The Last Place You Wanna Be

The last place you wanna be on your birthday is in a dental chair, looking up at the ceiling.

But God has a way of showing up to celebrate your birthday when you least expect it.

Even while in a dental chair, counting the holes in the tiled ceiling.

Which in a flash took me back to my church days as a five-year-old snugged against mom during the service. Fidgety, I'd finally comfort myself by laying my head in her lap and staring at the ceiling.

Yes, a similar tiled ceiling with holes I could count.

The memory provoked a warm nostalgic flood to wash over me.

Mama would stroke my brow with a gentle sweep of my bangs to the side.

Just when I'd counted as far as I could go (maybe to twenty or so as a five-year-old), I'd get fidgety again.

Mama would pull out her pretty cloth handkerchief and fashion it into a tiny cradle with baby inside. I can still picture it, though I never learned how to do it.

I wish I had, because it would be a wonderful thing to pass down to my grandchildren from their great grandmother.

Perhaps my sister will know how. I'll ask her when I see her next.

In the meantime, I'll bask in the glow and wonder of God showing up with a warm mother memory to help me feel close to her on my birthday.

Even in the dental chair. 

A Grandson's Change of Heart

            Grandson Gabe and I walked down the brightly lit hallway. A nurse smiled at us from behind her computer screen as she tapped on the keyboard. A dietitian carrying a food tray disappeared through a doorway. An elderly man with white hair haphazardly sticking out from his head worked his wheel chair with his slippered-feet. He grinned as we passed, revealing multiple missing teeth. A mix of disinfectant, urine, and the day’s lunch menu hung thick in the air.

            “I don’t think I could work in a place like this,” Gabe said, squeezing my hand.

            I nodded. “It does take a special person to invest time and energy in these dear ones who are so often forgotten, even mistreated at times.”

            Gabe grew quiet as we approached the door we were looking for. Room 103: Mable Bishop. “This is it!” I purposely brightened my voice to encourage Gabe. On occasion, he and our other grandchildren sang and quoted Scriptures when we visited various nursing homes, so he was acquainted with the protocol. However, since he and his family had recently returned to the States after serving in Thailand, he’d not been with me to the nursing home since he was six.

            I gingerly pushed on the heavy door and peered inside. Mable lay in her bed staring out the window. Her roommate, Edith, snoozed in her bed. Mable and I enjoyed a rich history as prayer partners. While she didn’t remember my name, only that we used to go to church together, she smiled whenever she saw me. Widowed at age 51, Mable taught me by word and example, and definitely through her prayers, that the Lord was her number one Husband, and as such, would provide and protect her. How I’d valued her simple, honest prayers during those days. Now in her advanced years, she no longer prayed with me verbally, but she testified to praying silently throughout the day as she gazed out her window.

            Her head turned as Gabe and I moved to the side of her bed. Her face lit up. “Hi, Mable!” I gently squeezed her shoulder as Gabe took his place at the end of the bed. Perhaps his advanced age of eight was making him more cautious. “How are you today?” I said. She smiled, nodded. “This is my grandson, Gabe.” Plates clattered in the hallway. “You remember my youngest daughter, Stephanie. This is her son.” She beamed as if remembering, but I knew she didn’t.

            I pressed on, uncertain how long Gabe would tolerate this visit. “Would you like to sing today, Mable?” I winked at Gabe. He was all about music. I leaned over, gazed into Mable’s eyes. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound . . . ”

            Riveted on my face, she mouthed the words with me, an occasional sound slipping from her lips in the form of a groan. She loved it! I exchanged a glance with Gabe. He had moved a bit closer to us and was beginning to sing, too.

            By now Edith was awake, and while she couldn’t utter a note, she seemed fixated on our music. After a verse or two of “Nothing But the Blood” and “The Old Rugged Cross,” it was time to leave.

            I gave Mable a hug. “Please, come back and see me,” she said as I lingered in the embrace. “Any time.” She grinned at Gabe.  

            Gabe and I waved to Mable and Edith as we left the room. As we walked back down the hallway, Gabe was quiet. At last, he said, “Ya know, Grandma, I think I could work in a place like this.”

Bekah and the Spanish Surprise Release!

New release for kids ages 8 and up!

