Kerry Johnson's Blog, page 2

That Time I Washed My Bird in the Washing Machine

So let me tell you this story, which unfortunately is quite true.

Maybe I should let Mango tell it. He was there, after all, and the story’s all about him.

 

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Mango with a favorite treat, blueberries.

 

Me: Mango, tell us what happened last Wednesday, if you can.

Mango: Can I get some fruit first at least? (Chews. Eats .054% of the pineapple). Okay. It all started with the comforter.

Me: Tell us about the comforter.

Mango: It’s blue and red and cozy. But dangerous. I’ll never land on that comforter again.

Me: Why is that?

Mango: Why? WHY!? Because that comforter went swimming in the blue machine with the door on the front. The one right by the garage door.

Me: I know the machine well. (Grimaces at washing machine)

Mango: And now I do, too. (Spits remaining food at me.)

Me: I didn’t do it on purpose! It was an accident, and I feel awful.

Mango: As you should. SO, I fly to the comforter, and snuggle in. Apparently you’re not paying attention and shove it in the washing machine. So far, I’m fine. Just snuggled in. There’s some strange noises, and bam, things get wet. Including me.

 

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This is *not* after the washing machine incident. This was after a lovely warm shower on the lanai.

Me: Oh no. And then what happened?

Mango: *squawk* I can’t believe you’re asking me to relive this trauma.

Me: No pressure.

Mango: Pressure? Of course there was pressure. The comforter gets wet, I get smooshed in tighter, and I’m soaked. Just soaked. Like a drowned rat, except I’m a beautiful bird.

Me: *Moans regretfully* I’m so glad I noticed right away that you weren’t on your cage or in Cole’s room. God was watching out for you. He kept pointing me back to the washing machine, which had been going for about 30 seconds at that point.

Mango: 30 seconds?! *Squawks. Flutters wings* Good thing someone was watching out for me.

Me: Tell us what happened next.

Mango: Suddenly there’s clicking sounds, and the lights turn back on, and I’m pulled out of the washing machine, but I’m still inside the comforter. I hear you and the blond child calling my name, and I manage to pop out and squeak.

 

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This was also not after the awful washing machine incident. My mom felt so bad she was crying and couldn’t take a picture.

Me: You were soaked and blinking fast and trembling, poor little thing–

Mango: You bet I was! And then you smother me with a blanket again! And force me to get in my travel cage and go to that vet office where they poke and prod me. (Though I did enjoy the little heater thing that warmed me up.) I’ll pass on the drugs and poking though.

Me: You needed to get checked out. Thankfully you were okay, and now you need to take your antibiotic so you stay well.

Mango: But it’s gross. *Fluffs feathers*

Me: It is not. It tastes like cherry. You like cherries.

Mango: Real cherries, not fake medicine-tasting yuck cherries.

Me: So, you’re doing okay, and you’re fully recovered? Because I’m not fully recovered. It was traumatic for me, too. I feel so-SO bad.

Mango: I’m doing better. Mostly. A couple feathers are out of place but I can fix those. *Preens*

Me: And I’ll never close the washing machine without making sure I see where you are first.

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Mango: Indeed. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop smelling like laundry detergent.

Me: It does give you a fresh kind of smell…

Mango: I already smelled fresh! Now, are we done here? And where’s that walnut you promised me?

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Filed under: Musings Tagged: animals, birds, candidkerry, funny story, Sun conures

Messages

We still have an answering  machine in our home.

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It’s stuck on the wall between our kitchen and dining room, a 20th Century relic I just can’t part with.

My husband has grumbled about getting rid of our home phone and the machine, but I have a couple long-distance friends I talk with regularly, and I despise talking on my cell phone. So understanding hubby set it up that when we’re home and calls come in on our cell phones, we can answer on the home phone.

When the number blinks, we have new messages. Either an “IRS” rep demanding we call NOW before our bank account explodes or the ortho office reminding me about my older son’s appointment.

