Author: Colleen Reece Author

As a child, I had five dolls, all with soft bodies and china faces.

Ruth, from Mom and Dad, had big blue eyes, and delicate, apple-blossom cheeks. Doris, whose dark eyes and rosy cheeks reminded me of Aunt Edith, who gave her to me. Bonnie and Betty, not as large, but lovely. Janette, the smallest, completed my collection. I cherished my dolls, but Janette was my constant companion.

A huge willow tree on our country property outside of Darrington, Washington had two sturdy branches that crossed and made a seat. I spent hours snuggled against the tree trunk, reading every book I could get my hands on. Janette slept cuddled in my arms.

The first heavy snow of the season put an end to my tree-sitting.  Janette went missing. Dad, Mom, my two brother and I searched everywhere: beneath the willow, throughout the house, and in the garden. The snow deepened, stopping our outside search.  I cried bitter tears. What kind of mother lost her youngest child?

Weeks grew into months. I mourned the loss of Janette. At last, warm spring winds melted the snow. One day my little brother raced into the house. He held up a bedraggled object and shouted, “Look, everyone. I found her in the garden!”

I stared in horror. Could this be Janette? The back of her head had come apart. Her china face was cracked from lying under the snow. Her eyes had sunk into her broken head. “Oh, Janette, I am so sorry!” I cried, holding her broken body close.

 

“Let me see,” Dad said. He washed the mud from her painted face and took off her filthy dress. He stuffed Janette’s head with clean cotton, so her eyes went back to their normal position. Mom made her a new dress and a frilly cap to cover the back of her head.

“She isn’t pretty like she was,” my little brother said. “Her face is all cracked.” 

“I don’t care!” I looked at Ruth. At Doris. At Bonnie and Betty, then  back at Janette. “I love her best of all. She needs me the most.”

* * *

Wisdom from the child I once was, who still lives within me, has served me well. There is a special place in my heart for those who need me the most. Jesus said that when we care for “the least of these,” we serve Him. I learned a [ valuable lesson from my broken doll. From a father and mother who painstakingly took the time to restore their grieving daughter’s doll. Most of all, from my Heavenly Father, Whose Son came to seek and save the lost and broken.

There are many hurting persons this Christmas season who desperately need encouragement. The best thing we can do may well be to simply listen and show that we care.  If we can help others as we travel life’s journey, then our living truly will not be in vain. My prayer is for each of us to share our love with those seeking hope and light in this troubled world.

December 12, 2021.            MERRY CHRISTMAS, everyone!

I hope this finds you well and looking forward to again celebrating the birth of God’s Son. Weather and health permitting, at least some of our family will be getting together this year, the first time since Christmas 2019.

Me at 86 with my grand-niece Sophia, senior in high school. (Ignore the baggy clothes—favorites from when there was more of me.) 😉

This winter friends and I no longer have to meet in “Colleen’s Clubhouse” (masked, bundled in parkas and sleeping bags, garage with doors open).

I passed my annual Wellness visit with flying colors and marked 43 years of living in Auburn home. Wonderful neighbors look after me as if I were family. God continues to bless my writing. https://www.amazon.com/Colleen-L.-Reece/e/B001H9PAYY

 My good friend, Author Susan K. Marlow, set up my    website, Colleen’s Creations, at https://colleenreece.com. Latest Reece’s Ramblings blog post: LADEN WITH LOVE: Memories of Christmas Past. Not all gifts come wrapped in colorful paper or in gift bags tied with bows.

I find comfort in Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s classic poem “The Rainy Day.” Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining.

* * *

The Grinch in “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” learned that the village of Who-ville would let nothing stop Christmas. It impressed him so much that his shriveled heart grew three sizes!

Many today choose to follow the Whos’ example. People smile and decorate houses, yards, city streets, and businesses. Neighbors care for neighbors. Dark as life may seem, this trouble shall pass, as have so many previous afflictions. God is still in control. If I could put blessings instead of gifts under your Christmas tree, they would be those listed below.

