5/25/22 5/25/22

Blog Bio Rain, Rain, and More Rain

***Photo by*** ***Nick Nice*** on ***Unsplash***

I was a preschooler when we lived in Clitherall, Minnesota. (My father was a minister.) After it rained, I’d plop down and play in the large puddles lining the dirt roads by our house. I had a great time splashing until, one day, my older sister Karin spoiled it all by pointing out I shared those puddles with worms that rose to the surface. Yuck! So ended my puddle splashing.

I remember dancing on the lawn during a gentle rain shower in Siren Wisconsin. I preferred being outside, even in the rain. Other times, I splashed through puddles secure in my rain boots.

Wyoming was different. It didn’t rain much. Only one creek ran most of the year. The others only filled and swirled with water during a long, hard rainfall or during Spring thaw. They were mostly dry creek beds suitable for exploring. It wasn’t fun being out in the rain that turned the ground into muck, ripping shoes off feet as it sucked and tried to drag the wearer down. The ground became almost, but not quite, quicksand consistency. A person needs to take care. Once while down by the rushing Lance Creek, I got stuck and lost a boot before my friend help me to safety.

Every place we lived had differences. Kearney Nebraska has long dry spells. It also may have days and days of almost freezing rain even in the last of May. After several hot days, we turned off the heat only to turn it on again when the temperatures inside were more like January than May.

I like rain—for a day. Too many days of gloom and rain drag down my mood. I need sunshine and light. If the ceiling light doesn’t give off enough, I turn on lanterns and flashlights. After days of rain, I remind myself the farmers need rain. I pray the rain will soak into the ground and not runoff. I pray for good crops. And, I hope the rain will stop for a while and come again another day.

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5/23/22 5/23/22

Blog Bio Girl's Weekend Out

Recently Keith drove me to York on a Friday where we met our daughter Cassie who drove from the Omaha area. We ate lunch together, transferred me and my “stuff” to Cassie’s car, and said goodbye to Keith who headed back home to Kearney. Cassie and I headed south to McPherson Kansas where my sister Karin lives.

The sun was out, the weather chill and I was glad I wore long sleeves under my lightweight jacket. Cassie and I talked all the way to Karin’s house. Out came Karin and her daughter Kelly who’d also come for the weekend. After a round of hugs, they helped me up the stairs to the front door. My stuff was brought into Karin’s bedroom. (Karin slept on a blow-up mattress in her office. I needed the high bed with the firm mattress.)

That evening, after supper we relaxed on Karin’s back patio. It has always felt so peaceful back there and still did. We talked and laughed until after midnight. No one slept really well that night, but in the morning we shared breakfast and hit every subject imaginable. Karin had planned to take us to visit her son and family, but Deanna said a couple of the girls weren’t up to par, colds, etc. We were tired, didn’t want to catch anything, and decided to stay put at Karin’s though Kelly and Cassie went for a 5-mile walk later.

Jim, Karin’s ex, stopped by to say “hi!.” Good to see him for a bit, though I gently scolded him for not having his phone—a safety precaution for those with health issues. Both Karin and I took short naps in the afternoon to get us through the rest of the day. Karin’s supper was delicious. We planned to sit on the porch again, but winter wear and me bundled up in a quilt still didn’t keep the cold at bay and we settled into the living room.

We did spend time going through another box of things that belonged to Karin and my dad, each taking what we wished to keep. I saved some things for son Chris and his family. I was excited because we finally found dad’s slides and early home movies. I’m hoping Chris can put them in a form we can watch and keep.

That night we all slept pretty well and kept up our conversations over breakfast. Cassie and I took time to pack up our stuff, which was taken to her car. Then we settled once more in the living room remembering experiences from our past and memories our folks told Karin and me as we grew up. No subject was off base. We left with hugs and some reluctance. But once Cassie and I headed north, we were anxious to get to our homes. We had a nice drive back to York where we transferred me and my stuff to our car. Keith and I said our goodbyes to Cassie, and we were on our way home.

It was a wonderful weekend, but it felt so good to be home. Even better that Keith said he missed me. Home is good, but I am glad we took the time to make memories with family.

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5/16/22 5/16/22

Blog Bio Celebrations worth effort to make positive memories

From the time we kids started school, birthdays meant having friends over for games, presents, and cake. There was the year in Wisconsin my older sister Karin was sick on her September birthday and in bed, she couldn’t have her friends over. But Mom still managed to make her birthday special. We all went upstairs to her bedroom. Karin had already gotten her first wish, which she could see out the window--snow. My parents also made sure she got her second wish--ice skates.