{Thank goodness the political season is over.}

But there are five saved messages that will never get deleted from our compact answering machine. In Lord of the Rings dialect, they’re my PRECIOUS.

They’re cheerful, congratulatory female voices letting me know You’re A Semifinalist or You’re A Finalist.

When I met one of the lovely message-leavers at a local writing conference last year, I started the conversation with, “Your voice is on my answering machine.” She got that deer-in-the-headlights look (in Florida, it’s more like squirrel-in-the-headlights) until I explained who I was and why her voice was on my machine. Then we laughed.

Those five saved messages slowly added up, little numbers that equaled Fulfilled Promises of this writing dream that took root decades ago and grew, bit by bit, until it stretched my aching heart.

Until this happened last weekend.

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It’s a gift I still can’t fully believe and am so grateful for.

But there were other messages along the winding, wondering years, too. I see them more clearly now. Emails that healed the tender ache, notes that pressed me forward despite longing to give up.

Words prayed over me that wrapped me in the Father’s love.

Messages from writer friends, encouraging words just when I needed them. And messages in God’s Word.

“But as for you, brethren, do not grow weary in doing good.”

“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, in everything give thanks.”

“Take heed to the ministry which you have received in the Lord, that you may fulfill it.”

“Forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”

“But none of these things move me, nor do I count my life dear to myself, so that I may finish my race with joy, and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God.”

Are you on a heart journey? Traveling a path you know you’re supposed to, but the end is out of sight? I’m not there yet either friend, and I’m realizing in shades of blinding, sunset beauty…that’s the point.

The goal isn’t the final objective. The goal is the journey–and the messages we leave and receive along the way. They’re grace and friendship and love and selflessness.

Here are a few pictures from the ACFW conference and Gala last weekend.

 

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Cathy Gohlke, my favorite historical author. What a blessing to meet her!

 

 

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Sweet author Lynne Pleau. She’s also from Newtown!

 

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A writer and a gentleman, Joseph Courtemanche. He taught a class about basic weaponry at ACFW!

 

 

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Fun, encouraging friends Deanna & Lucy. What a joy to laugh & celebrate with other writers!

 

 

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Fellow finalist Deborah Clack. A sweet, funny fellow writer I’m so glad I had the chance to meet!

 

 

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What a blessing that my mom and sister joined me this weekend.

 

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Just, you know, sleeping with my Genesis award Saturday night.

In the Eye of the Storm

There are storms brewing tonight.

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The storms roll in from the east, and as my younger son swims in the community pool, I eye the sky. But only to look out for flashes of lightning far off, or catch the fading rumble of thunder.

A week ago?

A week ago, Irma was knocking at Florida’s door, unwelcome and angry. Indecisive.

An enormous mass of swirling clouds, rain, and deadly wind tore across the Atlantic, pummeled the Caribbean Islands and Puerto Rico, bounced off Cuba, then plowed up into the Florida Keys. Originally forecast to slide up the east coast of Florida, Irma continued inching west, west, west.

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Toward us, us, us.

A week ago, my parents, grandparents, and my sister and her family gathered in our house to hunker down. They all live in southwest Florida, so our home was a safer location.

This is what ‘hunkering down’ feels like, FYI.

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A bit claustrophobic.

Many further north urged Floridians to leave.

“Evacuate!” They screamed.

We understood. We too, were shocked at the flooding and destruction caused by Hurricane Harvey a dozen days before in Texas. Energized meteorologists conveyed their amazement as the powerful storm maintained her category five status for days.

The tension and fear smothering the Sunshine State was palpable.

But logistically it was impossible for everyone to leave. We don’t live in a flood zone, so my engineer husband carefully boarded up our house and secured our yard, then cut plywood to board up our neighbor’s house–wide-eyed Chicagoans who had moved to Florida a few weeks prior.