Bekah and the Spanish Surprise

Book 2 in the Missionary Kid series


Bekah wants a little brother, but Mama and Daddy can't have any more babies. When adorable foster child, Emilio, shows up at children's church, Bekah launches a prayer and a plan to adopt the little boy. But Bekah isn't the only one who wants him. Just when she's given up hope, an unexpected visitor arrives at her door with a surprise!

Available in paperback on Amazon.

What's So Great About America?

Recently someone asked me, “What’s so great about America?” By impulse I responded with the typical Christian answer: “America is great because our founding fathers chose to acknowledge God’s sovereignty and apply biblical principles in its formation and survival.”

However, America has come a long way from her early roots of Christian influence. Even from her inception, the evil one has relentlessly pursued her destruction throughout her history. Whether by enemy attack or inner turmoil, America has struggled to remain the beacon of light God birthed her to be.

Yet despite an increasing move away from “one nation under God,” in modern times reflected by ruthless murder of the unborn, the stripping away of religious liberty, applause of same-sex marriage, prayer-less schools, the terror of random shootings, and confusion on moral issues among professing Christians, America still stands as the greatest nation on earth.

Americans still enjoy prosperity which the rest of the world largely does not. Americans, for the most part, go to bed in peace, not fearing attack by an evil regime, and go to sleep with a full stomach. We still experience freedoms specified by the Bill of Rights. As a privileged people, we can peacefully picket, lobby Congress, and vote for our candidate of choice. And as my third culture grandchildren remind me when they travel back to America, we can enjoy lush grass, public libraries, and drinking water right out of the faucet! 

Still, beyond these pleasures, America is fundamentally great, indeed blessed by God, because God chose to use her to shine His light from shore to shore. During times of great spiritual complacency and apostasy, God stepped in with his man or woman for the hour. In every instance, fervent prayer preceded a mighty work of God.

Consider the circuit riding preachers who prayed and traveled thousands of miles across America on horseback to preach the gospel during their lifetimes. Out of those efforts arose amazing revivals, turning countless souls to Christ. Consider, too, God’s hand on pivotal colleges, such as Yale. He used President Timothy Dwight, the grandson of Jonathan Edwards, to spur a revival that ignited a spiritual flame across campus, and indeed around the world. Pastor Lyman Beecher, and later his famous daughter, Harriet Beecher Stowe, impacted culture through their speaking and writing on various topics, including their anti-slavery position. Then, of course, there was George Whitefield, and a century later, Charles Finney, both well-known in Christian circles for bringing multitudes to faith in Christ. From this passion for Christ and His gospel, mission and Bible societies formed which sent numerous missionaries to Africa, India, China, Japan, and the Pacific Islands. Caring Christians took in orphans and treated the mentally ill with compassion and respect. Indeed, in every age, God has called and used a faithful remnant. 

For all her transgressions, and they are many, America still houses those who love the Lord and long to share Him here and around the world. 

So, to that person who asked me, “What’s so great about America?” I would now respond, “America is great because God has used her to shine the light of His gospel around the world!” It is the amazing privilege and responsibility of Bible-believing Christians to fulfill this God-given destiny for as long as He gives us life and liberty.    

~~

Recommended reading: From Sea to Shining Sea by Peter Marshall/David Manuel, Revell, 2009.

Also available in a children's version.

Check out From Sea to Shining Sea on Amazon.

Summer Kid's Read!

Kenzie Gunter, new missionary kid in India, wants a friend but finds one in short supply. When an Indian family with a nine-year-old girl moves into the house next door, Kenzie urges her mom to make an introduction. But friendship in a foreign land proves to be a challenge. That doesn't stop Kenzie, however. Her humorous and sometimes dangerous attempts to connect with her neighbor keep the adventures coming . . . and the surprises!

Also includes Fun Facts about India and thought-provoking questions to stimulate discussion between parent and child. 

Check out Kenzie and the Spooky House Adventure for a summer read at Amazon.

Inspired by Eileen's kids and grandkids who serve the Lord around the world in full-time mission work. 

Treat Mom to a Giggle!

Kids can take us right to the heart of God, one way or another. When they provoke frustration, we breathe a silent prayer for grace. When they incite giggles, we hear God’s laughter as well. When they stimulate an endearing moment, we sense God’s touch. When they utter a profound statement, we step back in wonder. What is this phenomenon a little one evokes? Bubbly ripples of laughter that transport us to another realm. Unabashed honesty that cuts to the chase. Joy splashing around our ankles, light spilling into shadow, awakening us to a childlike appreciation for the world around us. If we take the time, if we listen, if we stoop to their level, we can go where kids go—straight to the heart of God. Wit & Wisdom from the Wee Ones is a collection of cute quips and quotes inspired by Eileen’s grandchildren. Along with other contributors, Eileen cracks the door to the whimsical, yet often wise world of the child.