 Love, prayers, and happy “holy-days,” 

Memories of Christmas Past

Not all gifts come wrapped in colorful paper or in gift bags tied with bows.

Every year a dear friend/former writing student steals time from her busy schedule the day after Thanksgiving to help me decorate for Christmas.

A Rudolph, complete with red plush nose and made of tree branches by a neighbor sits in my front yard, along with Merry Christmas and snowman signs. A fragrant swag with a red bow adorns my lamp post, courtesy of another dear friend/former student.

A Nativity plush throw, gift from a neighbor, covers a chair. A collection of angels and stuffed snow people sit on the windowsill behind a small artificial tree with years of ornaments from family and friends. Nativity figures inhabit a rough-hewn stable, courtesy of former neighbors and a niece and her family.

Memories are even more precious than the decorations. Decades of family get-togethers, with many who over the years have gone on ahead.

Singing carols around our second-hand piano by the light of kerosene lamps (we had no electricity until I was out of high school).

 Waiting on snowy days, noses pressed to frosty windows and wondering whether out-of-town relatives would be able to come. Watching Mom stretch pennies and check lists again and again to make sure each of over 30 relatives would have a small gift.

Going with Dad to cut down a Christmas tree that would reach the 10-foot ceiling in our old home that had been a one-room schoolhouse where Mom taught all eight grades.

Decorating with paper chains, popcorn, and a few ornaments from years past. Ironing carefully saved wrapping paper (no ripping into packages back then. We had to make it do or do without.”

Children’s letters to Santa from the early 1900s newspapers reflected a simpler way of life and expectations. Letters usually ended with, “Please remember me.”

• hair ribbons
• a picture book for a sister
• an orange
• a coat
• a kettle for Mama

The Perfect Gift

November 1963. Mom, Dad, my younger brother, Randy, my seven-year-old nephew, Jerry, who lived with us, and I gathered around our old-fashioned dining room table for supper. Randy was to leave for Naval Officer Candidate School in Newport, Rhode Island the next day.

Randy laid down his fork and said what everyone was thinking. “Looks like it will be a while before we’re all here like this again.”

Dad burst into tears and left the table. It was the first time we had ever seen him cry.

After a moment of stunned silence, Jerry slipped from his chair and into the living room. His voice floated back through the open doorway. “Don’t cry, Grandpa. You’ve still got me.”

Almost sixty years later, the childish voice echoes in my heart and mind. “Don’t cry. You’ve still got me,” followed by the promise from Hebrews 13:5, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee” (KJV).

Surrounded by precious memories, I will once again celebrate the birth and resurrection of our Lord with joy and gladness.

A mantel plaque from my niece, Julie, inspired the following.

“A Christmas Fantasy”

Once upon a time, in a neighborhood not far from a small city, joy reigned. “Surely,” the residents told one another on Christmas Eve afternoon, “This year’s decorations have never been more appealing.” They spoke well. Each home honored the season according to personal taste.

Lights, simple and elaborate. Christmas carols, sung and recorded. Families and neighbors laughing, exchanging holiday wishes. Snow people and Santas. Manger scenes, candles in windows to welcome the Christ-child, sparkling stars, and much more.

Sadie Johnson, although it could have been Dolores Garcia, Sara Kim, or any of the other ladies who lived on “Christmas Carol Cul-de-sac,” paused in her last-minute duties to give thanks. For the first time in years, all the children and grand-children would be home. It meant both offices doubled as bedrooms, sleeping bags in the living room and dining room. Perhaps even parking someone in the RV.

“Dear Lord, please be with us as we celebrate–” Sadie began. The doorbell cut her prayer short.

A few hours later, she counted noses. “Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Everyone is here.” Sadie herded the family to the extended dinner table. The fragrance of traditional favorites had generated a gazillion, “When do we eat?” questions all afternoon. Grandfather Johnson asked a heartfelt blessing. The doorbell rang just as he closed with, “In Jesus’ name, amen.”

