudes of Irish immigrants who came to America’s shores during the 19th century. When the death of her father left his wife and two daughters on their own, Nellie took on a variety of jobs. While working as a bellhop in a Boston hotel during the Civil War, she chanced to meet General Ulysses S. Grant, who encouraged her to go west. Several years later, Nellie and her sister headed for Sacramento by rail. After her sister married, Nellie set out for the mining camps of Nevada and British Columbia.

Her thirst for adventure eventually led her to rough-and-tumble Tombstone in 1880, where she opened a combination boarding house and restaurant she named the Russ House. She was there throughout Tombstone’s heyday and counted the Earps and Doc Holliday among her customers.

During one research trip to Tombstone with my family, we ate several meals at the restored Nellie Cashman’s Restaurant, which looked much the same as it did in Nellie’s day. The cozy atmosphere inspired the Beck House, where Steven took Lavinia to lunch in Love in Disguise.

The building still stands at the corner of 5th and Toughnut, although the restaurant has changed hands and now operates as Café Margarita.

 

One biographer said Nellie was “pretty as a Victorian cameo and, when necessary, tougher than two-penny nails.” That seems to sum her up well. In an era when society expected women conform to a certain standard, Nellie didn’t just break that mold—she stomped it into a thousand pieces. Here are a few examples:

While prospecting in the British Columbian gold fields, news came about a group of miners who were stranded in the Cassiar Mountains, suffering from scurvy. Wasting no time, Nellie organized a rescue party, collected food and medicine, and set off on a 77-day trek through as much as ten feet of snow to deliver the supplies and save the miners’ lives.


When five cold-blooded murderers were scheduled to hang in Tombstone, Nellie visited them at the jail before the execution to share her faith.


When word of a new gold strike in Mexico reached Tombstone, Nellie joined a company of nearly a dozen men to go off in search of treasure. When their water supply was exhausted, and the group faced the possibility of dying from thirst, guess who volunteered to go off on her own in search of water? And she found it, too.

 

Prospector, adventurer, and entrepreneur—Nellie’s accomplishments didn’t line up with society’s expectations for a woman of that day . . . and a single woman, at that! But despite stretching the boundaries of propriety, she never lost her reputation as an upright woman of deep faith.

Isn’t it good to know that God gives us the freedom to be ourselves–the people He created us to be?

I’d love to hear about a woman who has inspired you! Want to share with us?

 

Until next time . . .

Christmas–Arizona Style

Nestled in the pines of Yavapai County’s central highlands, Prescott is one of my favorite places in Arizona, and this is the perfect time of year to share one of the many reasons it ranks so high on my list.

 

In addition to being Arizona’s first territorial capital, Prescott was designated “Arizona’s Christmas City” back in the late 1980s and does everything to live up to the name, with a multitude of parades and festivities. If you long for an old-fashioned Christmas, Prescott is the place to be!

 

Picture a perfect December evening, with just enough chill in the air to remind us it’s winter—but no slush or snow to trudge through. That’s what it was like last Saturday, when my family made our annual trek to the courthouse lighting ceremony, a tradition we’ve enjoyed for many years. And we were not alone.

 

On a normal evening, the courthouse plaza might look something like this—

 

 

But not on this special night. Even though we arrived over an hour before the festivities were scheduled to begin, a sizable crowd had already gathered . . . and continued to grow.

 

 

The roads surrounding the plaza were blocked off, and cars lined the curbs for blocks in all directions.

 

More people arrived, then still more, until the plaza was jam-packed, and the late arrivals spilled out into the adjacent streets. A choir made up of local schoolchildren took its place on the courthouse steps. Spotlights illuminated their eager faces as darkness fell, and they led the crowd in a medley of Christmas carols.

 

 

In this age of political correctness, standing shoulder to shoulder with a crowd of thousands singing songs that celebrate our Savior’s birth and listening to a reading of the nativity story from Luke 2 was a moment to treasure!

 

Without warning, the spotlights were turned off and the plaza plunged into darkness. Moments later, a multitude of tiny lights flashed on and the whole square blazed with color. In the midst of all the busyness of this season, Arizona’s Christmas City manages to take a moment to focus on the real reason we celebrate.

 

 

 

Wishing each one of you moments of quiet in which to reflect on that joyous Reason!

 

Until next time . . .

