Sibling Love

My guest blogger today is Julie B. Cosgrove. Please take the time to read her own true story of sibling love.

 I guess most sisters bicker as they grow up. We have a tendency to be a tad jealous of each other. “How come she gets to…” and later, “Why do all my boyfriends notice her?” Even later, “Why doesn’t my husband treat me like hers treats her?” or “”Why are her kids so well-behaved?”

My sister and I are six years apart so by the time I entered my teens she was married. I felt a deep loss and for a long time I felt the odd person out. She and my brother’s wife were closer in age, so they bonded. They always huddled at family events. I felt the pangs of exclusion like the wimpy little kid slumped on the sideline bench whose muscles would never fill out his uniform.

Until my husband died suddenly in the shower getting ready for work. Though five hours away, my sister dropped her life and rushed to my aid. She boarded her animals at the vets, packed a bag and drove to my door. I honestly cannot tell you how long she stayed with me. Certainly until after the funeral five days later. Having lost her husband a year previously, she guided my numbed mind and aching heart through the planning, the visitations and the arrangements as I sniveled for days on in overwhelmed by it all.

When I sold the house and moved to a one bedroom apartment, all I could afford at the time, she returned. We spent hours rubbing masking tape onto the floors mapping out where furniture would go and plotting what I could bring and what I should leave behind for the estate sale. She then monitored the estate sale like an award winning  car salesman, raking in the bucks so I could afford the moving company.

My brother, an attorney, drove in to handle all the legal affairs pro bono without blinking an eye. All I had to do was show up at the courthouse and swear my husband to be deceased—by far my highest hurdle. Declaring him legally dead before a magistrate made it real, too real. My brother stood by my side as my knees quaked. His even-toned professionalism became my boulder. I watched, wide-eyed and tear-blinked as he handed off paper after paper to the court clerk. Documents all identified by letters and numbers which I never understood.

Growing up, my brother seemed a phantom. Eleven years older than me, he was a teenager locked in his world by the time I could toddle. Then came the college years away. When I was in third grade, he walked down the aisle. After that, he moved away, had a child of his own and built a life. Eventually I did the same. For decades we acknowledged each other like shadows at family gatherings. But that day at the courthouse, he became flesh and bone to me.

God purposes good from tragedy. My husband’s passing brought me closer to my siblings and showed me what family-bound love is all about. Five years later, we are able to communicate at a deeper level, share our feelings openly, and be there for each other through this rollercoaster called life. Now, that’s true love— a love akin to no other on earth.


Check out Julie’s contribution to Prism Book Group’s new Love Is series…

“Love does not envy…” 1 Corinthians: 13:4


Twin sisters, Erin and Ellen, covet each other’s lives and husbands. Their festered envy has not only kept them at arm’s length for almost two decades, it has placed both on a precipice of divorce— something they’d never admit to each other.


Yet after two weeks together with their spouses, as they sort through their mother’s belongings following her funeral, they discover the flaws in their sibling’s “grass-greener” lives. But will that revelation help each sister appreciate her own husband and lifestyle as truly according to God’s plan? Or is it too late for a change of heart?

Available at http://amzn.com/B01ACFD3BK

Take Time to Wonder

Hubby ran into one store yesterday but I opted to sit in the car and watch the big fluffy snowflakes fall. I am too busy most of the time getting stuff done, hurrying through one task after another. I rarely have time to contemplate, but it was nice to take a little bit of time out and ponder about snow as I sat in the car.

There's going to be some snow in the book I'm currently writing, The Cowboy's Miracle. So it was good to simply think about snow--the beauty of it, the sort of tranquility that settles over everything as it falls, and the danger of slippery roads.

I got out my camera and tried to take photos of the snowflakes before they melted on the warm windshield. I did capture one. :-) You can see it faintly in all it's six-pointed loveliness.

Fortunately, the temperature zoomed up last night and all the snow was gone by this morning. I don't have to shovel it.