“I’ll get it.” A freckle-faced urchin raced to the door. “Hey, Gramma, a guy wants you. Says you invited him.”

Who on earth–? Sadie hurried to the door. Her heart skipped a beat. The words. Be with us as we celebrate pounded in her disbelieving brain. Had Jesus actually come to spend Christmas?

She gathered her wits and invited Him in. “Look Who is here,” she managed, thankful that in the confusion that followed her husband unobtrusively slid another chair to the dinner table. A quick-thinking daughter hastily added another place setting. Perhaps Jesus wouldn’t notice no one had expected Hiim. Even Sadie.

Once her nerves stopped twanging, things went well. Jesus delighted the children with stories of His childhood. He rocked the youngest baby to sleep and tucked her into her crib. His expression showed how much He loved children. However, when it came time for bed, Sadie panicked. The only place for their unexpected guest was the RV. Although He smiled and nodded, she felt like the innkeeper who had no room in the innz

After Jesus went out, a teenage cousin pointed to the glittering Christmas tree hovering over a mound of packages. “What are we gonna give Jesus?” He scowled. “You don’t have a birthday party for someone and not give them gifts.”

Sadie cringed. Stores were closed. Jesus would have no use for a check or gift card. She thought of the few crumpled bills in her church offering envelope, all that was left after her holiday shopping sprees. Her heart ached.

“Gramma, why are you sad?” A golden-haired granddaughter asked, face filled with concern.

Sadie fought tears. “We don’t have a present for Jesus,” she choked out.

A smile bloomed. Grew. She clapped her hands and crawled under the Christmas tree. “Oh, but we do! I asked Jesus what He wanted for Christmas. He said the only thing He wants is for us to love Him.” 

“And a little child shall lead them” (Isaiah 11:6).

***************************************************

“Ballad for a King.  ©2011 by Colleen L. Reece from Romance at Rainbow’s End

“Tell me, kind shepherds, when you came to the manger, what gifts did you bring to the new little stranger, Who quietly lay asleep on the hay?”

“We had no fine gifts on that glorious night when the fields were ablaze with a heavenly light., but our voices we raised in worship and praise.”

“Tell me, oh travelers, who came from afar, what did you bring, when you followed the Star and found Him that day, in the house where He lay?”

“Gold, frankincense, myrrh, from far distant lands. We bowed down in wonder and kissed His small hands.”

“Tell me, good people, what gifts do you bring, to the Savior Who loves us; the King of all kings? Will you open your hearts and invite Him to stay? Or, like the innkeeper, turn Him away?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you have special Thanksgiving memories?

One of the things for which I give thanks most often is being able to return to the past and again experience happenings from long ago. Here are some of my favorite Thanksgiving memories.

“Over the River and through the Woods. . .” literally. From early childhood, Dad, Mom, my two brothers and I piled in our old car and headed for Aunt Vera’s old farm house about 50 miles away (near Snohomish, Washington.) Aunts. Uncles. Cousins by the dozens. Enough food and fellowship in the small house to warm body and soul. Singing and laughter. I will never forget my younger brother Randy’s childish treble piping out:

“There is turkey in the icebox. There are pies upon the shelf. There are doughnuts in the pantry, but I cannot help myself. When I go into the kitchen, I hear somebody say, “You must wait until tomorrow, when it’s glad Thanksgiving Day.”

Special number.  My cousin, Elaine Towne, and I sang a duet one year at church. Proud to be asked, we chose “We Gather Together to Ask the Lord’s Blessing.” (Anonymous, 1903).

A Hair-Rising Incident. Sometimes our local school was so overcrowded, it was necessary to set up portable classrooms. Mom taught in one when Randy was in her 4th or 5th grade class. As Thanksgiving neared, the class studied early American history, including the horrible practice of scalping by Indians and whites. A mischievous high school boy passing by the open window decided to have some fun. He reached in and grabbed a boy by the hair.

Face so pale that every freckle stood out, Bobby rose straight out of his seat, yelling, “I’ve been scalped!” No one ever forgot the incident. 