 

 

Attack of the Killer Pumpkins

I love this time of year, with its focus on family and tradition. For me, it’s a time to think back over the years and remember special times and people. Have you ever noticed that it doesn’t take much to evoke a memory? Sometimes just one sight, sound, or smell is enough to make you feel you’ve transported back to a scene from days gone by.

 

That’s exactly what happened to me while I was in the throes of Thanksgiving baking last week. I picked up a can of pumpkin and…bam! I immediately flashed back to a holiday season six years ago.

 

One of our long-standing family traditions is baking homemade pumpkin pies. That year, we went the extra mile and used homegrown pumpkin instead of the canned variety. It turned into an even more memorable experience than I’d anticipated.

 

 

It started in the summer of that year when we decided to plant a garden. Okay, I decided to plant a garden, and my long-suffering family agreed to go along with another of my more creative ideas. It made perfect sense to me, though. Life had gotten way too busy over the past few years, and I wanted to do something to help us slow the pace a bit and spend some time making special memories with our daughter, who was then ten years old.

 

So we bought starter plants and set out the mandatory tomatoes, green peppers, and zucchini. Then I decided it would be fun to branch out a little and try growing some pumpkins. We tucked the seeds into the dirt, then watched as the little seedlings pushed their way above the ground. We watered and weeded and waited to see what would happen next.

 

 

 

What happened next was that those tiny seedlings rapidly grew into vines.

 

Lots of vines.

 

Vines that went everywhere.

 

We are talking fast growth here. If those things had grown vertically instead of launching themselves across our yard, they would have given Jack’s beanstalk some stiff competition. Within a short time, that end of our yard looked like one of the scenes from Larry-Boy and the Rumor Weed, or maybe something out of Jumanji.

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At first, it was fun to measure the growth from one day to the next. Then I caught myself keeping an eye on those little tendrils at the end of the vines when I went out to work in the yard. There was always the uneasy feeling that if I turned my back at the wrong moment, one of them might reach out and grab me by the ankle. You just never know about these things.

 

Then came the day the pumpkin vine went on the attack. In only a few hours, it wound its furtive way from the garden area over to the pyracantha bush that stands at the edge of my flower bed and twined partway up the trunk. What next? The possibilities swam before my eyes. I could see it was only a matter of time before it took over my flowers and then the house itself, like a Southwestern version of kudzu.

 

I charged into the front yard wielding my clippers while my daughter looked on from the living room window yelling, “Go, Mom! Get it before it gets us!” Minutes later, the vines had been trimmed into submission. Apparently recognizing a counter-threat when they saw it, they settled down and proceeded to produce a nice crop of pumpkins, one of which graced our Thanksgiving table as one of the best pies we’ve ever made.

 

 

 

But the tenacious vines had the last word after all. The following week, I noticed a splash of color against the house and went to investigate. Despite my vigilance, one lone vine must have escaped my watchful eye, for a bright orange pumpkin dangled from the center of my pyracantha bush.

 

I hope your memories of this year’s Thanksgiving celebration are filled with special times shared with special people—and most of all, the awareness of the blessings the Lord has bestowed upon us.

 

Until next time . . .

Of Life and Leather

 

I’ve mentioned before that in addition to pastoring two churches, my husband also operates a leather business. I thought you might be interested in getting a glimpse into that part of our lives.

 

Those of us who grew up watching Saturday morning heroes like Roy Rogers and the Cisco Kid understand the appeal of connecting with the Old West. When Dave got a chance to try his hand at tooling leather at a summer church camp, it sparked a desire in his young mind to do it as more than just a hobby.

 

 

I knew about his interest in leather when we got married, but I didn’t realize what an all-consuming passion it was. It didn’t take long to learn that we’d never be able to walk past a leather shop. No, we had to go inside while Dave greeted the owner and talked leather, more often than not coming away with new ideas and techniques he wanted to try.

 

While other kids played with Legos, ours were fascinated with the scraps of leather that fell from their dad’s workbench. And there were lots of leather scraps floating around our house. I mean, LOTS. There were days when I felt a bit like the wife in “The Elves and the Shoemaker” . . . except no helpful elves slipped in during the night to do my housework for me.

 

Twelve years ago, he met Gordon Davis one of the premier holster makers in the country, whose work Dave had admired for years. As it turned out, Gordon had just relocated to Arizona, and opened a new shop only 30 minutes from our home.