Do you sometimes take time out to think about this wonderful world and all its intricacies? Try it. Just sit down, appreciate everything you can see, and let peace settle in your heart.

A Whirlwind Relationship

My guest today is Gay N. Lewis, one of the Prism Book Group authors. She has a great story to tell about how she met the man who would be her husband. 

At the age of seventeen, my boyfriend presented me with an engagement ring. I said yes and then wondered what I’d done.

My fiancé was good-looking, charming, and he cared for me, but our goals were different. The man I’d promised to marry planned life as a farmer. Can you imagine me as a farmer’s wife? I grew up in the city, had never even planted a pot of ivy, and possessed no idea about country life.

And to top that off, at the age of eight, I’d surrendered for God’s service. I presumed I’d teach children Bible stories in a distant country in South America. After all, I was studying Spanish.

To say I had second thoughts about marriage to this nice guy is an understatement. Our ideas were totally incompatible. I guess when I said yes I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

I finally decided it would be kinder to undo this tragedy in the early stages rather than continue in a relationship destined for failure. Three months later, on a Saturday night, I gave him the ring back. He reluctantly accepted it and said to me, “You’re gonna get your feet wet.”

As I tried to sleep the night of our heartbreaking parting, I thought about his odd remark. I’d never heard the expression before, but I had an idea what he meant. The thought came to me that my feet had been in hot water when I’d accepted his proposal. I’d just dried them off when I returned the ring.

The next morning dawned warm for early March in Texas. After church, I spent the afternoon washing cars for a high school fundraiser. The project kept my mind off the sadness dwelling in my spirit. During a lull between vehicles, I inspected my appearance and gave a rueful smile. My feet were literally wet, and so was the rest of me. I was a dirty mess, but I don’t think that was the kind of prognostication my former fiancé had meant.

As I finished hosing down the last car, a friend and her mom came by. I declined their invitation to attend a new church, but they talked me into it and waited for me to change clothes. The three of us strode late into the service. The small, crowded sanctuary left no room for us to sit together, so we split up.

A handsome young man with black, wavy hair and sparkling brown eyes led the music.

At the end of the service, he slipped out the back door and managed to be the first one to greet me as I left the sanctuary. The guy must have sprinted—he appeared faster than Texas tornado. We exchanged names and spoke a few minutes, and then I left.

Intuition told me he’d call on Wednesday night. And he did. We made a date to go bowling the coming Saturday night. The evening was fun, and in between my falling down once or twice and throwing my ball into the gutter rather than down the alley, I discovered he planned to enter the ministry.

He walked me to the door as our date ended. He kissed me goodnight and then said, “I’m in love with you, and I’m going to marry you.”

Whaaat? Was he kidding? Seriously?

I’d just ended a relationship and had no intention of jumping into another one. This guy didn’t know me, and he loves me? What kind of nut could he be?

Before long, I learned. This man is a fast mover, makes speedy decisions, and is seldom wrong with his discernment. 

Our relationship moved along at a rapid pace, and I discovered we shared the same goals.

He was in college, worked full time, gave twenty hours a week to the church, and somehow managed to find time for me.

Before long, a church in Oklahoma invited him to become their pastor. He accepted the invitation, and then drove back to Texas. We met for lunch the day he returned. He proposed marriage—presented me with a ring. I felt comfortable accepting this one, but I wanted to wait before we said the vows. I’d just graduated high school and wanted to attend college for at least one semester. During those few months, I could plan a wedding.

“Oh no, you can’t do that—no time. I told the church I was bringing a wife in three weeks. We have to marry now.”

Whaaat? Was he kidding again? Seriously?

After I gulped back my shock, I responded. “I can’t marry you right now. My mom is in the hospital.”

His reply? “We can have the ceremony there.”

My fiancé drove to the hospital to visit with mom. She was extremely ill, and we weren’t supposed to upset her. She surprised me by accepting the news well, but she asked the young preacher how much money he would be making.