Bringing Thanksgiving Alive. At the elementary principal’s request, Mom wrote a one-act Thanksgiving reenactment of the First Thanksgiving to be presented to the rest of the school. She made good use of her students’ personal traits. Two boys who were always hungry added comic relief throughout the play by wanting to know when they would eat, etc.  The class entered in so whole-heartedly, and did such a good job, they delighted the next PTA meeting with a repeat performance.

The Most Unforgettable Memory occurred long before I was born. In the early 1900s, Mom, her two sisters, and brother took Thanksgiving dinner to an old man who lived outside of town and through a forest. On the way home, a rustle, rustle, came from the bushes beside the path. “It could be a cougar,” Ed whispered. “Please, God, help us.”

“Let’s run,” Mom said. ”

“No!” Vera, the oldest, ordered. “That is the worst thing we can do. Shout. Sing. But do not run!” The others obeyed. When they got home, some cousins didn’t think it had been a cougar. They were wrong. A few days later, a townsman killed a starved-looking cougar where the children had heard the rustling.

The story has been passed down through the generations, a reminder of God’s care. One year when the power was out at Thanksgiving, we gathered by candlelight and lamplight and Mom told stories of the “olden days.” Even the children and teenagers pronounced it the best Thanksgiving ever.

May your Thanksgiving be filled with good memories. Perhaps you will add new ones. May you give thanks every day for life and blessings–recognized, and those not easily discerned. Even so. Amen.

When did you last take stock?

Ezekiel 34:26 (KJV) promises: “I will cause the shower to come down in his season; there shall be showers of blessing.”

With all the recent rain, it is far too easy to focus on the showers and not the blessings rain brings. Healing to the land. Green grass after we despaired of lawns ever recovering from the terrible drought last summer. I vowed then never to complain about the rainfall that makes western Washington beautiful. I haven’t–although sorely tempted to do so last week.

In the middle of a torrential downpour, I discovered water coming in under my garage door. I grabbed a large broom, and began sweeping it onto the driveway. An exercise in futility. It poured back in, faster than I could get rid of it.

Thankfully, my across-the-street-neighbors saw me attempting  to stem the flood. In spite of the continuing downpour, Mark spent the next hour cleaning the drain at the corner of the garage. Such caring neighbors are high on my list of blessings.

It is sad that sometimes we get so busy we don’t take time to count our blessings. With Thanksgiving just a few weeks away, this is the perfect time to slow down and give thanks for the good things, and especially for the wonderful people in our lives.

It is a time to ask ourselves, “How long has it been since I expressed gratitude for my family, friends, home, food, what I am able to accomplish–even though it may not be what I was once capable of doing–and for those who gladly help when tasks are beyond my strength?”

Andraé Crouch’s inspiring song, “My Tribute,” says the voices of a thousand angels could never express thanks for our blessings. 

* * *

This last week has been filled with blessings.

• I had energy to spend an hour one day and 2-1/2 hours another day raking and packing down three big cans of colorful maple leaves for collection. (Then I cleaned up, ate, and napped!).
• I have lived in a modest home on a corner lot in a cul-de-sac since 1978. Everyone knows me. Due to COVID, I didn’t do Halloween last year. On Sunday night this year, between 70 and 80 trick-or-treaters came. I wore a protective mask and welcomed the chance to connect with kids and the many parents who accompanied them. The evening turned out surprisingly pleasant and everyone enjoyed getting out after the rain.

• This last Tuesday, I had my Annual Wellness visit. My doctor, nurses, and I laughed and rejoiced. As expected, I passed with flying colors

“What keeps you so healthy at 86 years of age?” one of the nurses wanted to know.

The answer is, “Faith in and reliance on God. Asking Him every morning to allow me to bring joy to someone that day. Keeping a cheerful outlook by refusing to listen to troublesome news. Believing that ‘this too shall pass’ when there’s too much rain in the rainbow (or in my garage)! Laughing a lot. Listening to those  who need someone to care.be there for them.