~~

Enjoy a few teasers . . . 

Paper trails

While in my van, grandson Ryan (8) was talking to his cousins about eating paper.

Vina: “I eat paper, good for digestion.” 

Ryan: “I don’t eat paper cause paper’s made out of trees, and dogs pee on trees.”

Vina: “Well, don’t they wash it?”

Ryan: “No, they just pee on it and walk on off.”

Janice Blevins

~~

Pool pleasure

Rebekah (5) while looking at a map of Africa: "Hey Mom, there are lots of swimming pools on this map!"

Rachel Waldock

~~

Behind bars?

I asked my granddaughter, Lindsay (6): “Have you ever been in a Turkish prison?”

She replied, “No, but I’ve been to Chuck E. Cheese.” 

Russ File

~~

 Prophetic utterance

Emma (7) woke up at 3:30 one morning talking about the thunderstorms. "God must really be mad at someone in this town."

Marsha Noland

For more quips and quotes, check out Wit and Wisdom from the Wee Ones on Amazon.

Time for a spring fling?

“Oh, for a little time to myself!” Hasn’t every hurried, harried woman uttered those words at some time in her life?

 A 4R rejuvenation retreat just might be the thing you need to refresh body, mind, and spirit. 

Bonus feature: Women from around the world share their secrets on reflecting, remembering, renewing, and releasing via the scriptures, exercise, diet, decorating, and beauty regimens.

~~

CHAPTER ONE teaser

Planning Your Retreat

If you don’t get it on your calendar, it won’t happen!

            Before you can launch out on your retreat, you first need to plan. You’ll need to answer several questions: Where will I go? How much money can I allot? How much time can I spend? Will I go alone or take others with me? What will I take? Do I have responsibilities I can delegate to others while I am gone?

            Ideally, you will plan well in advance so that you don’t have to rush through the details. Now that I’m older with some hard-earned experience under my belt, I’m of the firm mind that every woman needs at least one 4R Rejuvenation Retreat a year. This doesn’t mean she needs to fly to Maui or rent a yacht (although that might be nice). A weekend at home with the phone off the hook, shades drawn, and no family obligations might do the trick. Deciding factors will involve your personality, preferences, income, and time allowance. But be prepared for major objections to your plan.

“But Mama, you can’t go!”

            If you still have children at home, expect them to put up a fuss about your retreat. After all, Mom’s the hub of the home, isn’t she? How can she simply pull up stakes and relocate, even if it is for an overnight or two? How selfish can she get?    

Admit it—your kids may not be the only ones with this thought. If you’re like most women with the innate need to nurture, then you’ve likely had that same pesky, niggling intruder worm its way into your mind. How can I be so selfish? On the heels of that invader are a multitude of other thoughts. How will the family get along without me? What will my husband fix for dinner? Who will take Johnny to Little League practice? And on it goes.

There may be tears. Tantrums. And that’s just from your husband. Good grief, one or more may threaten to sue. Their reactions merely reinforce that it’s well past the time to get away. Your kids need your absence as much as you need to be absent. A little temporary separation can actually help them grow up and wean themselves from Mama’s apron strings.

Advance planning will help ease your family’s concerns and prayerfully, stave off an all-out war. Not only will you prepare your family, but you will feel more comfortable and confident leaving them.  

Where will I go?

            I get a great thrill out of the internet these days. Isn’t Google wonderful! I can travel anywhere I want from the comfort of my couch. With great deals, to boot. I like to ask myself the question (yeah, I’m big on questions): If money were no object, where would I go?

            I actually posed this question to myself when I turned 50. I decided I wanted to take a week-long trip up the Atlantic coast in the fall, stopping in the New England states to take in a Bed and Breakfast or two, searching out the little white frame churches you see on calendars amidst autumn colors, riding a horse, and enjoying a maple syrup festival, for starters. Sadly, I never followed through. But guess what? It’s never too late to fulfill a dream. I plan on taking this trip when I turn 60.