In Wisconsin, kids started ice skating at a very young age. Karin didn’t have her friends, but she had good wishes, cake, and skates. Mom saw birthdays as something to be celebrated. As we got older, we got to choose what we wanted for our birthday dinners. By our teens often we opted for a couple of close friends to do something special with as well as dinner and Mom’s delicious cake. In Iowa, we lived out in the country, so I opted for a friend and the family. My choice for dinner was sloppy joes and chips.

Mom loved birthdays but loved Christmas even more. She went all out baking a variety of cookies, etc. not only for our family but for an open house for those from church and from wherever we lived at any given time. She’d also make plates of cookies to give away to those unable to attend the open house. Mom provided positive memories. Once I contracted Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis and was in constant pain for several years, those memories helped me focus on something good. I learned we need milestones of positive memories to look back on when life isn’t always so nice or when we’re dealing with hurt, pain, or loss.

Celebrations bring people together. Sometimes we don’t realize how important those gatherings can be. When my niece Crystal got married the family gathered. It was a great and fun day. Crystal’s Mom Jenni, Jenni’s siblings and families were all there celebrating--making memories. No one had a clue those memories would have to last a lifetime. It wasn’t long before one of her brothers passed away. That time together, eased some of the grief.

When I turned 70 on January 24th, 2020, our kids, Cassie and Chris, threw me a party at the Mitzy Pavilion Center. Family and friends gathered for pizza, cupcakes, gifts, games, and I received a special hug from my grandson Dane--who doesn’t give hugs. (Of course, he made quite a production of it, and I got pictures.) I loved it.

Keith’s Dad Jiggs was also able to attend. It was good to see him. Keith had fallen on ice in early January and had seriously damaged his ankle. He wasn’t supposed to put any weight on it at all. It meant we couldn’t go visit Dad in the home in Minden. So, it was great getting to spend time with him.

What we didn’t realize was that Covid 19 was about to hit, and we’d all be isolated. I never got to see Jiggs alive in person again. In the summer he fell, was taken to the hospital in Kearney, and, for a time, it appeared he was improving. Then he lost ground and we ended up with a funeral. I am so glad I can look back and remember him smiling and enjoying himself at my birthday.

Don’t let opportunities for celebration go by. We need the encouragement of celebrations. Since we can’t see the future, we also don’t know how important those times may turn out to be. So, take the time, to lift someone up with a celebration.

Hub column published 5/16/22 titled “Celebrations put exclamation point on life”

5/12/22 5/12/22

Blog May, Flowers and Hope

We might expect warm weather by May. Yet warmer temperatures have been slow in arriving this year. Many turned off furnaces when we had a few very warm days, only to turn them on again when the temperatures dipped into the freezing range bringing high winds, rain, and even hail.

Nevertheless, the grass is starting to green, trees are budding, and flowers are hesitantly poking their heads through the ground. I recall one year when cold temperatures kept Spring on hold while cold prevailed.

Then one day, almost by magic everything changed. Temperatures warmed and suddenly, as though waiting for just the right time, the outdoors bloomed with color and enticing smells of flowers and grass and so much more.

That special moment is what happens when we give control of our lives to Jesus. He comes in and everything becomes new. We become new creations in Him. “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.” 2 Corinthians 5:17 NKJV

What better time than now to become the beautiful creation God has in mind for those who follow Him?

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5/9/22 5/9/22

Blog I don’t like snakes

***Photo by*** ***Dean Scholten*** on ***Unsplash***

I really don’t like snakes. I really didn’t like that starting several years ago, at least once each season, one would find its way into the house. Every time proved to be a unique experience. I never wished to repeat any of those experiences.

Somewhere along the line, I found out snakes hate salt. It stings their skin. I tried it out the back door one year. There is a fissure between the house and the sidewalk. I knew snakes hid down that crack. I poured salt all along that fissure. The snakes slithered out in both directions as fast as they could. After that, I used salt in front of our doorways and any place that I thought they might even try to enter.

(I also learned salt is a problem for pesky insects. The salt becomes more effective when mixed with Borax and pepper. Then without adding deadly sprays to your house, a simple mixture in the right places depletes the house of many creatures you didn’t invite inside and do not want dwelling in your house.)

This year the day before Mother’s Day, I got a post from my daughter. She asked if I’d received her flowers. I said, “not yet.”

Then I went outside to check if something had been left. A box leaned against the house. My flowers! Curled around the box was, you guessed it, a snake. When I screamed for Keith, the snake slithered off into the grass.