The list goes on. Daily walks. Taking time to visit with neighbors. Staying in touch via email with others. Waving at those who pass by. Eating healthful food. Faithfully doing indoors and outdoors exercises. Not only raking maple leaves, but filling seemingly endless containers with pine cones, fir cones, and needles. Oh, yes. Staying off ladders and not being afraid to ask for help when needed for such jobs as hanging light bubs in the top of my garage.

* * *

Like everyone else, I encounter problems and down days. I avoid extended pity parties by remembering one of my favorite poems.

“Forgive Me When I Whine”
Author unknown.

Today upon a bus I saw a lovely maiden with golden hair; I envied her—so beautiful, and how, I wished I were so fair; When suddenly she rose to leave, I saw her hobble down the aisle;

She had one foot and wore a crutch, but as she passed, she wore a smile.

Oh God, forgive me when I whine, I have two feet, the world is mine

 And when I stopped to buy some sweets, the lad who served me had such charm;  he seemed to radiate good cheer, his manner was so kind and warm; I said, “it’s nice to deal with you, such courtesy I seldom find.”

He turned and said, “Oh, thank you sir.” And then I saw that he was blind.

Oh, God, forgive me when I whine, I have two eyes, the world is mine.

Then when walking down the street, I saw a child with eyes of blue; He stood and watched the others play, it seemed he knew not what to do; I stopped a moment, then I said, “Why don’t you join the others, dear?” He looked ahead without a word, I realized –he could not hear.

Oh God, forgive me when I whine, I have two ears, the world is mine

With feet to take me where I’d go, with eyes to see the sunsets’ glow, with ears to hear what I would know, I am blessed indeed. The world is mine.

Oh God, forgive me when I whine.

* * *

As you look forward to Thanksgiving, followed by the Christmas season, may you focus on the positive things in your life. As the old “Count Your Blessings” song says, “Count your many blessings, name them one by one, And it may surprise you what the Lord has done.”

Until next time,

Looking for a quick-and-easy way to brainstorm?  Use the “5 Ws” + How.

Good writers have a secret, I’d like to share with you.

Five friends will help you do your work, they’ll serve you well and never shirk:

Where and When and What and Why, but most important, Who.

Once you know Who is “the star,” your story is begun.

Once you tell What happens, the story’s much more fun.

And when you add, Where, When, and Why, your story’s almost done.

Now read this quick example, then give the friends a break.

You’ll find that they are good and true, you’ll learn what they can do for you.

Perhaps you’ll write a story, an editor will take!

From YA edition, Writing Smarter, not Harder workbook

 * * *

One of my favorite ways to encourage myself (and others) to keep going when things get tough is to quote,  “One foot after the other, the little dog reached Dover.”

I’ve never cared to go to Dover, but the little dog’s perseverance in getting where he wanted to go intrigued me. Just for fun, I decided to brainstorm.

Who is the little dog? Who is he going to see? Who did he leave behind? Who, if anyone, accompanies him? Who sent him? Who is waiting for him to come?

What road does he take? What does he see along the way? What keeps him going?

When did he start? When does he expect to reach his destination?

Where did he come from? Where is he going? To see the Queen? The White Cliffs of Dover? The English Channel? Relatives?

Why did he start his journey? Why is he determined to put one foot after the other, even though his paws may get sore from traveling? Why didn’t he hitch a ride on the back of a carriage and ride instead of walking?

How far is it from where he started his journey to where it will end?

Once these questions are answered, the story or article almost tells itself.

* * *

Mini-outline,  Sunday Suspicion (Juli Scott Mystery #7)

Who (star): Juli Scott, Junior in high school

What she wants: Some peace and quiet following her latest mystery.

When? Now.

Where? Bellingham, Washington

Why?  She loves helping solve mysteries but after Mysterious Monday, Trouble on Tuesday, Wednesday Witness, Thursday Trials, and Friday Flight, followed by a frightful Saturday Scare, Julie and her Lunch Bunch friends need time to enjoy school, family, and church activities. 

