Hats Off to You Guys!

"You guys" is the California version of “y'all.” If you guys rule out stick horses, carousels and coin rides in front of WalMart, I’ve only ridden twice in my life. Compared to Little House on the Prairie or Bonanza, my riding was a horse of a different color.
The first mare was supposed to be very gentle. The stablemaster gave a pep talk. Whether it was for me or the nag, I couldn’t say. My party rode off. Seemingly years later, my horse went at the blinding speed of four feet—er, hooves--a minute. Some of those steps went forward. A bowlegged man shouted and smacked her on the rump. It worked. She ambled straight to the nearest tree and rubbed me off.

Three years later a boyfriend took me riding. Love makes you do stupid stuff.
Lucy B was so big, you could drive a Jeep under her. Unable to get my foot into the shoulder-high stirrup, I climbed a fence and mounted. How was I to know the right side was the wrong side? Remember, you guys—I grew up in the concrete jungle.
Long story short: I didn’t get out of the paddock. Lucy bucked me off into a pile of manure.
Lucy B’s real name was Lucifer’s Bride.

In Revelations 6, the four horsement of the Apocalypse represent Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death. I want nothing to do with those horses, but if there were one more, it would represent Clumsiness and I'd have fallen off.

I can’t help wondering, if I hadn’t grown up in “you guys” territory and lived with Y’all, would riding have come naturally?

While in Montana, I went to my first rodeo. I’ve taken Tracie to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills; She took me to the Three Forks Rodeo.

I had a blast! My friend Merrill made cotton candy and kettle corn.
I’ve never seen so many cowboy hats in one place at one time.
And the kids earned theirs.




Children’s events showcased incredible talent. Toward the end, a pair of brothers wearing sat on ginormous horses, whirled their lassos, and herded the calves back into the correct gate. Those kids had to be in early grade school.

I take my hat off to them.

Cathy Marie Hake

Time Flies

My daughter sent me photos of the grandkids and it only served to remind me how time flies. I'm so blessed to have this wonderful family, but man those kids are growing up way too fast.

It seems just yesterday the doctors were telling us that Rainy probably wouldn't live to see 5 years of age and now she's 8. And what a gal.








Then there's Fox. He's 6 going on 56. Such a serious young man at times, but oh so smart - and ornery.











Max rounds out the group and he's such a little darling at 4. Seems just yesterday I was holding him in my arms.












Time flies when you're having fun. It can also sneak in to steal and destroy either through loss or wear and tear. But with God - life is eternal and time cannot touch us. The Bible says in James 4:14, "What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes." That verse always gives me a sense of urgency. Our time is short. It's only what we do for God that lasts.

Don't waste today!
Tracie

I get by with a little help from my.......

Cara mentioned (previous post this week) that writing can be a very solitary occupation. Wow, is she ever right! In my former life, as a school teacher, I was always surrounded by people. Adjusting to a home office and spending the day with the make-believe people in my head rather than flesh-and-blood lively children took some time. But it was bearable thanks to some four-legged creatures who provide companionship and no small amount of entertainment.


First of all, meet the king of the house: Sam the monster cat. It's hard to tell by the picture, but this guy weighs over twenty pounds. We adopted him when he was a four-month-old scrawny boy scrounging for food on his own. He took to the ready food bowl quite well and grew into an enormous cat. Although he's a big bruiser, he's a lover rather than a fighter, and he has a purr like a Harley Davidson motorcycle. The only problem I have with Sam is the minute I vacate my chair, he occupies it, so I'm constantly having to move him. He just can't seem to grasp the concept that every piece of furniture in the house doesn't belong personally to him.


The next kitty in our little feline family is Maizie Grace. Maizie is quite the literary cat, as you can see--in this pic she's ascertaining my galley does not leave the table. She wrote her first story at the tender age of 12 weeks. I know she was responsible for the lengthy discourse left on my laptop because she took the time to sign her name: MZZEEE. Not bad for a 3-month-old, huh? Maizie is quite the little princess and spends a lot of her day trying to convince Sam she's really in charge around here. (So far, she's been unsuccessful, but I suspect she'll keep trying.)


