From mountaintop to valley...

Last Thursday I hopped in my Acadia and drove ten hours to the town of Galesburg, Illinois, where I shared a delightful time of fellowship with a group called Heartseekers. (Isn't that the neatest name? Seekers of HIS heart...something we should all be.) Women from all denominations came together in worship and praise of the one true God. Awesome experience. I shared my testimony then spoke about how God has wonderful plans for His children and how He'll be with us every step of our life's journey. The Holy Spirit was definitely with us, and even though I am usually completely wiped out after an event like this, I was also renewed. The women ministered to me so beautifully.

Saturday evening, as the organizing committee and I went to dinner as a "wrap-up" for the weekend, a text arrived from my husband informing me his aunt in California had passed away from a heart attack and that his mother was in ICU and not expected to live. When I got home late Sunday evening, I was given more unhappy news--a dear friend, whom we'd expected to recover from her cancer battle, had been placed in hospice, and another friend's father was in an accident that left him paralyzed from the neck down.

Monday morning Hubby and I headed to Oklahoma (in separate vehicles, two hours apart, and I got lost...) to be with his dad and mom. On the way, I received a call from my mom that her doctor had concerns about her latest lab work. So there I was, on an unfamiliar highway (where the only radio stations I could get offered twangy country-western or polka music...sorry, but not exactly my choice of listening material), miles from where I wanted to be, under a dismal cloudy sky, with all kinds of bad news swirling through my brain.

How quickly I'd gone from sunshiny mountaintop to the gray gloom of a deep valley. And then I remembered something--something I'd told the ladies in Galesburg: "There are no guarantees in life save one: God loves us. And because He loves us, He is with us." Even in the valleys. I also remembered our share time, discussing ways to fill ourselves with God's presence. Singing praise songs was high on the list. So I turned off the crackly radio and began to sing. Hymns. Choruses. Psalms set to my own melodies. And even though the sky didn't clear of its cover of gray clouds, I felt the warmth of the Son.

In Oklahoma, I got to spend some time with Mom S. I sang hymns to her (her eyebrows rose and crunched down repeatedly while I sang--not sure if she was inwardly singing with me or trying to tell me to knock it off LOL) and had a sweet time of letting her know how much I loved her. I'm home again, trying to get caught up with all the things that go neglected when you've been away. I've got the phone close, knowing a call could come at any time letting me know Mom S has slipped away. And I'm still humming one of the hymns that I sang on my own in the car and then to Mom S in the hospital.

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,

Look full in His wonderful face,

And the things of earth will grow strangely dim

In the light of His glory and grace...

Whether mountaintop or valley, I'm so grateful He is there.

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

P.S. -- This morning, around 5 AM, Mom-in-love's battle ended. Prayers for Dad and the family greatly appreciated.

Traveling Time

Last week Jenna and I drove to Florida. As Tammy already told you, we stopped in Nashville to see her on our way home. I’ll tell you more about that next week, so hang onto your hats for ‘the rest of the story.’ This week I’m giving you the ‘on the way to Florida story.’

If you’ve ever driven anywhere close to Chattanooga, you’ve seen the signs for Ruby Falls and Lookout Mountain. The billboards are huge, they are everywhere, and they make you want to stop and take a peek. At least that’s what it did to ONE of us. I wasn’t quite as eager to stop, but I decided it wouldn’t take all that long. That was mistake number one. Mistake number two was having a daughter who nearly fainted because of the narrow winding road it took to get us to our destination. Thankfully I was driving or I think we’d still be sitting on that narrow road. I do wish I had a picture to show you, but I couldn’t get Jenna to stop clutching the door handle long enough to snap a photo. The picture to the left and right are of Ruby Falls, but I'm guessing you already figured that out!

We arrived safe and sound, but there were more people than I anticipated. The lady at the counter said the tour took about half an hour. Not true—it took closer to two hours because of waiting in line every few minutes to let a returning group pass by us in the cave. The Falls are beautiful, the scenery from the lookout is gorgeous, but we had to forego the zip line because we’d already overextended our time limit. You’ll simply have to envision me in one of those harnesses shooting down the mountain. Maybe next time!