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The afternoon before the storm hit, my sister and I took our boys out one more time to expel energy. As the storm approached the Keys–several hours south of where we live–the sky was already bloated with Irma’s clouds.

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Irma closed in.

Family and friends across the country prayed for a downgrade. A category three or less storm is “doable,” as in, concrete homes generally remain intact under those storm conditions. Irma was a four just as she hit the Keys, a daunting number to Floridians with memories of Andrew.

Even Mango watched the Weather Channel, wondering if he should fly the coop before the storm hit.

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The night Irma hit, sleep was an enemy. We all needed it desperately, but couldn’t allow ourselves to give into it. The angry, whipping wind and constant smatter of rain was a potent distraction. By 7:30pm we lost power, and the house was draped with candle light and filled with weary family.

How could we sleep with this coming?

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But God is merciful, and He calms the storm.

Even the meteorologists were speechless at how quickly Irma broke apart and downgraded once she hit southwest Florida and began moving up the peninsula.

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Monday morning we awoke and hesitantly opened the front door. Leaves scattered everywhere and palm and oak branches littered yards, but our house was intact and our friends south of us safe, too.

I can’t describe what an enormous relief it was to have Irma gone.

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Thankfully we only lost power for twelve hours. But power still remains out for some in southwest Florida–please keep them in prayer as Florida recovers from this never-ending storm.

We’re grateful for God’s mercy, protection, and for all the prayers for our state and people.

“For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting, and His truth endures to all generations.” (Psalm 100:5)

Filed under: Musings Tagged: Florida, God's mercy, Hurricane Irma, hurricanes, Irma, Prayers, storms.

Count Up: Pushups & Pitchwars

 

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I dropped to the hallway floor with a grunt, my hands clutching carpet.

“Can you do ten?” Cole hovers over me, taller than the day before. My teenager won’t stop growing, and he’s a workout fiend knocking out twenty-five pushups without breaking a sweat.

I, however, sit sadly just on the right side of forty. And while I did many a push-up in my swimming days and have tried to stay in decent shape since, I don’t expect to keep up with my fit thirteen-year old.

“Yes, I can do ten.” Gulp.

I get into pushup position, hands flat, fingers spread and toes flexed. No knee pushups here. (Which is why I only do ten at a time.)

And so it begins. “One.”

I lower then raise my arms again. This is only two?

“One.” Cole calls out.

“What!? That was two.”

I lower my arms and raise them again, blood pounding in my temples. “Three!”

“One.” Giggles explode above me. Chase appears, a smiley blonde alongside his brown-haired brother.

I’m a boy mom—teasing is a given. But this? This is certainly torture.

I lower again, nearly kissing the carpet, then straighten wobbly arms supporting a body growing heavier by the second. “Four!”

“One!” Chase runs off, cackling.

I mumble something about making their own dinner then drop for my fifth pushup. “Five.”

“One.” Cole doesn’t grin very often, and as I look up, I can’t help grinning back despite my indignation at their poor counting skills.

“No, not one! That was five.”

He shrugs, nodding. “Okay, I’ll count right.”

So I begin again, or is it finish? Either way, the last five pushups prove ten times easier once he counts up. But on the last one, my arms betray me as a shuddering laugh takes over. That number–one–still resonates in my mind even though Cole’s not counting incorrectly.

I dissolve into a chuckling lump of limp mom muscles on the floor.

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It reminded me how much our encouragement toward others matters. How much we’re needed to count up.

***

During the month of August, I participated in a contest on Twitter called Pitchwars. Pitchwars includes a group of amazingly helpful published authors (mentors). Each mentor author reads dozens of entries, eventually choosing one to champion and prepare for an agent panel in November (along with keeping up with their own writing career).

It’s an incredible opportunity to meet and connect with writers in the same genre (I entered my middle grade story) and secure valuable feedback on your (submitted) story.