While Keith picked up the box, opened it, and prepared the flowers for display on the table, I grabbed the salt. There is now a wide white band of it across the front door. Next, I duplicated that salt band outside the kitchen door leading to the garage. I do not want a snake in my house. Not this year. Not ever.

The red roses are beautiful, and I look up from my laptop to take in the sight of them on the dining room table. I am enjoying my flowers. I only wish I also didn’t flashback to a box at the front door greeting me with a 15-inch snake. At least it wasn’t poisonous. At least it crawled away not toward me and the open door. I appreciate the flowers and am grateful that, so far, there is no snake in the house.

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5/5/22 5/5/22

Blog Bio The Joke’s on Me

Keith bought way too many bananas. He commented about how improbable that we’d be able to eat all those bananas before they went bad. I got the idea to make banana muffins the next morning. I wanted to get the muffins done early so I could focus on the rest of lunch.

I started putting the ingredients together, but I had a whole lot of things on my to-do list. I did part of the process and got distracted by other list items. I was about ready to return to my muffins when the phone rang.

Son Chris often calls when he is headed somewhere. This morning, he was headed to work. We talked until he got to work—maybe 15-20 minutes. By then the morning was getting away from me. I hurried to finish the muffins and get them in the oven.

Only when I was ready to take them out did the truth hit. I’d never added the banana. When I shared my goof with Keith at dinner, while we enjoyed those muffins, we laughed, The mind is a strange thing. I do get easily distracted. Guess I’ll simply slice up a banana, add yogurt and make that unused banana a part of supper.

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5/4/22 5/4/22

Blog Changing Plans and Gratitude

Ever since we got married a whole lot of years ago September 2nd, we’ve tried to eat out the second of each month to celebrate. Even when our finances were stretched beyond reason, we’d try to budget eating out one time during the month—the second.

We’ve been consistent, though things don’t always work out as planned. Hospital stays and surgery recoveries interfered, among other things—like Covid. At such times, we’re grateful that some places deliver or do carry-out. More now since Covid. Another problem now is my many sensitivities. Not every eating establishment is suitable, as we have discovered.

May 2022, we planned to eat at Applebees. It is May! We expect decent weather by May. In fact, a few days earlier we’d turned on the AC—only to switch it back to heat when the weather turned cold, windy, rainy and just plain nasty for several days.

By the time we were ready to head out for supper, we really didn’t want to go out. I checked the allergen menu and chose what I wanted. Keith tried to order online, but some of my sensitivities aren’t listed. We hoped for home delivery, but when I called, the best we could do was carry out. Well, they did bring it out, so Keith wouldn’t have to get out of the car. Calling meant I could tailor my food for my sensitivities so I wouldn’t have any nasty reactions.

So, we celebrated another monthly anniversary in the security and warmth of our own home, at our own table with good food I didn’t have to fix. Once more we gave thanks for another month of life, another month of being together. Thankful for our many blessings. Hopefully though, next month we can go out.

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Photo by Loija Nguyen on Unsplash

5/3/22 5/3/22

Blog Bio Good Memories of Growing Up with Dogs

When we moved to Wyoming, Skipper, a large yellow dog, was already waiting for us. He refused to leave with the last pastor’s family. Though he scared those feeding him, he took right to our family and was our companion until he died.

Topper was a small, short-haired lovable mutt. Together, we explored the creeks, valleys and tunnels behind the parsonage in Wyoming. I had a freedom to wonder we can seldom afford kids today. I had to carry my pocket knife and be home by dusk when the night creatures, like bobcats, started hunting. Topper had a litter of puppies. One survived. Cutie was a long, curly-haired, black and white puppy—rather like a dusty mop.

We took Topper and Cutie with us when we moved to northern Kansas for the Lund Covenant Church. Six months later Topper died in trying to have another litter of puppies. I mourned my dog. Then we only had Cutie. He would have been but a mouthful for the ever-present coyotes. But somehow, he identified with them and his coyote howl would send chills down the back. Cutie loved wondering as far as thirty miles away. Eventually, everyone got to know him and would bring him back, letting him off in the driveway. He loved the car rides and loved getting home. Strangely enough, the coyotes never bothered our little dust mop.

After I got sick, Cutie would leap on my bed and snuggle with me. He lifted my spirits. Cutie was my brother’s dog until Paul got a “real”—a larger black dog. Cutie was too much a wanderer to take with us to the church in Iowa. We left him with a farm family who let him wonder.