I spent several days at Cocoa Beach visiting with my brother and his wife. Again, you’ll have to envision me in a bathing suit, because you won’t see one here. Trust me—your eyes can only take so much. The weather in Florida was beautiful and we went down to the waterfront for dinner, and then a tour of what folks call the Peacock Neighborhood. For some reason, peacocks have chosen this area as their haven and they strut across the street, chase cats and small dogs, and create a great deal of traffic in an otherwise quiet neighborhood. I’m told the homeowners would be pleased to send them packing, but it appears the peacocks have decided otherwise. All in all they appear quite content. If you look closely at the picture on the left, you can see the head of a baby peahen poking out from the foilage.

I’m coming up on a deadline, so it’s back to coast of Georgia and getting these characters to behave themselves!

May you find joy as you travel down unexpected paths. ~Judy

Knock Knock… Who was here?

I had a special guest this weekend and it was so fun! Can you guess who it was? Come on, take a guess… Here she is from behind on one of our sightseeing tours.

If you said Judy Miller, you were right! The lovely Miss Judy and her sweet daughter, Jenna came my way here in Nashville, and we spent Friday and Saturday "playing." We visited antebellum mansions and basically ate our way through Music City. It was heaven!

Here's Judy with her daughter, Jenna. 

Friday, we ate lunch at the Patty Loveless Motel and Cafe. Delicious!

Here are some of the lovely tulips outside the Belmont Mansion that we visited on Saturday morning with our buddy, Gayle DeSalles.

Here we are outside Sweet CeCes (fabulous frozen yogurt) in Hillside. It was almost 80 degrees here in Nashville week before last, and so sunny! But wouldn't you know it, the cold and rain moved in just about the time Judy got here. But we didn't let that slow us down. Well, maybe we did a little at the Hermitage (Home of Andrew Jackson). But a quick stop at Starbucks warmed us right back up!

I loved our girl time and really appreciate Judy's heart. She's so funny. I love her wicked sense of humor. We laughed and laughed, and shed a few tears. Kelsey (my daughter) loves you to pieces, Judy. Who knew you gals had so much in common. ; )

I'm jumping headlong into work today so will leave you with one last thing. I know, I know, I'm sharing lots of food recently, but Kelsey and I HAD to have something fun to eat––and yet "relatively good calorie-wise"––while we watched Dancing with the Stars last night. And a big thanks goes to Stacey Sanders Daniel for this plate-lickin'-good Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Pie. Oh. My. Goodness! Truly delicious (and seven Weight Watchers points per slice, Stacey tells me). And worth twice that!

Never mind that I didn't let my pie freeze for a good four hours before diving in. My pieces weren't very pretty but we couldn't wait! There was dancing and all those pretty DWTS shoes and dresses and well…we had to have something sweet. Treat yourself and get the recipe for Stacey's Chocolate Chip Peanut Butter Pie here.

Now back to rewriting and editing. I'm LOVING being at this stage of this story. Thanks again to my agent, my editors, and my fabulous writing critique partner Deborah Raney for helping me to see the trees in this massive forest I've created. Bless you gals!

Tammy

Quiet Time Playlist (Part 1)

I thought it might be fun to share with you my Quiet Time playlist, a few songs at a time. This playlist has been built over time, and the songs are meaningful to me for various reasons.

I begin every morning with reading a number of chapters in my Bible, followed six days a week with my BSF study. During the reading and studying, my background music is from a number of different "Chant" albums (Benedictine, Cistercian, Gregorian). My current favorite album is "Chant – Music for the Soul" by Cistercian Monks of Stift Heiligenkreuz. I choose these chants because they are sung in Latin. Thus the words don't interfere with my concentration (last time I had a Latin lesson was around 1966).

As I turn to a time of prayer and praise, I switch iTunes to music in my vast Christian worship library (I've been collecting for 30+ years). Quite often, I choose to go to my Quiet Time playlist. These songs are in this playlist because they've spoken to my heart in some special way at some special time.

So here we go. I'll embed one and let you follow the links to the other two if you so choose.

When You Shepherd Me (Brian Doerksen)
When I listen to this song, I feel so loved by God. When I sing it back to Him, I'm expressing my love for Him and thanksgiving for how He has shepherded me through the years.




Word of God Speak (Kristin Chenoweth)
Oh, how I yearn for God's word to speak to me, to speak life to me, to guide me each and every moment of my life.

Revelation Song (Don Moen)
He is holy, holy, holy! And we shall gather with the angels around the throne and sing His praises. Oh, man. I can almost hear the heavenly choir as I write this.

---

What about you? What songs are in the playlist of your quiet time (whether or not you have an official one)?

~robin

Spring from the Past

It's Spring--

and Tracie is running down gophers.

I'm wrangling dustbunnies.

I'll bet Tracie is having more fun.