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I was thrilled when the author I submitted to asked for my full manuscript. Even though I wasn’t ultimately the writer she chose to mentor, it was an exciting three weeks of interacting and connecting, sharing about our stories, and meeting up with new critique partners—I have three now!

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After the initial sting of disappointment at not being chosen, I realized what I appreciated most was the community of Pitchwars–the positive words, funny GIFs & jokes exchanged, and especially the encouragement sprayed around like New Year’s confetti.

I’m reminded of James chapter three, about the power of the tongue and the strength of our words (spoken or typed) to bolster–or break down–others. “Even so the tongue is a little member and boasts great things. See how great a forest a little fire kindles!” (3:5)

Our tongues can start forest fires of gossip or send waves of much-needed encouragement.

Be an encourager. Count up.

“And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another…” (Eph. 4:32)

Filed under: Musings Tagged: Authors, encouragement, feedback, Pitchwars, Twitter, writing, writing contests

Gladiator Days

“Why don’t you get in line?” I motioned to my sons above the throng of voices, excited shouts, and laughter filling the warehouse-sized-indoor-bouncy-playground.

The Gladiator Pit snagged 10-year-old Chase’s attention, with its four pedestals of foam and bulky weapons for knocking opponents into the squishy cubes littering the pit’s base.

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The current “ruler” of the Gladiator Pit stood proudly in the center, one victory from gaining the golden belt after nine rounds of knocking competitors off.

Chase drank it all in with unbounded eagerness. Though not as competitive as his older brother, he has always loved wrestling-type activities. His smile broadened as the teenaged employee handed him a foam stick, then he crawled across the huge cubes to balance on the orange pedestal.

Cole followed with a frog-legged leap, concentration tightening his features. He stands a few inches taller than Chase now, but Chase is solid and strong, and I was curious to see the outcome.

The four boys faced each other, gripping their long blue foam sticks. When the young employee blew his whistle, the Gladiator fight erupted.

Single-minded and still smiling, Chase leapt off his pedestal, launching his entire body at the current champion across from him. Down the poor boy went, deep into the cubes. Chase regained his balance and pivoted to womp the boy going after Cole.

His momentum knocked that boy and Cole from their pedestals so quickly my sister, nephew, and I burst out laughing at Chase’s victorious grin and the speed at which the action had unfolded.

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I grinned back at my excited younger son and his infectious joy. And it reminded me of one of my life verses, Acts 20:24.

“But none of these things move me; nor do I count my life dear to myself, so that I may finish my race with joy, and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God.”

A couple of rounds later, Cole strategized and easily took his brother and two other boys down–but still, Chase wore a big smile.

In the pursuit of our God-given dreams, we will attain victory–and we will get knocked down. How can we truly experience all that with joy? All those ups and downs?

In Acts chapter twenty, Paul calls the elders of the church of Ephesus to him (v 17). He warns and encourages them of what’s to come in the early church. “So now, brethren, I commend you to God and to the word of His grace, which is able to build you up and give you an inheritance among all those who are sanctified” (32).

Then, Paul closes with what I consider the key to maintaining our joy in any kind of circumstances…whether we’re getting knocked down or holding our hands high in victory. “And remember the words of the Lord Jesus, that He said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive’” (35).

We all have Gladiator days–the days when we’re knocked flat on our face, or when we stand tall in victory. But I promise, the most joy you’ll receive on this journey toward God’s heart and your dreams is in giving of yourself and serving others.

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Filed under: Musings Tagged: blessingothers, candid, Dreams, gladiator, God, Kids, trustinggod

Most Memorable Reads of 2016

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As we close down another year, I love looking back on the fabulous books I’ve read over the past 365 days. Each January on Goodreads I set up my goal of 52 books, and do my best to meet the goal (while squeezing in as much writing and real life as possible).

Choosing my top five or ten favorite books feels too much like choosing a favorite child or favorite chocolate. I can’t! Each story I read leaves a mark on me in its own way, through the gift of story.