In Iowa, we had an adult cat who thought she was all that. When Paul got a Golden Retriever puppy, the cat baited him, jumped on him, and made his life miserable. Then the dog grew up.

Usually, we made sure our dogs and cats got along. This was a whole other situation. The dog knew he wasn’t supposed to hurt the cat. Instead, he’d wait until no one was looking, grab the cat at the neck, and shake until, at times, he broke the skin. He never tried to kill the cat,, just bully her as though getting revenge. We had to be vigilant.

When Keith and I raised our kids, each of them chose a pet when they were seven years old and proved they would handle caring for a pet. Our older son chose a Black Lab. Our daughter, two years later, chose a feisty black cat with a white snip across her nose. They were part of our family until they died of old age—the cat at 19 years old.

Since then, we spoil the pets of our friends and family, leaving us free to visit our kids and grandkids in Lincoln and Omaha. Once on her own, Cassie took in a rescued dog who was a sweet little dog. Melvin dog accepted into their home Kurt when he married Cassie and then their two children. It was hard when he died since he’d been so much a part of the family.

More recently our son added to his family of three almost-grown kids. With his daughter leading the charge, they added a beautiful Husky named Bear and then, as a companion, a white dog nicknamed Candy.

Dogs are wonderful companions. They give unconditional love, listen when you share secrets, and simply want to be loved in return. I’m thankful for my memories and glad our kids and grandkids can make memories with loving pets as well.

Many of our dogs were rescued animals. They make wonderful companions. Looking for a dog (or cat)? Check out the nearest shelter. You’ll be glad you did.

Hub Column published 05/02/2022

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4/29/22 4/29/22

Blog Miss those grandkids

When our son Chris’ kids were young, the family moved to Indiana for a job. We were used to seeing them once a week. Now, they were far away. That was before video was built into most computers and cell phones were for more than phone calls. We would so miss the three grandkids, but Chris had a video camera, and the plan was to make regular videos as well as phone calls.

What we didn’t realize was that the kids absolutely hated talking on the phone. Then Chris’ video camera went down. I had no idea the actual grief I would go through having our grandkids so far away. We were thrilled when they moved back to Nebraska a few years later. Every summer they came to stay with us for a week or two until they became teenagers with jobs and other activities. I missed those weeks, but we still got to see them periodically.

Chris’ kids are now young adults and on our way to or from Omaha to visit our daughter and family, we usually stop in Lincoln and go out to eat. Love talking to our grandkids. They are kind and intelligent and I learn from them. We usually find it difficult to say goodbye and head on home.

Our daughter married much later than Chris. Her kids are (in early2022) five and three—a whole different generation from Chris’ kids. But so much fun. We love their smiles. Chris’ kids are almost like an aunt and uncles to Cassie’s kids. We’ve visited for events, holidays, etc. as well to help out with the kids.

During Covid and even now at times, we stay in touch with Cassie’s kids using FaceTime. Ellery puts her hands on her hips. “Mom, we want to talk to Grampa and Gramma.” We get a call and open FaceTime. Our older grandkids and I stay in touch through email.

We also are all close enough to share holidays—usually in Cassie & Kurt’s home in Papillion. High school graduations and Chris’ kids’ birthdays we celebrate in Lincoln in Chris’ home.

As we get older, the trip east seems longer, but so worth the effort. It was so hard having our older grandkids far away years ago and such a blessing when they moved back. Work and school might mean our grandkids will eventually move further away, but right now I am thankful they are all within three hours of Kearney. We can go there, and they can come here to visit. I am already looking forward to that next visit.

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4/25/22 4/25/22

Blog Hats, Hats, Hats

***Photo by*** ***Stephen Hocking*** on ***Unsplash***

I like hats. I don’t have a lot of hats, but one or the other of the few I do have are on my head during the winter. As a child, I didn’t want to go anyplace without my cowboy hat. Of course, my mother would not allow me to wear it to church or other functions. That went for my boots as well.

For years, as an adult, I had a knit black hat. I loved that hat. I couldn’t destroy it or crush it. My, at the time, young grandson absolutely loved that hat. After I entered the house, he reached up for my hat and played with it, and wore it during our visit. Eventually, that hat was no longer wearable. A friend did find me a similar hat that I wear though it is blue so doesn’t go with everything. Still, I am grateful for that hat. It is so easy to wear and comfortable.

My husband bought four hats that differ only in the color schemes. He looks great in them. When we visited our younger grandkids and their cousins, those kids reached for his hats. We have lots of pictures with them playing with and walking around with one or another of those hats falling over their eyes.