But I've tied on my apron--the one with three pockets, because I mean business. My grandma wore an apron she made from feedsacks or remnants she bought at TG&Y. Her house was spotless and always smelled of fresh-baked pie. Even after she had a stroke and couldn't use one arm, she still crocheted. During a nine-month period of time, I broke my ankle, broke my foot, and broke my arm. Getting around and carrying things didn't come easily, but Grandma's legacy took on a new life. I tied on an apron. The pockets help me make fewer trips and get more done. Grandma didn't carry a cellphone or a microfiber cloth in her rickrack topped pockets, but she carried a hanky she'd embroidered or edged. And I'm starting to do that, too.

I ran across a wonderful poem that makes me aspire to be like Grandma... maybe I'll even get around to some Spring cleaning like she did.

Grandma's Apron

The strings were tied, it was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed.

For Grandma, it was everyday to choose one when she dressed.

The simple apron that it was, you would never think about;

The things she used it for, that made it look worn out.

She may have used it to hold some wildflowers that she'd found

Or to hide a crying child's face when a stranger came around.

Imagine all the little tears that were wiped with just that cloth.

Or it became a potholder to serve some chicken broth.

She probably carried kindling to stoke the kitchen ire,

To hold a load of laundry or to wipe the clothesline wire.

When canning all her vegetables, it was used to wipe her brow.

You never know, she might have used it to shoo lies rom the cow.

She might have carried eggs in from the chicken coop outside.

Whatever chore she used it for, she did them all with pride.

When Grandma went to heaven, God said she now could rest.

I'm sure the apron that she chose, was her Sunday best

-------- by Tina Trivett

Grandma's in heaven... and I'll bet she has pie cooling on God's kitchen windowsill.

Happy Spring!
Cathy

I saw a Gopher - It's Spring!

In Montana you can gauge the seasons by the animals. The other day I went for a drive with my hubby and we saw probably some 200 deer in a variety of fields just grazing and enjoying the fading light of evening.

Then of course there's the craziness of our weather. Do you know how you can tell it's spring in Montana? The snow feels warmer.
Although I'm not sure my kitty Safari agrees.

Another sure sign that it's spring - the grizzly bears have been spotted coming out of hibernation. Of course that goes hand in hand with seeing the geese flying back into town, seeing bluebirds and robins, and of course...gophers.

We have these little gopher guys all over the place.
A pasttime for the kids up here is gopher shooting. They are a pest and a destructive terror at times, but when you see them after a long winter - you know it's spring.

Yesterday, I hit my first gopher of the season with the car. It was like a formal announcement. SPRING IS HERE!

So from my home to yours, here is a blessing for spring.

May the Lord bless and keep you in His care.
May your days be rosy and fair.
May your road be easy no matter how far,
and May the gophers watch out for your car.


God Bless You!
Tracie

Where do you GET that inspiration?

Robin posted about inspiration vs. perspiration and doing Q&A's with readers. (The pic on the left is from a Q&A in a bookstore in Pennsylvania...I think!..., and I'm pretty sure Judy is talking because the rest of us are looking at her. When Judy talks, people listen!) Q&A's are a lot of fun--you never know what someone might ask!--but the most common question asked at events tends to be this one: Where do you get your ideas?

The answer: EVERYWHERE!

For instance (focusing on my historicals since this an historical blog)...

My first historical, Waiting for Summer's Return, was inspired by a row of 1860s tombstones in a lonely plot alongside a highway--a father and four children, the youngest of whom was only four months old when he died. I can remember standing there, looking at those names and dates, with my heart aching for the unknown wife/mother, wondering how she bore such sorrow and what happened to her. The story grew from my inner ponderings.

Where Willows Grow grew from the shadows of an abandoned farmstead while I was on a church hayrack ride. It was dusk, and as we passed the time-worn barn, it seemed a woman stepped from the blackened doorway into my imagination and began sharing her story with me. I simply transcribed it.

One of my favorite stories (am I allowed to have a favorite?) is My Heart Remembers because it was inspired by someone very dear to me--my stepgrandmother, who rode an orphan train to a new home when she was a little girl. Although researching that story was heartbreaking, it gave me great pleasure to dedicate a story to a woman who so positively impacted my life.

Where the Heart Leads came about because of reader feedback. So many readers wanted to know what happened to Summer, Peter, and Thomas (from Waiting for Summer's Return) that Bethany House allowed me to write a follow up story focusing on the family ten years down the road. The date landed me smack in the middle of a presidential election, which provided fodder on which to build.