“Fifteen dollars a week.” Came the reply.

Mom almost fell from the bed. “Fifty dollars a week? You can’t live on that.”

Uh oh. She’d misunderstood the amount. My sweetheart merely nodded and said, “The Lord will provide for us.”

Six months after we met, we had a small ceremony in the chapel at the Methodist Hospital in Dallas, Texas. We said vows on a Thursday night and packed our few belongings on Friday. We drove to Oklahoma on Saturday, and Paul preached his first sermon on Sunday morning.

Our meeting and wedding sounds fictional, doesn’t it? But it is a true story.  I tell it often when I speak to groups. Maybe I’ll include it in a book in the near future. 

My sweetheart isn’t the most romantic guy in the world, but he is kind, caring, thoughtful, and funny. The first time I saw the Dallas skyline lighted up against the black sky as we drove in from rural Oklahoma, I cried.

My new husband said, “If I’d known lights would make you this happy, I would have fastened a string of them in the back yard.”

Three daughters, and four grandchildren later, we find we think alike—even finish each other’s thoughts.

The Lord, Paul Lewis, family and friends are the loves of my life. I’m thankful that God graciously prevented me from making a mistake with a nice guy—but he was the wrong one for me. God was kind to me, and I didn’t get my feet wet. God gave me the husband He’d intended for me all along.  I just had no idea a whirlwind came with him.

And here’s the thing, this man of mine still moves faster than I do. Somewhere over the years, I’ve adapted to his swifter pace. On the other hand, he’s slowed down a bit so I can keep up.

Check out Gay’s contribution to Prism Book Group’s new Love Is series…

Clue into Kindness

“Love is kind…” 1 Corinthians: 13:4

Georgia loves her husband, Alan. She shows him kindness with actions and words, but Alan responds in a heartless, selfish way. In order to be respected by people, he believes he must have a perfect wife—so he criticizes Georgia at every opportunity—even tells her she’s fat! Alan’s best friend, Ken, and his wife, Jana, reassure Georgia that she is still the gorgeous beauty queen she was during her college days. Who will Georgia believe—her friends or the mysterious stranger who comes into her life?

Circumstances bring a change to Alan’s attitudes. But is it too late to save this marriage?

Find it at AMAZON now!

Creative Fever

I signed a contract on a proposal for The Cowboy's Miracle, which is to be part of Prism Book Group's Christmas Cowboys Series. I spent three days thinking and writing and daydreaming about the proposal. The idea consumed me while I was driving, loading the dishwasher, doing laundry, and especially when I sat down for a few minutes to crochet. The best term I can think of to describe this phenomenon is by calling it a creative fever. 

I'm not the first person use that term either. And it's not a terrible disease, it's actually fun. True, it's a big distraction, but it's certainly better than concentrating on mundane tasks. At any rate, I sent off the proposal and received a contract. I love publishing in this technological age. Everything is FAST. Of course, now I have to write the book, but I'm looking forward to it.

I just handed in the manuscript for Hoping for Joy, which is part of Prism Book Group's Love Is Series. Hoping for Joy will be released in December of this year. The Cowboy's Miracle will also be released in December. There will be plenty of editing to do in the meantime.

Meanwhile, Outside Blessings is already on prerelease at Smashwords. So if you have a few minutes surf on over to https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/610444 and download a sample.

Old Maid, Do-Si-Do, and the Bottomless Cup of Love

 My Special Guest Today is ANITA KLUMPERS!

Read her own true love story below. 

By the time I was twenty-five my mother had given up on the hope that I would marry. She bought me pots and pans and Pfaltzgraf and flatware because, she reasoned, even single women need to live. And, Lord willing, I wouldn’t live with her and Daddy forever.

Dad wasn’t too concerned. After all, he hadn’t married Mom till he was in his early 40’s. And if God didn’t want me to wed, then I could follow in Cousin Angie’s footsteps and be a missionary in Africa.