So I decided to list my most memorable reads of 2016–the stories that lingered with me, tugged my heartstrings, gripped my emotions, made me laugh (or cry), and inspired my own writing the most.

(These are in no particular order.)

 

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Shadow of the Storm is book #2 in the Out of Egypt trilogy (book three releases in May), and I loved this and Counted with the Stars equally. Beautiful writing, tender romance, and life-like characters struggling to trust God and survive amidst the turmoil of the Exodus–what’s not to love? A winner for fans of historical and biblical romance.

***

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I read The Girl from the Train last year and was quite moved by Irma Joubert’s (American) debut, so I quickly picked up Child of the River when it released. I finished the story a few weeks ago and still think of the characters. Her writing is somehow both simple and powerful, the images startling. Many scenes I reread just to soak the words in. This author has a gentle, probing hand with human emotion and a vast understanding of South Africa’s (WWII-era) history, giving readers unique stories that long stay with you.

***

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Because I’m also writing a middle grade/YA trilogy, I read this genre once or twice a month. Last in a Long Line of Rebels was humorous and touching for kids and adults alike. Strong-willed protagonist, Lou, and her best friends are determined to solve a centuries-old mystery that threatens her family. Though my boys are getting pickier about “girl stories,” they eagerly snuggled into bed at night so I could read another chapter of this southern story chock full of mystery and family drama–and laughs.

***

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Author Brandy Vallance’s sophomore novel is just as delicious and lovely as its cover. Though quite different than her dazzling debut, The Covered Deep, Within the Veil spills over with beautiful prose and riveting emotion, never giving the reader a chance to pause and catch their breath (which is of course, a good thing.) The romance is both fiery and tender (but remains appropriate), and the fascinating Scottish history fills the pages to the brim. Even better? The sweet salvation message threaded throughout.

***

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If I were to choose a book that racked up the most tears per page, this one wins the blue ribbon. Not that I cried a lot, just one good, solid time. Oh…the end. That scene. A Flight of Arrows is Lori’s second book in The Pathfingers series, and I recommend reading The Wood’s Edge first to better understand this stunning story. Lori’s breathtaking prose and meticulous research frame a story so spiritually moving that I used at least three tissues. While I loved all of her books so far, this one. Just. Moved. Me. So. Much.

***

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Such a fun and heartwarming story! I read Rachel McMillan’s debut in one wonderful day, reclining in my comfy reading chair, and I loved every moment of it. Part mystery, part historical, and threaded with sweet romance, The Bachelor Girl’s Guide to Murder delivers lovely prose, witty footnotes, and lively dialogue that captivates readers. It’s just a unique story, and I still gaze fondly at this adorable green book gem, set on my ‘favorites’ bookshelf.

***

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This book still makes me sigh. Author Joanne Bischof is so gifted at creating beautiful scenes and a tender romance. Oh, that Charlie! I dare you to read this and not fall a little bit in fictional love. But The Lady and the Lionheart is much more than a romance–it’s a redemption story with abiding themes of forgiveness and grace. SO beautiful. (Sigh. See?) For fans of inspirational contemporary romance, The Lady and the Lionheart is a Must-read.

***

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I’m always on the lookout for appropriate, exciting books for my voracious 12-year old bookworm, and Jill Williamson’s books are just about perfect. Replication is Young Adult,  clean and exciting for ages 12-17, boy or girl. I enjoyed this action-packed story of clone Jason 3.3 (Martyr) and his journey to find out whether his life counts. Humorous and poignant dialogue with new friend Abby mixed with a little bit of romance and lots of action make for a fantastic read for teens.