Last, but certainly not least, are our mother-son duo, Frances and Clyde. Youngest daughter brought Frances home after finding her foraging in the dumpsters behind her workplace. Frances was so thrilled to be gifted with a warm home that she gifted us in return...with seven kittens. Clyde is one of her offspring. Even though Clyde is now two, he still spends a lot of time hangin' out with his mom...when he isn't snuggled on my lap, that is. Some cats choose a human, and Clyde chose me. I feel pretty special.


I was owned for 16 years by a kitty named Isabella, aka Izzy-B. If you've read A Hopeful Heart, you got to meet her. I wrote her into the story because it helped me not miss her quite so much when she went to Kitty Heaven. Pets add so much joy to our lives, and I can't imagine my office without the presence of my little kitty quad. We're supposed to count our blessings, and when I count mine, I include Sam, Maizie, Frances, and Clyde...my furry companions.

Do you have a special four-legged friend in your life? I love animals, and I'd love to hear about your furry companion!

May God bless you muchly as you journey with Him! ~Kim

Memories

Dear Friends,

Since my Jim was diagnosed with cancer back in February, my life has been a mixture of chaos, heartbreak, and some unexpected blessings. For most of that time, I’ve done my best to maintain a joyful spirit and a positive attitude. Generally, I was successful. I’m attempting to regain a foothold and move forward, though it is much more difficult than I could have imagined. I don’t want to dwell on the past, but I do want to remember and hold tight to all the wonderful memories of our years together.

Jim was a wonderful husband and throughout our marriage I never doubted the depth of his love. Only yesterday, our daughter mentioned how it had touched her to watch her father save up every ounce of strength so he could murmur that he loved me each time I drew near. As his time on earth drew closer to an end, the ability to speak was too much for him. Still, I knew what he was thinking--I could see it in his eyes and feel it in my heart. I am forever grateful and proud to have had him as my husband, encourager, and the love of my life for the past thirty years.

My deep thanks and gratitude for your expressions of love, concern, and your many prayers for my family. For a while longer, I may not be back every Wednesday. However, I do promise some wonderful guest bloggers. I know you will make them feel welcome.

In Jim's memory, I am posting a few pictures that I've previously used on the blog--ones that evoke some fond memories we made during the last couple years of his life.

Preparing to indulge in the famous chocolate mug cake--

he looks a little dubious, but he loved every bite of that cake.

Wrapping Jim in his Snuggie on Christmas morning.

With Zoey after her first trip to the puppy groomer.

Our trip to the festival in Lindsborg, Kansas.

Enjoying a laugh with the banjo picker in Cottonwood Falls.

May you find joy as you make memories with those you love.

~Judy

From the mouths of babes

I recently had the wonderful privilege of seeing some dear friends again, Kyle and Susan Bratcher and their family, who are missionaries in Germany. They're currently on furlough in the States and while here, they're visiting their supporters and previewing colleges for their oldest son, Benjamin, who was just a tot the last time we saw him in Colorado. My...how time has flown.

L to R: My husband Joe, our son Kurt, Aaron Bratcher, Benjamin Bratcher, Susan Bratcher, Kyle Bratcher, Stan Bratcher (Kyle's father), Lara Bratcher, and Claudette Bratcher (Kyle's mother)

As Susan and I visited that afternoon, she shared a faith journey with me, and I asked her right then if she would mind writing it down so that I could share it with you. So, here's what Susan shared with me, in her own words. I hope you find it as encouraging as I did...

Thanks, Tammy, for asking me to share my story about the power of prayer, especially the prayer of children.

Our oldest son, Benjamin, was born in Greeley, Colorado in March 1993. It was a beautiful, uncomplicated birth and we were thrilled, especially since I had experienced a miscarriage in my first pregnancy. Shortly thereafter the three of us, my husband, Benjamin and I, moved to Hildesheim, Germany to do mission work. It was during our time in Greeley that we got to know Tammy and her sweet family. 