The idea of a single life filled me with dread. Please, please, PLEASE God, don’t be equipping me to remain unmarried. I developed crushes. Friends tried setting me up with their relatives. I went out dancing with friends. To bars. After all, I was a nice Christian lady at a bar. Why couldn’t there be nice Christian guys there too? Maybe there were. I never met one.

A few months shy of my 27th birthday I decided I was tired of looking for potential mates. Although not at the point of picking up books on how to enjoy the gift of singleness, I figured it might be time to focus on my relationship with God. So, along with several wonderful single girlfriends I went to a spiritual winter retreat for young adults from a dozen churches across our state. Did I mention I’d determined not to check out every eligible young man also in attendance?

I meant it. So when I took note of a devastatingly handsome man with dark eyes and a dimpled chin sitting across the room, it wasn’t his good looks that got my attention. Arms crossed, looking bored, he was the only one sitting out the square dance mixer. In gracious and generous Christian-girl fashion I thought ‘Jerk,’ and went back to dancing my little size 9’s off and trying to remember my allemande left from my do-si-do right.

Later that night, after devotions, a group of us played cards. A game I didn’t know, called euchre. I’m a dab hand at Old Maid but this one had me flummoxed, and a group of generous friends tag-teamed trying to teach me to play. It was hilarious. Really hilarious.

Later that night a group of us went into town for coffee. The dark-eyed square-dance-boycotter came too. He sat across from me and told me he got a kick out of watching me laugh over euchre. He flirted just enough to make me feel interesting but not so much as to make himself look insincere or lecherous.

We went our separate ways after that weekend and didn’t meet up till early summer. It took him till late summer to ask me out and in the meantime one of my major crushes from the previous few years, a Christian marathon runner and photographer I’d met at work, finally returned my interest and began asking me out. After I lectured God about his timing I realized maybe He knew what He was doing. I had to make a decision between two attractive men (my daydream back in the days before I realized it would be painful) and I chose the right one.

Wouldn’t my story make a fine romance movie? Sort of an ‘At Long Last Love’ type of life? But now, three sons, four grandsons and countless prayers and tears and rejoicings later, I realize that my entire life has been filled with love.

From birth, before my birth, my parents loved me, and continued until their last breath on earth. Aunts and uncles and cousins by the dozens meant extended love and the kind of safety net children long for but don’t always enjoy. Then there is my family in Christ. Brothers and sisters more than the sands on the shore, and wherever there are God’s children there is my family, and we love each other. We don’t always play well together, but the love is there.

My friends—oh, my friends! When I bemoan my limited practical skills and meager dose of common sense I remember my glorious friendships with some of the most godly, delightful, gracious, fault-overlooking women as can be found. I would rather have my friends than an artist’s eye, a singer’s silver tongue, or an athlete’s supple limbs.

On all this abundance of love God set a gem of a husband. He is as attractive, open, and affirming as when I first met him, and he still refuses to dance. Those three sons love me in spite of a plethora of faults and mistakes and my little grandsons still give me smooches in public.

Do I know I have been gifted far and above anything I could think or ask, much less deserve? You bet. But what if God had not seen fit to give me a husband, children, grandbabies? What if my parents had been cold, negligent, absent, and I didn’t have some sort of strange ability to find wonderful friends? Would I be any less blessed? No. Not a bit.

God loves me. God has loved me before I knew what love was. If I had never known human love, God’s love would be beyond the heights and depths and breadths of what I think I need. Jesus prayed for me the night before His death and prays for me today and the Spirit intercedes for me with sighs too deep for words and the Father’s love is vast beyond all measure. What wondrous love is this?!

Family, friends, husband and children have all hemmed me in love, and the love that comes from God is greater than these.

Check out Anita’s contribution to Prism Book Group’s new Love Is series…

Hounded

“Love is patient…” 1 Corinthians: 13:4

Elise Amberson’s husbands always die before she can get the marriage momentum going. At least this last one left her with lots of money. Now she can hang out with her dogs, avoid men, and try to keep off God’s radar.