***

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It was difficult to choose between author Jody Hedlund’s two phenomenal historicals this year–Luther and Katharina (about Martin Luther and his wife Katharina Von Bora), and Newton and Polly (about Amazing Grace composer John Newton and his wife Polly Catlett.) Both stories are touching tributes to the faith and resilience these four historical figures lived. Polly and Newton’s story in particular grabbed me, the stark but grace-filled portrayal of a likeable, proud young man running from God. Redemption abounds, of course. Hedlund’s meticulous research, vivid characters, and lyrical prose are a well-loved gift to her readers.

***

These book beauties are my Most Memorable Reads of 2016. I’d love to know what your most memorable read(s) are from 2016.

I wish you and yours a safe New Year’s and a blessed and healthy 2017! Happy Reading, friends!❤

Keeping the Star

“Are you keeping that forever?” Chase sidled up next to me in the kitchen. We glanced at the yellow star craft I made with my 2nd-5th grade Sunday school class last December.

“Maybe.” I stirred the meatballs. “Can you believe it’s been almost 365 days since I put that on the fridge?”

Chase shrugs and scurries away, still in the throes of his first decade, not yet in awe of the brevity of life adults feel more heavily each year.

I continue preparing dinner but glance back at the star, again and again. How often had I noticed and read the words during the year it had graced the side of our fridge?

There’s a small splat of pasta sauce on it and the edges are beginning to curl. The words of Matthew 2:10 tuck neatly into the folds of my heart. “When they saw the star they rejoiced with exceedingly great joy.”

How I’ve needed that star, needed that reminder of GREAT JOY. Foundational joy, because at the end of the day–and at the end of this year–through difficulties, death, and disappointments, we have Jesus.

We have a risen Savior who was a babe in a manger.

One of my favorite worship songs is called Forever, by the talented Kari Jobe. Maybe you’ve heard it, or your church has sung it?

The moon and stars they wept

The morning sun was dead

The Savior of the world was fallen
His body on the cross

His blood poured out for us

The weight of every curse upon him

One final breath He gave

As Heaven looked away

The Son of God was laid in darkness

A battle in the grave

The war on death was waged

The power of hell forever broken

The ground began to shake

The stone was rolled away

His perfect love could not be overcome

Now death where is your sting

Our resurrected King has rendered you defeated

Forever, He is glorified

Forever, He is lifted high

Forever, He is risen

He is alive

He is alive

 

There’s a verse nestled in that song, a verse that’s awful and wonderful and achingly beautiful. “One final breath He gave/as Heaven looked away.”

And it always reminds me of Christmas. Weird? Maybe. But it does. Because Jesus didn’t come to earth to hug people. He didn’t come here to make us feel better or to teach fishermen how to catch the most fish (though He did help with that…

The Osprey and the Fish

 

Traffic trickled along US-301, impatient moms in mini-vans and battered utility trucks bracketing the two lanes beside me. It was a quarter to three, and I had to get gas before picking up the boys at 3:15.

Up ahead, the Alafia River crisscrossed 301, a bronze waterway that emptied into Tampa Bay to the west and bled inland to the east. Lightposts stood at attention, skinny towers marking the road’s edge, every third or fourth pole topped with a messy, stick-strewn bird’s nest.

Ospreys gliding overhead, hugging the river’s edge, were a commom sight on this stretch of 301. The white and brown winged-creatures gained easy access to fish in the river from the tall vantage points.

As I slowed at a red light, a flurry of animal-sized movement caught my attention directly to my left. An enormous bird flew beside my truck, only a few few higher than my driver side window.

A human-eye view of a glorious example of God’s winged creation.

While I admired his wingspan and elegant flight (and tried desperately not to bump into the car slowing in front of me), the reason for his low altitude became clear.

Inside the grasp of his razor-sharp talons, a struggling silver fish glimmered in the sunlight on its way to feed hungry chicks in a nest high above.

But right then, the powerful bird flew low, the burden it carried weighing down its normally-graceful flight. And the Holy Spirit pin-pricked my heart.

“Have you not known? Have you not heard?

The everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth,

Neither faints nore is weary.

His understanding is unsearchable.