Me and Susan

Our second son, Aaron, was born in September 1995. His birth was also a beautiful, uncomplicated delivery. The doctor and midwife both commented it was one of the most moving, memorable births they'd participated in. We'd prayed for a son so Benjamin would have a built-in playmate. Life was good and we were all happy, but as the years rolled on, we all realized something was missing. I longed for another baby, and the boys were begging for a sibling, specifically a sister.

I'm not someone who just thinks about getting pregnant and then "BOOM," next thing you know I'm pregnant. I struggled to get pregnant. And after Aaron, each pregnancy resulted in a miscarriage. After the fourth miscarriage in five years, I was emotionally exhausted and had lots of unanswered questions. My husband agreed to go to a genetic doctor with me to see if we could get some questions answered. 

The doctor performed blood tests on both of us and determined that I had a chromosome problem. The doctor told us, "If you didn't already have two healthy children, I would say you could never have any children." He told us we could continue to try to get pregnant, but it would most likely end in a miscarriage each time. I asked him if he thought perhaps each miscarriage was a girl and maybe I could only have boys. The doctor said that that was a possibility.

Well, those were enough answers for me. I focused on learning to be content. I was trying to be happy for my friends who were having babies. I was through trying to get pregnant. After all, I was approaching 40. We went home and told the boys that the doctor had said I couldn't have any more babies.

The boys' reaction was not what I expected in the least...

They both said they didn't accept that, and they began praying diligently and fervently for a baby sister. Each night after stories were read and songs sang, they would say their prayers and they would always pray that God would give them a baby sister. It brought tears to my eyes each time because I knew we were not doing anything to help God along in the process. 

In Germany, in the grade schools, it's very popular to sign each other's "Friendship" books. The last question on many of them is: "What is your greatest wish?" Once Aaron started praying for a sister, he always signed that his greatest wish was "to have a baby sister." Well, many of his friends' mothers and his teachers all thought I was already pregnant! I had to assure them I was not and had no intentions to be. God, however, had other plans. 

Almost exactly two years from when Benjamin and Aaron began praying for a sister, I found out, much to my amazement, that I was pregnant. At first I was scared and thought: "Oh no, Not again!" But at eight weeks when everything was still okay, I went to the doctor and she confirmed that I was indeed pregnant and that everything was fine! Wow! We were so excited! And, of course, we knew the baby had to be a girl.

After a long, difficult delivery, our precious, prayed for baby girl Lara was born. She was perfect in our eyes! Lara has big blue eyes and lots of dark, curly hair. When Lara was about a month old, Aaron came to me and quietly confessed one day, "Mama, I actually prayed for a blonde sister, not a dark-haired sister." Well, what do you know but Lara's hair began to lighten up and sure enough she turned blonde!

God is so powerful! He granted our sons their long prayed for sister and we are so grateful. We've been so blessed by our daughter Lara! I prayed for her constantly while I was pregnant and one of my prayers was that she would bring joy to those she is around. She truly is a joy to be around and she's brought a lot of joy to others. Lara is very special to us and, naturally, the princess of the family!

~ Susan

 Me, Susan, and Claudette

Thanks, Susan, for sharing that journey with us, and I can attest to how precious Lara is! She's a doll! How much we can learn from children... As the scripture says, "So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most."

For more information on the Bratcher family and their mission in Germany, and if you're interested in partnering with them, visit here.

Desiring a more childlike faith,

Tammy

P.S. By the way, it's that time again. If you'd like to be a reviewer for Within My Heart, my next release, visit here for details. 

The Hard Work of Writing (Guest blogger, Cara Putman)

Please welcome Cara Putman to the Monday slot again this week. Cara's guest blogging for Robin, who's taking a little time off following her mother's passing. Robin, we love you and continue to hold you close in prayer, friend.