Keith and little Hannah played a game. One two three “go” and they switched hats, and again, and again. Hannah couldn’t stop laughing. Our youngest grandkids pick up the hats when they visit us here. Ellery over and over piled one after another on her head. Then started all over again.

Hats look good on our heads. They warm us in the winter. But the best has been the fun the kids have with them. It doesn’t take expensive toys to entertain kids. All it takes are hats. Now those make memories.

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4/18/22 4/18/22

Blog It Makes Me Sad My Peers are Catching up

I was a perfectly healthy child. In fact, while my brother and sister contracted the usual childhood illnesses, I never got sick. My mom even found I’d climbed into bed with my sister when she was recovering from chickenpox so we could play games. Mom freaked. I never got it. However, when I was 13, I contracted juvenile rheumatoid arthritis (JRA).

Within a short time, I was unable to walk, my joints drew up and I was in constant pain. I went from running to a wheelchair. I remained in that wheelchair for almost ten years. While God, eventually, provided a healing from the constant pain, the results of the disease left me depending on others and unable to walk. One rehab center helped me learn to take back some control, by helping me find ways to manage some care for myself—like dressing and pulling on socks. That assistance sparked my imagination, so I begin thinking of other ways to help myself.

Eventually, I had massive reconstructive surgery and relearned to walk, Still, my limitations meant many normal activities required new ways of doing things. My friends and family accepted me as I was, letting me do what I could and stepped in when I required assistance. I was thankful I could walk and do so many things, often with the aid of utensils, some of which I created myself or asked others to help me create.

I accepted who I was. I did not envy my friends for their health and had no wish for them to deal with my limitations. But time goes by. We’re older now. I don’t like to face the truth. Members of my family and friends now find themselves dealing with things I’ve dealt with most of my life. Some have had joint replacements. Many can’t walk as easily, don’t bend well, and worry about falling.

I can’t bend or stoop, can’t reach my hair, I have limitations with dexterity and strength. Early on I was given two sticks the physical therapist called “dressing sticks.” They had a large hook on one side and fashioners on the other end to help me pull up socks. The hooks helped me dress and pick things up. I took the idea further. I lengthened the sticks to three feet. Made sticks with different sizes of hooks. To everything not easy to pick up, including electronics, I added loops to make it easier to pick up with my utility stick hooks. (I drop things easily.) Those long sticks help me zip up boots—they, too, have added loops.

Before such things were available in stores, I added handles to dustpans. I could push things I dropped into the dustpan and pick them up. I bought grippers, the long-handled pinchers, in several different styles and have one in almost every room. I bought a super-duper one for Keith. I also have long-handled tongs and even use a back scratcher to pull things toward me.

I’ve learned that often I can figure out a way to do something by using implements I already have on hand. All it takes is thinking outside the box. I wish those I know weren’t catching up to me in developing physical disabilities but am glad I can share what I’ve learned to do with what I have. I can also encourage them—regardless of our physical limitations, to appreciate each day and give thanks.

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4/12/22 4/12/22

Blog Books, Books and More Books

Right now, on our dining room table are three books. When he ran out of books to read, my husband Keith looked through my published books I keep available for gifts or sale.

He chose a mystery When Murder Wakesto read until he got new books to read. Keith usually reads while eating. At noon he reads a book and at supper, he reads the Kearney hub newspaper.

On the end of the table are two books. One is my latest book Three Sisters of Stanhavon Castlealong with a blue sock grandson Ezekiel left when daughter Cassie visited with our two young grandkids. She has a friend who enjoys Regency books. She lent out her copy and asked for another to replace it. I’m gathering books, etc. for our next visit to see her family in Papillion.

Next to those items is another book. Keith’s sister visited recently and left a book to pass on to our son Chris. A look around almost any room in our house—including bathrooms—reveals books on tables, shelves, on chairs and even in baskets. We love books and they overflow the house, even though I tend to read most of my fiction on my Kindle these days. (I can make the print as large as is comfortable for my eyes.) We love books.

I grew up with an appreciation for reading and books. From a young age, Dad read to us kids—even after we were able to read for ourselves. Made for some special family times. We passed on that love to our own children. In fact, from the time they were young and almost until middle school, Cassie, Chris, and I would choose a book and spend time together in the evenings while I read out loud.

They also read books on their own. Chris has passed on the love of reading to his, now, almost adult kids. I love choosing books for gifts. Cassie’s kids already love words and books. Ellery at 5 is starting to read and write. Ezekiel loves holding and looking at books and often falls asleep surrounded by them.