How can this happen when anonymous threats lead to the most baffling mystery yet?

Sunday Suspicion completes the Juli Scott Mystery series.

Juli Scott Mysteries>>

Have you ever heard the saying, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans?”

Do you ever wonder whether God has  a sense of humor? If so, take a good look at an armadillo, tortoise, rhinoceros, camel, or even the lowly bumblebee. It is said that aerodynamically, he cannot fly. Evidently, no one told him. He merrily buzzes his way through life with no apparent concern about what others think.

I am thankful our family has always laughed a lot, sometimes to hide tears. We also marveled and shook our heads when God used unusual ways to answer prayers. My stock reply when friends say, “Have a good day,” is, “Thanks. All my days are good. Some are just ‘gooder’ than others.” There are far more mountain highs in my life than valley lows.

Friday, October 1st was a rare exception. I missed two celebrations after being under the weather for a few days. I had a prescription delivery mix-up. My computer announced the monitor was going to sleep. Every time I tried to wake it up, it went back to sleep, which meant no email or posting to my blog, etc., etc., and so forth. One bright spot was a late-blooming rose, but I welcomed the end of my 86th birthday.

A couple of days later, I stumbled across a reading that JoAnn Grote, a dear writer friend, had sent in 2012; Perfect timing for me to reread.

ME. “God, can I ask you a question?”

GOD. Sure.

ME. “Why did You let so much bad stuff happen to me today?

“I woke up late.

“My car took forever to start,

“At lunch they made my sandwich wrong and I had to wait.

“On the way home, my phone went dead just as a call came in.

“When I got here, all I wanted was to soak my feet in my new foot massager but it wouldn’t work. Why did you do all that?”

God. “Let’s go back through your day. This morning the Death Angel was at your bedside. I had to send one of my other angels to battle for your life. I let you sleep through all that. 

“I didn’t let your car start because there was a drunk driver on your route that would have hit you if you’d been on time.  The worker who made your first sandwich was sick. I didn’t want you to catch something and miss work.

“Your phone went dead because the person calling was going to give false witness about what you said during that conversation. I didn’t let you talk to them and spared you a lot of trouble.”

“As for the foot massager, it had a short that could have knocked out all the power in your house; I didn’t think you wanted to be left in the dark.”

ME (humbled). “I’m sorry, God.”

GOD. “Just learn to trust Me in all situations. My plan for your day is always better than yours.”

ME. “Yes, God. Thank You.”

GOD. “You are welcome. This was just another day of being your God. I love looking after My children.”

* * *

Perspective restored, I laughed and looked forward to a better week. It was. Energy started back up. Weather permitted walking. Friends visited. Computer glitch and other annoyances were resolved. And I had a great story for Reece’s Ramblings.

It’s wise to remember that when a day goes down hill so far we feel we are at rock bottom, the place to look is up and consider that things could be a whole lot worse.

https://wwwamazon.com/Colleen-L.-Reece/e/B001H9PAYY%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share

What do the nine Cherished Romances in my new Cherished Brides Kindle Collection have in common?

• Characters must overcome major obstacles blocking the path to love and happiness.
• Stories are all sparked by “what if” questions that force characters to take action.
• Characters learn to seek God’s help when facing trouble or danger.

1. A Girl Called Cricket: What if an eastern society girl becomes the target of scandal sheets and an unscrupulous opportunist?  Charity and her grandfather escape unwelcome publicity on a 1920s Wyoming guest ranch.

2. Angel of the North: What if a proud young woman suffers tragic consequences when she sends the man who loves her away, then realizes how much she cares? In order to do penance, Evangeline becomes a nurse and carries medicine to the Canadian wilderness in the late 1890s.

3. The Hills of Hope: What if a girl is hounded by her father to marry a man she despises? Battles rage at home and overseas during World War 1. Hope is torn between honoring her father and her love for a young soldier.

4. Legacy of Silver. What if two southern belles are in grave danger during the Civil War? Silver and her friend steal away in the night and begin a perilous journey north to find safety.