What about you? What would your dream retreat look like? Consider the activities you enjoy, but perhaps rarely get to do. Maybe a weekend at the beach, a hike through the Poconos, or a rustic cabin stay in Gatlinburg. Jot your ideas on paper, then start searching websites for possibilities. For most of us, money is an object, so you’ll need to decide ahead of time how much you will spend. Your options will shine brighter if you’ve set aside money each month with a view toward an annual retreat.

         

How much money can I allot?

            Since money is typically a touchy subject for most couples, if you’re married, you will want to discuss this with your husband. Decide on a percentage of your paycheck to reserve for your annual outing. Even a few dollars a month can add up over a year’s time. Let’s suppose you only reserve $5 a month over the course of a year for your cherished getaway. You could put that $60 toward a motel night in your own city. Perhaps a motel with a pool, spa, or rec room. Or you might treat yourself to a facial or new hairstyle.

            If you can save more, great. The object is not how much you spend or where you go, but simply reserving time and a place for you to be alone, assess your life, and refresh your body, mind, and spirit with the Lord as your guide.

How much time can I spend?

            The answer to this question will largely depend on the money you have to spend and the time you can afford to be away from your work, your family, and other commitments. Another factor to consider is how desperately you need this retreat. If you’ve starved yourself of relaxation, you’ll require more time to regroup and refresh. That’s why it’s so important to take an annual retreat so that you don’t become overwhelmed by life and responsibilities.

            For some, a day-long retreat to a park might be sufficient. For others, a week in Maui isn’t long enough (is a week in Hawaii ever long enough?).

            If finances hinder you from pursuing the dream retreat you’d like or need, simply go with what you can afford. With this in mind, you may need to take several inexpensive retreats throughout the year so that you can bring your body, mind, and spirit back into balance. Once you begin to practice the retreat ritual, you may discover you only require the annual escape in order to stay well-balanced.

            Let me pause here to say that the 4R Rejuvenation Retreat is separate from the family vacation or the couple getaway, which are both equally important to build and maintain relationships and foster good memories.

Will I go alone or take others with me?

            The answer to this question lies for the most part with your personality. If you’re an extrovert who feels energized and revived by others, then you will likely want to take at least one person with you. Otherwise, you might be bored or even depressed. Going it alone is not your style. If you are an introvert who craves hours of alone time, you’ll likely enjoy taking a retreat by yourself. You like the idea of calling your own shots, getting up when you want to, browsing sites and shops at your own pace, and spending hours with your nose buried in a book.

            I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’m primarily an introvert according to my Myers-Briggs assessment. But I didn’t need that tool to confirm what I already knew about myself, because nothing fuels my spirit more than large doses of quiet reflection. That doesn’t mean I don’t like people. It simply means that the primary way I revitalize is with heavy doses of alone time.

            If you do decide to include others, you will need to invite them well in advance. Be sure to let them know the purpose of the trip. It’s important that you don’t allow others to sidetrack you from this annual evaluation time, so only invite friends who share the same trip goal. We’ll discuss the four assessment areas in depth, beginning with chapter three.     

   

What will I take?

            Since the primary purpose for your retreat is to assess your life in various areas, you will want to take a notebook or some type of journal to record your thoughts. You will also want to bring your Bible and any other reading material to enhance your time. If you enjoy a craft or hobby that you don’t typically have time to work on, you may want to bring that as well. If you play a portable musical instrument, definitely bring that along.

Knitting, sketching, scrapbooking, and photography are examples of activities you may want to do that can help you process your life. A good retreat will include a variety of activities to address body, mind, and spirit.

            Other items you may want to include are a camera, water bottle, backpack, swim suit, beauty products for experimenting with a new look, folding chair, and sun glasses. While you’re packing your suitcase, keep a notepad handy for responsibilities you need to delegate while you’re away.

What responsibilities do I need to delegate while I’m gone?

            It’s unrealistic to think we can simply sweep out the door without thought to what will happen when we’re away. But I hardly suspect we have an issue with that type of thinking. Most of us women are worried that when we step out of the house, mayhem will break loose. Clothes strewn everywhere. Gum wrappers, and who knows what else, under the bed. Ice cream for supper. And missed appointments. Yeah, all that could happen, especially if we fail to plan.

            A calendar with clearly marked events can help. A chart for each member of the family taped to his/her closet door might also solve confusion. Appointing various ones to cover meals on different days of the week might be the answer. Whatever you decide, sit down with the family before you leave and discuss things to be done while you are gone.