Crafting Fields of Grace was especially meaningful because it's a page from my own family history. My mother's ancestors left the grassy plains of Russia for a life ripe with religious freedom in America. They brought with them the Turkey Red Wheat that turned the central states into America's breadbasket. I borrowed names from my family tree--Lillian (my paternal grandmother) and Reinhardt (my great-great-grandfather)--and wove familial events from my maternal history into the story's fiber. In many ways, Fields of Grace is a heartbreaking story--much loss and uncertainties--but it's special to me because God so clearly was in every step of their journey.

Then there's A Hopeful Heart--the result of a casual comment by a fellow cruiser when my folks, hubby, and I were in Alaska ("You're from Kansas? I spent a summer in Kansas, at a herdsman school") raised all kinds of fun tingles up and down my spine. Before I knew it, the Wyatt Herdsman School was erected in Barnett, Kansas, and six hopeful young ladies enrolled to learn the skills they'd need to be good wives for area ranchers. Mail-order brides...with a twist. :o)

The desire to give the little street urchin Petey from My Heart Remembers his own story grew into In Every Heartbeat. And Courting Miss Amsel sprouted when I decided to write a story to honor teachers and the impact they can make on children's lives.

Inspiration is everywhere--one just has to keep her ears, eyes, and heart open. I love when stories blossom in my imagination. I feel as though God plants a seed, then in time He splashes the seed with water and lets it grow. With each story, a spiritual nugget gained by a character becomes something that benefits me in my Christian walk. So starting a new story is always an adventure--an adventure in whimsy, but also an adventure in faith. Pretty cool, huh?

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

P.S.--As for DWTS...I'm rootin' for the Karate Kid! :o)

Tombstone on My Mind (with guest blogger Carol Cox)

(Thanks to sweet Carol Cox for filling in for Judy Miller today. More on the "why" below. And welcome back, Carol…)

Ray Charles crooned about Georgia on his mind. Lately, my mind has been filled with thoughts of Tombstone. No, not the frozen pizza, the town in southern Arizona.

My current book is set in a fictional town not far from Tombstone, making it the perfect place to visit when researching the area. It’s a great place to dig up nuggets of information, both fact and myth.

The founding fathers didn’t plan for Tombstone to become the poster child for the wild and woolly West. Their vision was of a city whose level of refinement would equal that of Chicago or San Francisco. The first edition of the Tombstone Epitaph boasted: “Tombstone is a city upon a hill promising to vie with ancient Rome upon her seven hills in a fame different in character but no less in importance.”

In some respects, Tombstone lives up to that image. There’s the sentimental story of Mary Gee, a homesick Scottish bride who planted a cutting of a Lady Banks rose sent from her home in Scotland in 1885. Despite the desert heat, it grew . . . and grew . . . and is still growing today, spreading its branches over more than 8,000 square feet at the Rose Tree Museum.

There’s also Schieffelin Hall, built to provide a center for cultural activity. Its stage was the largest in any theater between Denver and San Francisco.

Another theater, the Bird Cage (pictured below), hosted notable performers, too—Eddie Foy, Lotta Crabtree, Sarah Bernhardt, and Ethel Barrymore. But it offered less savory entertainments as well, along with some serious gambling, including a non-stop poker game that lasted nearly 8 ½ years. Not quite the upstanding image early town promoters wanted to portray.

And that infamous shootout that took place in the O.K. Corral . . . didn’t.

It actually occurred in an empty lot next to C.S. Fly’s photography studio. Why the corral got all the promotional benefits is a bit of a puzzle. And it seems a shame that Fly, who took some of the most noted photos of his day, didn’t capture an image of one of the iconic events in Old West history, especially since he was in the studio at the time the lead started flying.

One reason may be that he was too busy saving his skin to focus on getting his equipment set up. Another is that he simply didn’t have time. The long exposure time needed in early photography required subjects to sit still for minutes on end. It’s safe to assume the participants weren’t in any mood to strike a pose long enough for him to get his shot . . . the photographic kind, that is.

Here’s one last item to round out our tour of Tombstone trivia—Eleanor Dumont, otherwise known as Madame Mustache, one of the premier card dealers of her day. It isn’t hard to figure out she how got the nickname. With all the hair removal products at our disposal today, it’s hard to imagine a woman being willing to live with a wild and wooly growth like that. But maybe her ability to turn an unsightly imperfection into a trademark should inspire admiration.