He gives power to the weak, and to those who have no might He increases strength.

Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall,

But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength;

They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary,

They shall walk and not faint.” (Isaiah 40:28-31)

For our families, for me personally, it’s been a difficult, sad year. There have been blindingly painful losses (my sister-in-law) and shocking goodbyes (the sudden death of our family dog).

Add in a couple writing disappointments, some parenting trials and one 40th birthday, and it’s a recipe for a year I’m eager to put in my rear-view mirror.

God in His mercy and grace carried us through, and we’re grateful for His comfort and the comfort and prayers of others.

Still, the burden of loss and my escalating worry about a recent health issue have made me feel like that Osprey–low-flying through life, burdened with a twenty-pound Snook of worry and fear. Are you feeling that way, too?

But those who wait on the Lord…

As the Osprey finally ascended, curving toward the blue sky and its hungry chicks, God’s gentle peace gripped my heart. I pray it grips yours, too.

…will renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles…

If you’re barely airborne right now, skimming muddy earth because of heavy burdens and slippery fear, look to the Lord. He will renew your strength.

Wait on Him. He is faithful, and His mercy is everlasting.

For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting, and His truth endures to all generations.

(Psalm 100:5)  

 

Filed under: Musings Tagged: candidkerry, Faith, God, Isaiah 40:31, Waiting on the Lord

Book Review & Giveaway ~ The Cautious Maiden, by Dawn Crandall

 

The Cautious Maiden is the first book I’ve read by author Dawn Crandall, and it will certainly not be my last. I loved this tender, romantic story. This is inspirational historical romance at its *sigh* finest.

A little more about Dawn

A graduate of Taylor University with a degree in Christian Education, and a former bookseller at Barnes & Noble, Dawn Crandall didn’t begin writing until 2010, when her husband found out about her long-buried dream of writing a book. Without a doubt about someday becoming traditionally published, he encouraged her to quit working in order to focus on writing The Hesitant Heiress. It didn’t take her long to realize that writing books was what she was made to do. Dawn is represented by Joyce Hart of Hartline Literary.

Apart from writing books, Dawn is mom to two precious little boys. She also serves with her husband in a pre-marriage mentor program at their local church in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

Dawn is a member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, secretary for the Indiana ACFW Chapter (Hoosier Ink), and associate member of the Great Lakes ACFW Chapter.

The Everstone Chronicles  is Dawn’s first series with Whitaker House. All three books composing the series were semi-finalists in ACFW’s prestigious Genesis Contest, the third book going on to become a finalist in 2013.

About the book

Violet Hawthorne is beyond mortified when her brother Ezra turns their deceased parents’ New England country inn into a brothel to accommodate the nearby lumberjacks, but when Violet’s own reputation is compromised, the inn becomes the least of her worries. In an effort to salvage her good name, Violet is forced into an engagement with a taciturn acquaintance, Vance Everstone.

As she prepares for a society wedding, Violet learns that her brother had staked her hand in marriage in a heated poker game with the unsavory Rowen Steele, and Ezra had lost. Now Rowen is determined to cash in on his IOU.

With danger stalking her and a new fiancé who hides both his emotion and his past, Violet must decide who to trust, and who to leave behind.

My Review

The story opens with a surprising and perfectly sweet scene between hero and heroine. Hero Vance, a reformed rake whose actions must speak louder than his words to win over careful, tender-hearted Violet, is both swoon-worthy and realistic.

A glowing mix of tender romance and mysterious intrigue, The Cautious Maiden swept me away immediately with skilled first person point of view and plenty of unique story twists and turns. Lovely, shy Violet and reformed rake Vance have a sweet chemistry that intensified with each page.

The Cautious Maiden is a true gem of a story, reminding readers that grace and forgiveness go hand in hand, and loving someone requires a step of faith. I loved how the characters’ faith was woven so thoroughly into each scene, without bogging down the story.