In life, we pass on both good and bad habits to our children. I am thankful our legacy is a good one—we passed on the gift of reading. I hope you do as well.

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4/9/22 4/9/22

Blog Humor, Inhibitions and Paying Attention

Humor diffuses potentially awkward moments and anger. Humor lightens up lives and can make us forget sadness and other negative emotions for a time. Laughter is often a healthy release. However, humor can also be used in hateful and negative ways.

Bullies use derogatory humor to cut someone they don’t like down emotionally. Cruel humor can leave scars that last a lifetime. This includes parents, teachers, or others who constantly call someone stupid, fat, slow, or any number of hurtful terms. The big deal today is to call anyone whose opinion you don’t like a racist—usually totally untrue.

Humor has an even more insidious result. Humor is used to lower our inhibitions, getting us to accept things that would otherwise horrify us. But if a situation can be put in a humorous context, we laugh, not realizing we are no longer seeing a situation for what it really is.

One TV series, using humor, has an 8-year-old boy seeing through an alien’s disguise. The alien seeks to murder this child and, though the child is saved, the humor context focuses on the humor not the horror of a main character seeking to murder a child.

What about comedians who make fun of their wives or husbands, make a joke about the overweight, Christians or other groups of people? Such humor tears down instead of lifting up. God calls us to a higher standard. Let’s use discernment in the humor we allow in our lives—walking away from humor that really isn’t humor at all, a humor that becomes a tool of evil rather than good. Even more, let’s take care of our own, so-called humor, doesn’t hurt the very ones we profess to love.

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4/7/22 4/7/22

Blog: Spring vs Winter, Warm vs freeze

Spring never comes easily. It comes in fits and starts and growls and howls from a Winter season not yet ready to let go. Here it is April, and we haven’t even considered switching off the furnace for air conditioning. The heat still clicks on too regularly to even think of turning it off. Feels good to stand on the vents when that heat is released.

Still have lots of covers on the bed and I am still wearing my Winter nighttime attire. This week we’ve had some gloomy days, high winds which keeps us glad we are indoors, and, today cold, cutting rain that hit the windows more like ice than rain.

Reminds me of April 1980. A couple of days before my first child was born, we had a huge blizzard. When I went to the hospital, snow was still piled all over. Two days later, it grew so warm outside the nurses opened the windows. Spring had finally arrived.

We don’t know when Winter will release its hold. Spring seldom arrives gradually. One day it is freezing cold, then next the sun warms the earth--encouraging leaves to bud, grass to grow, and flowers to bloom, adding their beauty and fragrance.

There is something about not knowing. And yet, I am ready for green grass and yellow flowers—even if those flowers are only dandelions. I am ready for Spring. How about you?

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4/4/22 4/4/22

Easter more than baskets, bunnies and eggs

When my dad pastored a church in eastern Wyoming during my elementary years, we had traditions for celebrating Easter. We had new Easter outfits. (We probably needed them since we grew all the time out of our clothes and shoes.) Before the big day Karin, Paul, and I colored eggs with Mom. (I’m sure she had to scrub down the kitchen when we were finished.) We knew that later, after dinner Dad had a hunt planned. No, not for eggs.

Our parents bought each of us a large chocolate something, a cross, bunny, egg, etc. He’d hide them in the living room, and we had to find and claim one for ourselves. Since dad was into health, we were allowed to enjoy some of the chocolate, but only in moderation so the chocolate lasted for several days. It tasted all the better for eating it slowly.

Before sunrise Easter morning, we, followed by others from the congregation, drove up the hill to the former church location where the large cross still overlooked the small oil town of Lance Creek. When the sun rose, we had a beautiful view as we listened to dad share about that glorious first Easter morning.

From the sunrise service, we drove west to the Covenant church where the ladies had prepared a breakfast guaranteed to fill up even the hungriest person. The church service was one of rejoicing with songs such as, “Up from the Grave He Arose.” Dad’s sermon brought us from the commercial aspects already creeping into Easter celebrations to the true meaning of the day.

The baby born in the manger didn’t come simply to give us a joyful Christmas holiday, He came for a much more serious reason. Jesus, the Creator God, came to bring hope to a people living in darkness. He came to bring light. As an adult, he healed, raised the dead, and set individuals free as He shared His love and compassion with His creation.

He wasn’t afraid to confront the religious leaders who made all sorts of regulations, but used them not to help, but to separate their people from their finances and their God. Most of them hated Him for uncovering their actions. Others hated Him for calling out their greed, pride, selfishness, and other sins. They hated Him enough to conspire to torture and murder Him with the extreme cruelty of a crucification.