But her dogs are behaving oddly, a pesky pastor can’t keep his hands off her soul, and God is backing her into a corner.

It’s all more than a rich, beautiful young woman should have to bear. But when someone begins targeting Elise, she’ll have to figure out why before she becomes the late Widow Amberson.

Read an excerpt at www.prismbookgroup.com/Hounded.html

 Available on Amazon at http://amzn.to/1nIiqWm.

Great Speckled Pancakes

I always make pancakes from scratch--no mix for me. I have a favorite recipe for oatmeal flour pancakes and another one for buttermilk pancakes. However, my top pick for the heartiest, tastiest pancake of all is the one for the recipe I found in The New York Times Natural Foods Cookbook by Jean Hewitt. (1971)

The original recipe calls for dry milk, which I never have on hand. It also lists brown sugar as optional, but I love brown sugar, so for me it's not optional.

Give these a try next time you make pancakes. I'm sure you will enjoy them, too.

GREAT SPECKLED PANCAKES

1 cup unbleached white flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
1/2 yellow cornmeal
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1 tablespoon brown sugar
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1/4 cup oil
2 cups milk

1. Sift the dry ingredients together.

2. Beat in the eggs, milk, and oil.

3. Ladle the mixture onto a hot, oiled griddle. Cook until bubbles form on the top side, which indicates that the bottom is browned. Then flip the pancake and cook the other side.

Yield: About one dozen pancakes.

How to Write a Book

Everyone has an idea for a great book. However, there are a number of people who think that's all they need--just that one fantastic idea. What they do not seem to realize is that someone has to put all the words together before that book can be sent off to a publisher or self-published.

A considerable amount of time is required to put all the words together for a book. It takes sitting at a computer for hours and hours and hours typing in the sentences. It isn't magic.

I have been approached by more than a few individuals who think I can put their book together for them. I don't do that. I use up what spare time I have available in putting my own books together. Writing takes a lot of patience. Then, though I may proclaim my book finished, my editor certainly will not, and I will have to go through all the edits and fix each and every one. Getting a book published can be a tedious process.

There are many helpful references available to anyone who wants to write a book. If you have an incredible idea for a book, you better get started on it right now. Type out a bunch of sentences and then a bunch of paragraphs until you have perhaps 60,000 words or more.

Make sure you have a decent plot along with memorable characters. Realize that there are millions of other books available on the market and while yours is action-packed and suspenseful, the odds of you becoming incredibly wealthy overnight are rather slim.

In fact, you should definitely keep your day job.

Still, it can be very rewarding to see your book in print. If you have the drive, go for it. If you want to get your book published, don't give up. Tap out the words on the keyboard of your computer.

When your book is finally finished, send it off to a publisher or an agent. If you intend to self-publish, make sure you hire an editor to read through it. Then write another book because that is the life of a writer. If one of your books does land you a contract or sells well, it helps to have another book waiting in the wings.

Don't worry that someone will steal your idea. Those of us who are writers have plenty of our own ideas. Besides, there are really only a limited number of plots in this world.

What makes every book unique is the voice of the author.

Okay? Now get to work. :^)

No Cookouts Anytime Soon

This is our patio on the morning after the blizzard of 2016. We won't be having a cookout anytime soon. It's going to take some time for all the snow to melt. Unless we get more on top of what we've already received, which could happen. After all, it is January.

We were fortunate that we did not lose power during the storm, and we are on high ground so we don't have to worry about flooding. We were worried about our roof because a recent storm caused a few shingles to lift and we had water dripping into our living room. However, the roofer's fix seems to have held and we were delighted about that.

I spent the blizzard finishing a baby blanket I started, prompted by my crocheting friend. I also converted an old VHS tape to a DVD. I spent too much time on the internet looking at everyone else's snow pictures as well as the flooding along the coastal areas of NJ.