On the other hand, I suspect Stevie Wonder didn’t have her in mind when he sang, “Isn’t She Lovely?”

Many thanks to Judy, who is without internet access at the moment and asked me to blog for her this week. I always enjoy visiting with the Writes of Passage readers. Your hometown may not have the degree of quirkiness we’ve seen in Tombstone, but I’ll bet you can find some fun stories of your own. 

Anybody want to share?

Carol

Visit Carol's Website

Put on your dancin' shoes! (Again)

I just love Dancing with the Stars. I know, I know… Some of you are poo-pooing it. I see you shaking your heads. The first season it was on I totally made fun of it too. Never having watched it, of course. Then I called my mom one night to chat and she said, "Oh hey honey! Can I call you back?" (LOL) "Ah, sure. What are you doing?" "I'm watching Dancing with the Stars." "Dancing with the what?"

Anyway… 

From season two onward we've watched it. Mom and I used to watch it "together" on the phone sometimes. Then Kelsey (my daughter) got into it and we've been watching it together for a while now. So fun. Well, last night was the season premiere so she came over and we piled up on the sofa with Jack and the last of the Key Lime Pie (delish! recipe here) and watched. We laughed, made tacky comments, and tweeted (but didn't tweet the tacky comments). It was great girl time!

What is it about most of us that makes us want to root for the underdog? It's just something innate. I think it's because we see ourselves in them. I know I do. I see these "stars" or musicians or other folks…okay, some of these people I've never heard of but Kelsey filled me in as we went. I just attributed it to my age or me being in my cave writing. But we see these people putting themselves "out there" for the journey of learning how to dance. Only, it's not just them learning to dance. It's about them taking another step in their journey.

It's the journey we love. Which––ding! ding! ding!––is why we love to read (and write). We love to take journeys with characters for whom we feel compassion, or feel a similarity, or find heroic, or funny, or with someone who's really good at what they do, or who's been treat unfairly. I love nothing more than getting lost in a book. Here's a shot of my TBR (To Be Read) shelf. Gracious! So many books, so little time. 

A couple of these with bookmarks in them means I've already started, 

but have been sidetracked by my own writing and editing.

So, do tell…are you a DWTS watcher? If yes, let's compare notes! I loved Kirstie Alley, Sugar Ray Leonard, Ralph Macchio (The "original" Karate Kid), and oh…that guy Kelsey liked. He's cute, couldn't dance very well but had such a likable factor about him. Mike Catherwood (just looked him up).

Back to editing. I have a full day ahead of nothing but A Lasting Impression. Grateful for that time. And need it!

Tammy

P.S. 

Last night Robin let me know that Leota's Garden by Francine Rivers is currently free on Kindle. If you don't have this one yet, treat yourself and head over there while it's still free. GREAT book! One of my favorites of Francine's. And thanks, Robin. Or should I say…Honeybaked Hatcher? 

One part inspiration. Two parts perspiration.

Sunday afternoon I spoke to the women's group of a Boise church. I gave a brief testimony of how God called me out of writing for the general market and into writing Christian fiction, then I opened it up to Q&A. That's my favorite kind of presentation. To take questions and then give my answers, usually sprinkled liberally with humor. I probably enjoy this so much because, as one of my theater directors once said, I'm "a natural born ham."

It's true. I am a ham (please go back to your writing, Miss Tamera; that snorting is not attractive). I love to tell stories. I love to entertain. I get that from my grandmother who was a type of actress in her day. She did professional "readings." Like from The Gift of the Magi. (Somewhere in this house I have her copy of that book, marked up for memorization.) I wish I'd been older before she died (her health began failing when I was ten). Maybe I could have remembered some of the great stories she told her grandchildren. Oh, how she could entertain us. Anyway, I come by it naturally.

So I shared with the women about how when I was ten I told my friends that my mom was born in a covered wagon coming west. That story was fueled by my excellent imagination and the fact that you can see the ruts of the Oregon Trail just ten or so miles from the home where I grew up. I was inspired!

Man, I wish I was always inspired in my storytelling. And I wish that writing a book was as easy as coming up with that little gem I told my friends at the age of ten. And come to think of it, I wish that every idea that popped into my head was worth putting on paper. Yeah, I know. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Sigh...

So I guess I'd better get back to the work of writing, because that's the only way a book ever gets done. It's not the inspiration. It's the fanny glued to the chair. Two parts perspiration.

---

P.S.

