And Now for Something Completely Different . . .

 

See, I am doing a new thing! ~Isaiah 43:19a

Recently, I'm asked by my publisher, if I would be willing to do both a written and podcast interview about my novels.  Of course, you can surmise that I enthusiastically embraced both!

My husband, Danny, wastes no time posting both of these to the "News and Events" category at my author's website.  You can access both HERE.

You should be able to read my written answers in a matter of minutes; these will give you somewhat of a preview to what is covered in the audio portion.  The podcast, though, is just a hair under 25 minutes, so if you decide to listen, give yourself at least that time frame.  Yes, you should be able to pause the conversation, too, just in case.

This is certainly a completely different blog for me to post, but I love that my readers here, old and new, can get to know me on a deeper, more personal level.  And since I'm not on any social media sites, I would sincerely appreciate any of you who are, and like the interviews enough to share on your various accounts.  

Thanks for reading and listening!

Amen!

Choose Wisely

 

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples!"  "I tell you," he replied, "if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out." ~Luke 19:39-40

Pictured above is a shadow box I make as a gift for Danny.  It is fashioned from water smoothed stones that I collect from the shallows of the vigorously flowing West Prong Little Pigeon River near Chimney Tops in the Great Smokies of North Carolina.  It usually hangs in our bedroom above a traditional Catholic crucifix which Danny inherited from his father's side of the family. (It's history deserves a future blog post of its own.)

But because of the reflectivity of the Plexiglass, Danny positions it on our mantelpiece in order to present an accurate image.  Considering the background of our stone fireplace with its Celtic cross on the mantle, it certainly takes on the air of eternal solidity and endurance that our Lord embodies.

The Old Testament is replete with references to God being our rock and our refuge.  I'll bet most of you who visit this blog can recite verses right of the top of your head!  And in the New Testament, Mark 12:10, Jesus references Psalm 118:22: "The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone" as to His status as the Son of God.  He has come to form the one true foundation, the solid rock, who takes away our sins, then, now and always for those who believe in Him.

As fantastical as it might have sounded to the Pharisees that stones could or would cry out audibly to Jesus, we now know, as the iconic Paul Harvey used to say, "the rest of the story."  All God's creation acknowledges His glory and presence in whatever essence He has given them.  And we know that what is impossible for man is possible with God (Matthew 19:26).  So why then, at Jesus' command, couldn't the rocks and stones cry out to Him in worship and praise?

Do you recall that old children's song contrasting the wise man and the foolish one?  I learned it, along with the hand motions, in one of the few forays to church in Sunday school.  I then dutifully teach it to my little brother.  When we travel north that summer to visit with our extended family (I am six and Bill is three), I remember performing the song for our great-grandmother who was a devout Christian.  The joyful tears filling her eyes as we sang revealed her constant hope and faith in Jesus, her eternal Savior.  Great-grandma had definitely built her entire life upon the living rock, our sure salvation.

She chose wisely.

Have you?

Amen!

For those of you not acquainted with this particular song, here is a link you can access.  Honestly, I don't recall learning the last part of this where it mentions prayers and blessings, but now it seems to be the most revealing part of the message.  Great-grandma didn't need that.  She already knew.

A House Divided

 If a house is divided against itself, that house cannot stand. ~Mark 3:25

Can we see?  Can we ask?

Does vision clearly show?

Are questions even answered?

Or, do we hear a 'no?'

A country in a quandary

As these elections loom

Both sides tell the future

Choice of hope or gloom

Records speak, loud and strong

Each one will compete

One who rides the coattails

Of political elites

The other, facing bullets

Divisive lies incite

Who didn't need the power

But for this nation, fights

Who will win our nation torn

By differences and strife?

Only Jesus unifies

He holds eternal life.

Amen!

Simply an Angel

 

Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it. ~Hebrews 13:2

Forty-one years ago, when I discover I'm pregnant with my first child, neither my then husband nor I have jobs with medical insurance.  That's quite the pickle to find oneself in, isn't it?  Fortunately, we are informed that there is pre and post natal care program run by Emory University's Medical School for couples who find themselves in that situation.  The one flat (and affordable) fee we pay covers all check-ups, delivery and ensuing hospital accommodations if required.  That's an offer we can't refuse!

Of course, this program does have its drawbacks.  Each time I go for visit, I can never be sure who my resident/intern doctor will be.  I do see a few more than once, but I can tell there's a rotation happening here.  To a person, though, each professional I see is capable, caring and attentive.  There are several whom I hope I'll have in the delivery room when that time comes.

When I finally do go into labor, I know I'm possibly two to three weeks late.  Seemingly, this never waved a red flag to any of the docs.  Even if I've been warned, I could never have imagined how excruciating the pain is; it's so intense, I feel I'm blacking out between contractions.  Nurses keep coming by to check on my 'progress.'  I'm not making any.  My birth canal refuses to dilate farther than four centimeters.  I can't remember if I was crying.  All my energy is absorbed by the unrelenting agony of labor.

I can hear several voices of the resident doctors debating what they should do; some sound downright argumentative.  With no warning, I hear a woman's voice, authoritative and forceful, resounding in the room.  I'm just able to glance in her direction, and realize in that fateful moment that she is one doctor I've never laid eyes on.

"We have fifteen minutes to get this baby out!"  she barks at the others.  "Move it!  Now!!!"

And move it, they do!  Before I can take two breaths, the anesthetist says, "Are you allergic to anything?"  I can barely nod a 'no' when he jabs me with an epidural in my spine.  Thankfully, it works within the minute, and the curtain is drawn so I can't see the actual procedure.  No more searing pain, just welcomed numbness flooding my lower extremities.  Only pressure on my abdomen as they snatch my distressed baby from the brink of his death.

And mine.

I remain in the hospital for five days, not uncommon at that time for C-section patients.  Every resident who visits me during that stay is one I've seen before.  With one exception.

The 'doctor' who orchestrates the successful delivery.  Surely, I think, she should be the first in that rotation, shouldn't she?  I so want to thank her for everything she knew to do, just in the nick of time.  No other doctor refers to her or discusses my ordeal.  Even though I'm not a believer at this point in my life, I'm convicted in my heart that she must have been an angel.  This divine messenger sent from God out of the depths of His mercy and grace, propels me to actively seek Him.

I've been on that glorious journey ever since.

And if I needed any more convincing?  Her signature on the birth certificate is like a child's, who has proudly learned how to write her name in cursive.  Certainly, not like a hand corrupted by years of taking copious notes in medical school.

A simple name.  A simple script.

Simply, an angel.

Amen!