~Tammy 

Since I learned to read, I’ve loved books. So much that I remain a voracious reader. A reader who consumes anything and everything I can find. At that time, Christian fiction consisted of a tiny handful of writers: Janette Oke, Brodie Thoene, Gilbert Morris, Michael Phillips. I read much faster than they could write.

So I hounded my local Christian bookstore manager. “When will the new books be in?”

The manager would hand me the publishers’ catalogs. “Look for yourself.”

While I felt like a kid in a candy store flipping the pages, it reinforced the authors couldn’t keep up. What took them so long to write the books I could read in 4 or 5 hours?

Little did I understand how much hard work goes into writing a novel.

Why is it hard work? Simple. If a writer loves their craft, they will always push themselves to improve. What satisfied them in the last book, won’t qualify as good writing this time. The end result? An author who is committed to excellence is always looking for one more thing to tweak. One more skill to learn. One more technique to master.

A writer pours effort into the research. Recently I worked on a proposal for my fifth World War Two historical. It might be easy to say I’ve got the formula down. Instead, I hunted for fresh details. Those nuances that make the setting and time period come to life. If it were a contemporary like the proposal I’ll write next week, the research would focus on setting and career. 

The bottom line, I have to invest the time to get the details right because I want my readers to feel transported into the story world I’ve created. That takes time. Little is more annoying then reading a book that stops short of getting the research right.

A writer pours emotion into the writing. One thing I have learned is that writing requires a transparency. The emotional scenes that resonate with readers are the ones where I have dug deep into the reservoir of my life. If I’m writing a scene where someone learns of a death, then I have to relive the emotion of losing a loved one. The emotion of standing in my grandparents’ farmyard minutes after returning from my uncle’s viewing and learning I need to race to neighboring city’s hospital if I want to say good-bye to another grandmother. 

In many ways, life is easier if I don’t return to those emotions. But if I allow myself to cheat and pretend, the emotion on the page has a plastic feel. It’s when I force myself to go to that deep place filled with remnants of hurt and pain that I can write scenes that resonate.

A writer pours hours onto the keyboard. I’m a young mom. As I write this my oldest is 8 and my youngest is seven months. In order to write, I have to do it in the uncomfortable hours of 9 p.m. to midnight or later. Other authors get up early in the morning – long before the rooster crows. Still others write in snippets of time – on the way to the office, at lunch breaks, sitting in the car while a child’s at practice. 

But to have a book that can be purchased and find its way to print, we all have to do the same thing – force our backsides onto a chair and our fingers on to a keyboard. It is a daily discipline, that day after day, page after page leads to a book.

A writer pours her words out as a sacrifice. Writing for me is answering a call that God has placed on my life. I don’t know if publication is for a season or for the rest of my life. However, I am called to obedience. And that means writing as long as God gives me stories even if those words are only read by an audience of One.

A writer pours time into learning the craft. Writing is a craft. It is a skill that can be learned by those who willingly invest time and practice into honing the skill. There are books to read. Exercises to try. Workshops and conferences to attend. It is through these endeavors that one develops the skill to move from a good writer to a decent writer to a I-can’t-put-this-book-down kind of writer. The kind that lands an agent and eventually an editor. 

Some of my favorite authors continuously push themselves to improve each book. I love that! They aren’t willing to sit on their laurels and write another book as good as their last. Instead, they are determined to improve. I want to be that kind of writer, don’t you?

A writer opens herself up to rejection. To see anything published, a writer must risk that the world will not see the beauty in her creation. Before I wrote under deadline, I set artificial deadlines for myself. As I met those, I then sent my babies into the world. Yes, I waited with bated breath to see if the editor liked what I had written, but when they didn’t like something, I willingly made adjustments. I was open to the guidance and criticism, yet I’ve watched several friends get stuck in their writing journeys because they were paralyzed after receiving rejection or they refused to make suggested changes to their books. When changes are suggested, may I suggest that you prayerfully consider whether that person is seeing something you can’t?

Writing is not an easy life. It is solitary. It takes days, months, and years of writing before you hold your book in your hands. But the hard work is worth it. If God has called you to this journey, then do the hard work and prepare for the journey of a lifetime.