I'm still trying to find a way to keep my dog from killing my kitty. The squirt bottle has helped a little, but I still spend way too much of my time screaming, "Poppet, no! Poppet, leave it!" I decided that a cat "tree" would at least give Pinky a place to get away from the dog. What I won't do for my animals. My living room is now decorated with the "deluxe" model from Petco. Very plush. Since her full name is Princess Pinky, it seems appropriate that she has a castle. Right?

Obsolete

Obsolete. Isn't that an ugly word? It sounds ugly and mean.
Vintage had charm.
Antique has class.
Obsolete connotes uesless and outdated.

The very first search engine was a library card catalog. I'm old enough to have used a card catalog extensively. They were phased out in the 1980s and replaced with computers. I'm an antique-aholic and love to repurpose things, so I decided to find a card catalog and use it to store everything from a buckeye to a xylophone stick. Tintypes, gloves, fans, doilies.... it's the perfect solution for an organizationally challenged woman. I can't bear the thought that my beloved card catalog is obsolete. So now I have to find one and preserve it.

I played with a little record player as a child. Records were replaced by tape recordings, 8 track, cassettes, CDs, and now MP3s. "Like a broken record" is an obsolete saying... but I recently heard a teen say, "Like a scratched CD." I made a mental note on that. It makes perfect sense--until ten years from now when CDs will be.., obsolete.

Time marches on an inventions change our lives.

I'm glad for the changes from the old plume and ink... to the typewriter.. to the computer. I ought to be thankful I didn't have to learn fancy penmanship. I don't have an artistic bone in my body. And I am so typo-prone, a computer allows instant corrections.

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Wall and candlestick phones gave way to rotary dial, then push button... then cordless... and now cellphones. (remember beepers, too?)








We've gone from Connestoga wagons to station wagons to battery-powered cars. We have kept trains... but that 3 cent stamp? Long, long gone.






Stone lamps... kerosene.... gaslamp.... electricity.... and even touch-activated or clapper-operated lights. Yet, we're still using wind and solar power--just as our great-grandparents did with windmills and clotheslines. We've simply harnessed it more efficiently.

Solomon said there was no new thing under the sun. He'd be boggled to look around.here. But he addressed human nature, not material goods.
The best things in life aren't things. The Greatest Gift of salvation cost the ultimate price, yet it is free to us. Christ will never be obsolete. Man's inventions pale in comparison to our all-knowing God. He invented music. He wrote history. There is no light brighter than Christ. The most important path we travel is not measured by miles, but by heart. For those things, I am incredibly grateful. But I still miss card catalogs and would love to find one. What do you miss?
Cathy

Another life lesson

I've been battling Shingles for the last couple of weeks. For those who aren't familiar - it's a pretty frustrating disease. First of all - if you've had chicken pox then you can get shingles. If you get shingles - you can give other folks the chicken pox. It's a vicious cycle.

Shingles is a herpes virus that lies dormant in your body until something like stress or weakened physical condition urges it to life. There are several stages and problems - pain, numbness, tingling, flu like symptoms, exhaustion, rash. The list goes on, but suffice it to say - it's no fun.

I was under a lot of stress both physically and emotionally and I figure that's problem what triggered this. However, it also brought to mind another life lesson that focuses on the spiritual.

Satan so often uses something from the past to slip us up or cause us pain. Like shingles - it can be something lying dormant in your life for years upon years and then without warning something happens to stir it to life.

The symptoms are identical - pain - numbness - nausea - exhaustion. All the things that make us less effective for God.

As I was lying in bed resting (as this is what seems most helpful) I couldn't help but think how ironic my situation. The stress had been brought on by something from the past that had been dealt with - it was like an episode of chicken pox. It had been a problem, had made me quite ill, had even left its scars. But I thought I was done dealing with it and that it wouldn't be an issue. Just like I thought I was completely done dealing with chicken pox.

The neat thing is, that God really helped me to see the situation for what it was - an attack. There was nothing positive to be gained by allowing the past problem to come to light again. It truly had been dealt with and there was no reason to try to resurrect it. There was nothing glorifying to God in breathing life into that mass of decay and rot.

I don't think there's anything very positive about shingles either, but my case has been far less severe because we caught it early and I was given anti-viral meds and have heeded the doctor's advice. I know that many of you have prayed for me as well, and believe me, those prayers are definitely felt and I thank you.

So, I've learned another life lesson thanks to shingles, or better still - thanks to God. He always has a way of helping me to see things with different eyes - just when I need it most.

Tracie