Bravo Dawn, for a thrilling and touching story I thoroughly enjoyed. Now to get the first three in this series!

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In honor of the release of The Cautious Maiden, Dawn is offering a print copy of the story to one commenter! Please leave a comment with your name, let us know if you’ve read any of Dawn’s stories, and leave your email so I can contact you if your name is drawn.

The drawing begins Saturday, October 15th and ends Saturday, October 22. Please, for continental U.S. residents only. Thank you!

Dawn’s Website

Author Page on Facebook

Filed under: Musings Tagged: Author Dawn Crandall, Author interview, Book giveaway, books, candidkerry, Christian fiction, Historical fiction, Inspirational Historical Fiction

Green Grass & Early Goodbyes

 

The backyard stretches out, glimmering emerald from summer’s endless rain and sun. A lone oak tree, once so petite and spindly, towers full and grand above the sagging trampoline, shading part of our fenced yard.

I clench my eyes shut, then open them.

There are no flashes of white, no bounding speckled legs. The squirrels run rampant, blue jays and doves pecking at the bird feeder unhindered.

Everything is empty and quiet, the kind of quiet that echoes so loudly it stretches the soul.

I’m filled with the ache of missing, of early goodbyes.

I flip on the hose until the spray gushes, aiming at Mango’s cage tray and trying to focus on the green, green grass, not the colorful memories that blur my eyes.

Oh, Jedi.

We had to say goodbye so suddenly, with little warning. I can barely go there, barely think of that awful day. But instead of focusing on the empty yard swallowing me and the early goodbye I didn’t expect or want to say, I’ll focus on the 6 1/2 years we had with you.

We prayed for a medium-sized, non-shedding, kid-loving dog, and we got you.❤

We also got a great guard dog.

I’ll never forget that summer day, when the boys were no taller than my waist and you were still gangly, one-year old puppy, yet you alerted me to the troublesome teenager breaking into our neighbor’s house. Your ferocious barking scared him right back over the neighborhood wall.  

We also got a lively and energetic companion, an active dog that in the wrong hands, could’ve been destructive. But you were such an eager-to-please boy. Your job was keeping squirrels, birds, raccoons, and possums out of our yard, and you did it faithfully.

I’m so glad you loved walking as much as I did. I wonder how many miles we walked together in 6 1/2 years? So many, but not enough.

Cole misses you licking his chin each morning when he puts on his shoes before school. Chase misses you running around the yard while he bounces on the trampoline and when you joined us each night in the boys’ bedroom for back scratching while I read to them.

What do I miss? So much.❤

I miss your face in the kitchen window when I leave and come home; the slap of the dog door as you run in and out; your toothy doggy grin when we came home; your safe, alert presence when I walked in the evenings; even your hearty barking when the UPS guy drops off a package at the door then scurries away.

We even miss your drool.

Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole. ~ Roger Caras

I turn off the hose and gaze around, the quiet smothering. The boys are inside, finishing homework and growing taller, and my heart tugs and pulls at the memories in this space, on this green, green grass.

I remember all the little boy and puppy growing up that happened in this yard, the many hours of playtime with dear neighbor kids, and the tears fall.❤

But then, I look down and see it.

A leaf beside Mango’s tray. All by itself, a single straggler amidst a sea of green. Where had it come from?

Fall doesn’t hit Florida until December or January, and this was clearly not an oak leaf.

Where?…

More tears come, from missing you puppy, and from a God who cares about all of His creation and shows it in ways He knows I’ll see and cherish.❤

 

We miss you, Stinky Pete. And our home isn’t home without you. We’re praying for another good boy, but he or she won’t be you, Jedi.

We love and miss you, crazy spotted puppy.❤

Once you have had a wonderful dog, a life without one, is a life diminished. ~ Dean Koontz
Filed under: Musings Tagged: candidkerry, dogs, God, God's care, Losing a dog, Saying goodbye to dogs