I shoveled snow. It was wicked outside, but we figured we better make at least one pass to get rid of what had already fallen before the rest of it came down during the night. Fortunately, we have a wonderful neighbor with a huge snowblower who helped us clear away a great deal of the white stuff. Otherwise, we'd still be out there.

I made my favorite pancakes for supper. Daughter #1 decided we deserved wine to go with them after all the shoveling. I didn't get much writing done. Listening to the wind made me too tense!

Were you in the path of the blizzard? How did you spend those hours while the storm raged outside?

Through the Reeds

One warm day last week, hubby and I went to one of the local parks for a walk. I spotted an old rotted stairway leading down to a rock dam. On one side of the dam, a thick stand of phragmites grew with a path beaten down by many feet. My curiosity got the better of me and I had to see where the path led. Would it end at the other side of the rock dam?

The phragmites were tall, making me feel short. A red-winged blackbird flew overhead, scolding me. I enjoyed the somewhat magical sensation of being hidden inside the reeds.

There are many analogies for walking along on an unknown path. For many writers, it is easy to equate  such a path to the process of writing a novel. You can't see very far ahead and you may not be sure where the next turn will lead, but it's that sense of adventure that makes writing so much fun.

Abruptly, I came to the end of my little sojourn. A broken down spillway blocked my progress. If I was more daring, I would have tried stepping over the mossy stones. But I'm not as spry as I used to be so I turned around and returned to the old stairway through my magical path. It was a short exploit, but delightful nevertheless.

Forty Years in August This Year

In August this year, hubby and I will be celebrating our Fortieth Anniversary. I thought I'd start celebrating early. :-)
Here's to forty years of fun!

View on Flipagram

How I Learned to Crochet

These are homemade scrunchies. Daughter #3 and I made them one year when we both had long hair. We had fun crocheting an assortment of scrunchies in varied colors to go with every outfit or for specific holidays. I came upon them in the process of cleaning out Daughter #3's room. She now has a house of her own, but her hair is short so she doesn't need them any more and neither do I.

I've crocheted many other things: hats, scarves, ornaments, afghans, even little sweaters for my daughters when they were babies. I tried knitting but I didn't enjoy it. Crocheting is comfortable, easy, and it brings back good memories.

My mother taught me to crochet when I was seven years old. Mom was pregnant with my youngest sister and nearly had a miscarriage. She had been ordered to rest in bed most of the time. She was normally very active and rarely sat still. So it must have been difficult for her to stay in one place with her feet up all the time.

To stay busy without moving much, she signed up for a mail order course in interior decorating. She also took up crochet. I sat beside her and learned to move the hook through the yarn. Soon I was making doll clothes and doilies. What fun!

My mother relied upon me a lot that year. I ironed my father's shirts for work, hung out laundry, and watched my other sister. Both my brother and I learned to cook. We became quite adept and self-sufficient, which was good.

Fortunately, all went well. My youngest sister was born healthy and Mom was soon back to being active.

Every now and then, I pick up a crochet hook, think of Mom, and make something. If you want to make crocheted scrunchies, there are many places online with instructions like this one http://joyfulhomemaking.com/2013/02/easy-crochet-scrunchie.html

Go on and give it a try. You might wind up with tons of scrunchies in every color of the rainbow. :-)

Read Brooke Williams!

Brooke Williams is one of the illustrious Prism Book Group authors. I read her book Accept This Dandelion back in March of 2015.  A take-off on a reality show, it was a cute and funny book with a heartwarming end--and I enjoyed it very much even though I never watch reality shows! 

There's now a sequel Dandelions on the Road. In addition Brooke Williams has written Mamarazzi and a Christmas story, Backwards Christmas. Brooke's books are packed with words that will make you smile. ☺ 

Check out Brooke's website at http://www.authorbrookewilliams.com and download her books, which--like all of the Prism Book Group offerings--are very reasonably priced.