He was a man. He was God, but He willingly sacrificed His life. Why? Because there are always consequences for wrong choices and actions. He died to take the consequences we deserved. He died to offer a better tomorrow. He did more, He rose again, conquering death itself. He rose to offer forgiveness instead of guilt and a personal relationship with the Creator. To those who accepted and followed, He offered light in the darkness, life for death, and the assurance that we are never alone.

Beyond the new clothes, baskets, candy, and more, all of which are quickly discarded, Easter is about Jesus who loves you and me so much, He gave up everything to offer the one thing we need more than about anything else, especially in today’s world, --hope.

Happy Easter!

Column published in Kearney Hub 2022 April 4

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3/31/22 3/31/22

Blog Whistles, Safety and grandkids

After a surgery that left my throat injured, trying to raise my voice hurt. Yet, I needed some way to get a hold of someone if I had a need. It was difficult even to raise my voice so my husband on the other end of our one-story house could hear me. At the time, medical alert appliances didn’t work if a person fell, not automatically at any rate, which is what I would need.

I found an inexpensive solution. I bought a package of different colored whistles on expandable bands I could slip on my wrists. The colors coordinated with my outfits. If I needed to gain Keith’s attention, I merely whistled.

But the whistles became a hit in another way. My young granddaughter loved the colorful, clinking whistles. It wasn’t long before I came prepared when I visited. I’d wear several whistles on my arm. She, and later her younger brother, loved stripping them off my arm and marching around and whistling. I used my whistles to teach colors and counting.

The kids are getting older now and those whistles don’t carry the same draw as they once did. They may whistle a bit when we visit, then move on to something else. But for me, the cheap, colorful whistles still serve their original purpose, if I need to alert someone to a fall or other situation, I merely whistle.

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3/28/22 3/28/22

Blog My Special Radio

I was an active child. I loved wandering the hills behind the parsonage in Wyoming. I loved riding horses. I loved reading, but also loved being outside working on one project or another. Six months after we moved to a rural church in northern Kansas, I contracted juvenile rheumatoid arthritis—though I wasn’t diagnosed for several months. JRA was something new to the doctors and they didn’t really know how to treat the disease in young people.

My parents took me to different rehab centers. Some helped me in different ways. Some not so much. One left me with nightmares for months after I got home again. When my folks took me down to Hot Springs Arkansas to an outpatient clinic for treatments, I was in pain and in a wheelchair. I could not walk, could not even wheel my chair.

My folks had little money, but my dad felt so bad for me. As we wondered in downtown stores before an appointment, I must have indicated my liking for a small transistor radio. It was small, blue, and cool. I didn’t expect anything to come of my checking it out. Small radios like that weren’t in our budget. Nevertheless, dad bought it for me. I could hardly believe it. I wanted to cry. I knew he sacrificed to get me that radio.

For the next few years that radio helped make time go faster and engage my attention when I wasn’t reading or otherwise engaged. I could be outside and listen to the Triple Crown races that held my attention in the spring.

Most of all that radio stayed with me long after I had massive surgery to get me up and walking, long after I grew up and married. How could I let go of what reminded me of something so important, especially when I needed encouragement during those years of frustration and pain--my father’s love?

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3/22/22 3/22/22

Blog Bio It has been a long journey to my latest book

As we contemplated whether or not to offer this series as individual books or as a collection, I decided I liked the idea of offering my readers one book for the entire series. I am glad I went this direction. Who knows what tomorrow might bring with health and other issues? The full trilogy is now published, and I am happy with the result.

Three Sisters of Stanhavon Castle has been released. It is a collection of three complete inspirational Regency romance novels that make up a series. We decided on this direction because it takes enormous effort not only to write and prepare a book for publication but also to market a book properly.

As a child, I loved listening to Dad read everything from Alice in Wonderland, the original to books about people from Martin Luther to Bible storybooks and Bible passages. Those characters on the page fascinated me. Long before I entered school, I learned the alphabet. I learned to put letters together At, Bat, Cat on down, even little rhymes.

How exciting to actually read in school and to be able to take home my very first book. I became a voracious reader. My imagination flew. In elementary school, I began writing some stories. By third grade, I dreamed of being a writer.

Once my parents read my writing, they encouraged me. In Kansas, I contracted Juvenile Rheumatoid arthritis and soon rode a wheelchair, not my horse. Those years were filled with pain and frustrations, I poured out in my writing.