~Cara

Want a treat? Read an excerpt from Cara's latest book, Stars in the Night.

You're on My List!

Organization is not my gift.

An expert on personal organization said, “There are filers and pilers. Which are you?” Let's just say I'm horizontally challenged in height and organization. I live in awe of people who live orderly lives regimented by a Day Planner or have a schedule programmed into their Blackberry.

I’ve tried to order my chaotic life. Grand plans start with a list. That list begets another list… which begets another.

Then life intrudes.

Right out the gate, I misplace my To-Do List.

On one of my forays for food, I take stock of what’s in the kitchen and make a grocery list…. Which I don’t use because it’s still at home on the refrigerator when I impulsively stop at the market on my way home from the doctor’s appointment.

Long ago, I gave up on making a weekly Menu. I’d plan on lasagna only to decide tacos sounded better. Opening the fridge to grab the ingredients for chicken and noodles, I’d fail to find chicken. Someone ate it or fed the leftovers to the dogs. Each day, I get to surprise myself with what we’re going to eat.

I have a Things To Pack List on my computer for when I travel. I also have a Packing List. And a Take to Conference List. And a Book Tour Essentials List. And a Stuff for Retreat List…Why? Because I have a PC, a laptop, and a mini-notebook. Since I couldn’t find the list, I made a new one. Now that I think of it, I also have Montana List, and Alaska Trip, Take on Cruise List, Colorado… You get the idea. Good thing someone can grasp this because evidently I have no idea of what I’ve done, so I recreate the wheel over and over again.

There’s a list I refuse to commit to paper or type on my computer. It’s that super secret Self Improvement List.. Things like lose weight. Exercise…. Those dumb things I don’t ever get around to.

There is one list I’m great at: The Honey-Do List. I update it regularly.

When I was a little girl and got in trouble, my mom would give me the stink-eye and say, "You're on my list." On Judgment Day I'll be, kneeling before God and all my flaws and sins will be made known. Jesus will absolve me of all by opening the Book of Life with His nail-pierced hands and say those words with loving tenderness, "You're on my list."

Are you on His list?

And speaking of lists… my hubby is laughing like a hyena. The dogs just ate the Honey-Do List! I think I have a copy of that list somewhere on my computer....

Love,
Cathy

New Book

This week I'm celebrating a new book. Book 3 in the Song of Alaska series has finally arrived. TWILIGHT'S SERENADE is the conclusion of this series set in Sitka, Alaska.

And, it's debut is just in time. August 6th I leave for Sitka where I'll be speaking - but more of that next week.

Debuting a new book is always like welcoming a new baby. You're in awe of the arrival and the wonder of it all. You can scarce believe you had anything to do with its creation, and you wonder what people will think of it. You hope that this child will be well received and loved, but know that there will always be those who have no interest.

In this case, I also had a little sorrow. The series is complete and I must say goodbye to the characters, but not to my love of Alaska. Who knows where the future will take me where that state is concerned. Alaska is full of wonder, possibilities, and so many stories. There very well may be additional books to celebrate the beauty and grandeur God has created there.

Until then, however, I'm moving on to Texas and a brand new family. I'll see you there.


Tracie

And this is where stories originate...

Last weekend I had the joy of my soul sister's company. I usually go see her rather than her coming to see me because when she comes to see me, I have to share her with my family. Not that I don't love my family (and so does she!), but sometimes you just need girl time, y'know? So Saturday we took a day trip to get away by ourselves and drove to a tiny Kansas town called Paxico. There's not much there. Except antique stores. But we both love to browse antique stores, so it seemed like a great get-away.

The "General Store" you see on the right houses one large and one small shop, containing everything your antique-loving heart could desire. I literally drooled over the stained glass windows, restored parlor stoves, and claw-footed bathtubs. Kathy and I examined items, scratched our heads over the purpose of some, and thanked our lucky stars that we didn't have to rely on some others. I rounded a corner and saw a hand-written sign with an arrow: "More antiques downstairs." So I headed down. And immediately the story-tingles started.