5. Storm Clouds over Chantel.  What if the death of an 1880’s Boston maiden’s  father leaves her at the mercy of a scheming stepmother and greedy ex-fiancé? Chantel flees to Montana Territory seeking refuge from an estranged grand-father.

6. A Vow to Cherish: What if a mid-1800s doctor vows to never again practice medicine? Keeping the vow means denying hope to Cherish, the backwoods North Carolina girl who saved Dr. Luke’s life.

7. Lamps of Hope, with Julie-Reece-DeMarco. What if a dedicated Seattle nurse follows in her courageous ancestors’ footsteps? Kiersten fights abuse, addiction, and poverty as zealously as those before her fought in times of war and peace.

8. Cascade Masquerade: What if a minister’s daughter loses hope that love will ever come to her? Anne accepts her singleness and happily serves her small Washington state village with her bookstore, His Way—until a golden-haired stranger with the face of an angel steps into her shop.  Ten years in the writing.

9. Arizona Angel: What if the death of both parents leaves a young east coast girl penniless? Angela journeys to frontier Arizona in search of her twin brother. After rifle fir and an attack on the stagecoach she finds Abe near death. Alone and distraught, who can she trust?

Eighty-five and never married, I am sometimes asked, “How do you feel about your life?” I smile and say, “God gave me the life He knew would make me the happiest and most productive. He has walked with me every step of the way.”

Some people decide in early childhood what they will grow up to be. They follow their dream and rejoice when it becomes reality. Many think they know what they want, but change their minds along the way.  Others try several careers before discovering the path they were really meant to walk.

A favorite folk tale, the story of three trees, shows the difference between what we may want and what we are meant to be. Three forest friends shared their deepest desires.

The first tree longed to be become the greatest treasure chest in the world and hold wealth.

The second tree desired to sail the seas, carry kings, and be the strongest ship in the world.

The third tree wanted to grow into the tallest tree in the forest so that when people gazed into the heavens, they would think of God.

Woodcutters came. The first tree was turned into a feedbox. The second became a small fishing boat. The third, a pile of beams in a lumberyard.

All three trees suffered bitter disappointment until the lowly feedbox cradled Jesus when there was no room in the inn. Jesus calmed the seas and preached to the multitudes from the rude fishing boat formed from the second tree, a message that would ring down through the ages. . The third tree became a cross, where Jesus gave His life,  that all who believe on Him will one day live with Him forever.

Finding my best path took a long time. 

I wanted to write books from the time I could hold a pencil, but my town grew trees, not authors. I began my lifetime of work in 1952 at age sixteen as school secretary in my hometown. Except for six months at business college and three months as a bank messenger [I wore out three pair of shoes] I stayed with the Darrington Schools until the summer of 1970. 

A year with Vancouver, WA School District followed. 

Next, two years with the Veterans Administration Hospital in Vancouver and four-and-a-half years with the Bonneville Power Administration. I also spent many years camp counselling. I learned from each situation and made lasting friendships, but the best was yet to come. God needed me elsewhere. 

In August of 1977, I felt compelled to walk off my good government job and into fulltime free lance writing.  Writing for Inspiration and Entertainment has fulfilled my childhood dream beyond my wildest expectations. I rejoice seeing many I have been able to encourage making their mark in the writing field.

Good advice, but not always

Abraham Lincoln said, “Don’t change horses midstream.” Good political advice, but it can keep us from searching to find the niche where we will fit best.

A certain lady who had always wanted to write YA books came to my writing classes. Impressed with her potential, I encouraged her and recommended her to an editor. Between ages 72 and 75, the company published her first novel and a sequel.

Although sometimes attributed to George Eliot, it is not confirmed who first said, “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” Words to heed. If you have a long-held, unrealized dream, take it out, dust it off, and pursue it. You may be surprised at the results.

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If you like exciting stories of God’s loving care and protection, consider Walking with the Master: Celebrating His Presence.

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