In high school, I placed in some writing competitions. When dad took a church in Iowa, we discovered a published author in the congregation. She showed me how to format my work, research, and send my work to appropriate markets. With her assistance, I began selling children’s stories and features. Features led me to pursue a comprehensive degree in journalism from UNK (then KSC). In fact, we moved to Kearney so I could attend college--at a time no one was too concerned about wheelchair accessibility.

By the time I graduated, I regularly sold features and program material (skits, recitations, plays) to several different markets. I also had extensive surgery to walk again. After I married, I continued to freelance. For my birthday one year, my friend Gloria gave me a novel. She challenged me, “You can do better than this.”

I took the challenge. It was ten years of learning my craft, effort, and time before I sold my first novel. I wrote several books for Barbour Publishing’s Heartsong Presents line before moving to Trebleheart Books where I released several more books—including my first complete series.

I also worked with several small publishers, had some good agents, and finally landed contracts with Harlequin--the publisher with all those books in Walmart, Target, etc. Then a company bought Harlequin and forced them to delete some lines. One was the line I wrote for. After I had a severe fall my writing was sidelined. When I returned to writing, I worked on updating books for which I’d received back my rights. Some I resold. Others I brought out under my own imprint. I also wrote the draft of a new series. I worked on it now and again, while I released other non-series books.

In 2021 I returned to my series Three Sisters of Stanhavon Castle. This time I rewrote, reworked, and edited. It took most of the year, but it was done and ready for release before the holidays. It was such fun to give away this book to friends and family. For now, my attention will be on my novel and my Hub columns. We’ll see where my writing takes me after that. Who knows, I may be more surprised than anyone else.

Have a dream? Don’t let it go. Take the steps needed in practice, education, and growing—including the willingness to accept suggestions and constructive criticism--to make that dream come true.

Published Hub Column 3/21/2022

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3/15/22 3/15/22

Blog Following the Example of St. Patrick

***Photo by*** ***K. Mitch Hodge*** on ***Unsplash***

St. Patrick’s Day decorations, etc. fill the stores in March. In some locations, drinking green beer is a must. In fact, St. Patrick’s day has become a day of releasing prohibitions. Such celebrations would sadden the actual man known now as St. Patrick.

Patrick was the son of a well-to-do British family. As a teen, he was captured and sold as a slave in Ireland. Patrick spent his time out in the hills with the sheep. He had little in the way of food, clothes or companionship, but he found a personal relationship with Jesus, which fueled his life from then on.

After six years, he escaped. He desired not only to share Jesus with others but also to return to Ireland to share Jesus with those who held him captive. With that in mind, he became a priest. He grew in knowledge of his faith and deepened his walk with Christ,

Many years later, he was allowed to return to Ireland. His love and care for those whose lives were filled with darkness and superstition changed lives and changed the nation from one of darkness to one of Christian love. Many slaveholders even released their slaves. While there are all sorts of miracles and legends assigned to Patrick, the truth is simple. His life modeled the love of Jesus Christ and it made all the difference.

Want to live your life for Jesus as did the man who became known as St. Patrick? All it takes is asking Jesus to be your Savior, Friend and to make Him the center of your life.

3/14/22 3/14/22

Blog Ugh! DST

I really do not look forward to Daylight savings Time (DST). It is humans seeking to change the natural order of time to suit the perceived wants of some. Whatever the truth, I remember as a kid learning about this change in time in the spring.

I heard that DST was passed to give wealthy golfers more time to play golf in the daylight. Now, I realize this was probably a sarcastic viewpoint. But I understand the sentiment.

We lived in Wisconsin when I became aware of DST. Wisconsin is the dairy state with herds and herds of dairy cows. From time to time, I had the privilege of staying with an aunt who lived on a very small farm. She milked several cows. Those cows had a milking schedule.

When their udders were heavy with milk, they were anxious to enter the barn where my aunt milked them. At times, I even got to holler at them to come—and they came.

DST meant twice a year, herds and herds of Wisconsin milk-ready cows had to be milked an hour earlier or later, depending on the time of year. Like that was going to happen. Instead, it was the farmer who had to completely change his/her schedule to match a nature-bending schedule.

We’ve grown up with DST. Other than when we must change the clocks Spring or Fall, most of us groan, lose sleep, get a bit confused and simply grumble. I wish DST would disappear.

But in light of all the other serious situations we’ve been facing, DST is down the list. Meanwhile, I’ll suck in a breath and hope my aging body and mind will adjust once again. Welcome to DST.

I plan my life out a day at a time, so my posting schedule can be erratic.

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