 

The acquaintance they struck up turned into a deep friendship based on mutual respect of each other’s skills. When Gordon retired 5 years ago, Dave bought his business – Davis Leather Company –  from him and now operates the shop on his own in what we laughingly refer to as his “spare time.”

 

 

His focus is on producing top-of-the-line gun leather in three areas: concealed carry equipment, law enforcement duty gear, and Western gun rigs.

 

 

For people who participate in action shooting sports, like the Cowboy Fast Draw Association, a contestant’s skill is important. But having a top-quality rig can make all the difference, and many of the top shooters in CFDA use rigs they’ve ordered from Dave.

 

 

A number of his orders come from people who want to replicate the look of a gunslinger they’ve seen in the movies. No problem. Dave will watch that movie over and over (and over and over . . . ) again until he gets the look right, hitting the “Pause” button whenever that gun rig comes into view to check the placement of bullet loops or count the exact number of stitches on a gunbelt.

 

 

There’s a certain amount of give and take in all this. I don’t know about you, but there are only so many times I can watch The Magnificent Seven before I feel like my head’s about to explode. (Do I hear an amen?) On the other hand, Dave isn’t really big on sitting through repeat showings of Emma or Jane Eyre, so maybe it’s a fair trade-off.

 

The leather shop has turned out to be more than just a business. Working in the shop has opened up a surprising number of opportunities for ministry. People who would never darken the door of a church come into the leather shop and end up talking about their problems. And Dave prays for every one of his customers as he works on their orders.

 

And who would have thought his   would mesh so well with my writing? His knowledge of the Old West makes him a perfect brainstorming partner. We spend a lot of time talking about scenes and settings, and I know he’ll never let me slip up when writing about guns and leather gear.

 

 

What a perfect combination! Amazing how God can weave so many threads together in our lives, isn’t it?

 

Until next time . . .

 

Adventures Underground

 

Doing the research for Love in Disguise turned out to be one adventure after another, many of them involving visits to the area around Tombstone. One of my favorite research trips was the one that took us underground.

 

When Tombstone is mentioned, most people think of Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, and the notorious shootout at the O.K. Corral. The town has done an outstanding job of preserving its Old West heritage, but there’s so much more to Tombstone’s history than that 30-second gun battle.

 

 

 

The mines, for instance. They were the reason for Tombstone’s existence in the first place. Learning more about them was my focus for this research trip, so my husband and I signed up for a tour of the Good Enough Mine. After getting our tickets, the first thing we had to do was outfit ourselves with hard hats to keep from knocking ourselves senseless on low overhangs. I did appreciate the protection, although I don’t think I’ll adopt this as a fashion statement anytime soon.

 

 

Our group, about 30 people in all, gathered around while our tour guide gave us a few instructions. After he laid down the ground rules—or underground rules, if you prefer—we entered the mine, which is in essentially the same condition as it was when it was abandoned in the 1880s.

 

 

The first area was spacious enough, but as we descended, things became a little more cramped. Do you see the word “LOW” painted on the overhang in blood-red paint? (At least I hope that’s paint!) You know the ceiling’s low when this 5’1” woman has to duck. On the other hand, that bulbous hard hat probably boosted me up to a towering 5’4” or so. Maybe it wasn’t quite as bad as I thought.

 

 

Once we got down to the actual working area, I was surprised at how roomy the place felt. And instead of the dank atmosphere I expected, I learned that the temperature remains a constant 70 degrees year round.

 

 

Our guide told us most of Tombstone’s silver went to the New Orleans mint, where it was transformed into silver dollars. After we got home, we discovered we had several of the silver dollars minted in New Orleans during that time period—perhaps made of silver from the very mine we visited.

 

 

My imagination went into high gear, picturing the men who spent their days wresting silver ore from the mines in the Tombstone area. So much time and effort invested in seeking treasure that would make them wealthy . . . but none of it a treasure that would last beyond this lifetime.

 

What a powerful reminder of Jesus’ teaching about storing up treasures in heaven, “where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

 

That’s the kind of retirement plan I want to invest in, one that has eternal value. One that keeps my heart focused on the important things.

 

May you discover ways every day to lay up treasures in heaven!

 

Until next time . . .