For those of you who aren't writers, story-tingles are the special goosebumps a writer gets when inspiration is about to strike. I moved through a narrow, arched-ceiling hallway into what appeared to be a small bar. Round wooden tables littered with cards or checkers filled the little space. If you look in the dictionary under "man cave," you'd probably see a picture similar to the one that greeted me. Yet despite the very manly trappings of the space, it had charm and character as well.

Look at the tin ceiling and the decorative wood framing the doorway! Obviously a female was down there at some point in time to say, "Henry, this place needs a woman's touch." And she left her fingerprints behind. The above doorway led to a larger space fronted by...I could scarcely believe it!...a STAGE.

Yes! There in the basement with its rough sandstone walls and tiny windows and cracked concrete floor...a stage. Immediately my mind began to whir. Who performed down here? Why would they put the stage in the basement rather than on the main floor of the building? I don't know of any opera houses where the singers performed in the cellar...so what's up with this??? In the past few days, those questions--and many more--have rolled around in the back of my mind. A few characters are beginning to creep from the shadows and share tiny bits of what they know about the situation. I have no doubt that, in time, a full-fledged story will emerge.

In the meantime, I'm finishing up the fourth book in the Katy Lambright Series (and bidding farewell to Katy in the process), thinking about the next book contracted (which will take place during WWII), and allowing the tingle of inspiration to tease the fringes of my mind...

May God bless you muchly as you journey with Him! ~Kim

The Foxfire Book (Guest blogger, Carol Cox)

Carol Cox is kind enough to join us again today, guest blogging for Judy. Carol, we're glad you're here. And Judy, we continue to hold you close in prayer.

~Tammy

It’s an odd thing for a historical writer to admit, but history was my least favorite subject through most of my school years. Yep, that’s right. All those names, dates, and places to memorize seemed pointless to me until one college professor used storytelling to make history come alive and opened up a whole new world to me.

I’ve been blessed to have kids whose love of history began at an early age, who prefer visits to museums over theme parks. During last month’s family vacation—where we wound up visiting so many museums and living history sites that we’ve dubbed it “the Magical History Tour”—we stopped at the Foxfire Museum and Heritage Center in Mountain City, Georgia, and once again I saw what can happen when young people are inspired by an educator with a vision.

Some of you may be familiar with The Foxfire Magazine, which was wildly popular back in the 1970s, when my husband and I devoured every back-to-the-land publication we could get our hands on. What we didn’t know, until this trip, was how it all began.

It seems a young teacher hit a snag trying to find a way to get his class of high school students interested in learning about English. Somehow, the thought of studying verbs and sentence structure just didn’t appeal to them—but producing a magazine as a class project did.

Students gathered information and oral history from neighbors and relatives then honed their writing skills creating articles, and The Foxfire Magazine was born. Nearly 45 years later, it’s still going strong, and articles from the magazine have been compiled into over a dozen books.

But their passion for history didn’t stop there. With their book royalties, the students bought the land where the museum and heritage center now stands as a place where they could showcase buildings and artifacts representing Southern Appalachian culture.

The self-guided walking tour was supposed to take an hour and a half. We spent at least twice that long strolling along the wooded paths from one log building to another, trying to picture the original inhabitants going about their daily chores.

The chapel was one of our favorites. Stained-glass windows cast shards of color across the dim interior, and the chestnut-paneled walls are lined with photos and quotes from area pioneers. Each of them spoke of the importance of faith in their lives. What an inspiration to read about people who owned so little in the eyes of the world but kept their focus on laying up treasures in heaven! 

The work of the Foxfire project goes on. While we were there, a group of current students and alumni were working together on yet another compilation.

That visit was a great reminder of the importance of preserving our heritage. As a writer, one of my passions is to make history come alive through story, just like that college professor did all those years ago.

Have you found some ways to keep the past alive in your family or community? Care to share?

~Carol