            In the end, after you’ve given planning and briefing your best shot, let it go. Yes, let it go. Sail out of the house a free woman. The family won’t deteriorate in your absence. In fact, they might just rally together to make life work without you. If we peer deep inside our hearts, perhaps that’s what troubles us the most—that our family just might find a way to survive after all. If you find this thought troubling, take heart, we’re gonna work on that “release” thing later on. So hang on for the retreat ride! 

~~

For more of 4R Rejuvenation Retreat, check out the guide on Amazon.

Happy Retreating!

Help for Those Pesty Parasites

freeimages.com

The other day I studied Psalm 23 with a young woman. I wondered, This is such a familiar passage, what fresh insight might God possibly provide? 

Through the years, I've read this passage more times than I can count, even read/studied Phillip Keller's wonderful book, A Shepherd Looks at Psalm 23 (highly recommended, by the way). Even experienced the passage personally in difficult times. The temptation to fly through it this time around was real. Yet, I believe the Lord purposely slowed me down to take a deeper look. 

Throughout the study week, I took great joy in looking up cross references, journaling my thoughts, and investigating what scholars had to say. What rich gems I came away with, some old insights revisited, others reinforced with a fresh spin. Oh, how often I limit His unlimitless illumination by the Holy Spirit! 

One fresh spin I garnered centered around the phase, "He anoints my head with oil." One job the shepherd must tend to when caring for his sheep is anointing their heads with oil. This methodical process, which also involves the ears, wards off harmful insects that left to themselves would burrow deep into the sheep's ears and eventually kill the sheep. With that thought in mind, a bing went off for me.  In John 10, Jesus, the Good Shepherd, says that His sheep hear His voice and they follow Him. 

The Lord, as my Shepherd, takes great care to ward off enemies that are bent on my destruction. He does this primarily through the healing ointment of the Word of God applied to my mind and heart by the Holy Spirit. My faithful Shepherd will apply the salve as needed. My part is to allow Him to do so (not kick up a fuss, but remain still and rest while He works on me). He wants my ears healthy so that I can listen and follow Him. 

A powerful song, "Voice of Truth" by Casting Crowns, reminds me to turn away from the lies of my enemies (the world, the flesh, and the devil) and listen to the Lord's truth about who is He and who I am in Him. Click on the link below to enjoy the song.

Listen to "Voice of Truth," performed by Casting Crowns

FREE First Chapter of Masquerade!

A long-buried secret. An unexpected encounter. A quest for answers. 

Celeste Tatem, a special-education teacher, couldn't be more in love with her husband, Joe. But a haunting memory threatens their relationship. When Joe dies in a factory explosion, she sinks into depression. It will take the arrival of a new student, Lily, and her delightful honesty and joy at life's little things to awaken Celeste to hope. When Don, an old flame from college, reenters Celeste's world, the flickers of love stir once again, and startling questions arise. Questions that threaten to rip the veneer off of her carefully guarded secret. Then the most unexpected thing of all happens . . . . 

A story of love and forgiveness in the most unexpected places.

Schreiber, Indiana

September, 1983

CHAPTER ONE

Regret barged into the bedroom and refused to leave. Like one of the boxes Celeste had carried from their trailer to their new house, a dark secret weighed heavy on her heart, especially in the last year.

She surveyed the pile of cartons beside the bed and located the one marked “Framed Pictures.” Tearing away the tissue paper, she smoothed her hand over the cool glass surface lodged inside the pewter frame, corners adorned with inlaid sapphires. A bride and groom smiled back at her. Mr. and Mrs. Joe Tatem.

In spite of her dismal mood, she was determined to enjoy her anniversary.

The heady aroma of English Leather entered the bedroom as she studied the portrait. She spun around and faced her husband. A silly grin ruffled his lips. She smiled and melted into Joe’s arms. She reached up and pressed her index finger into the dimple in his chin.

“Okay,  you  can  come  out  now.”  His voice teased her. “But first, put this on.” He gently turned her around and tied a bandanna over her eyes.

“What are you up to, you big sneak?”

With one hand around her waist and the other on her arm, Joe carefully guided her. Clutching the frame against her chest, she felt the floor beneath her bare feet change from carpet to hardwood, then back to carpet again.

Joe’s warm breath came near. His lips met hers in a lingering kiss. Then he released the blindfold from her eyes. “Happy Anniversary, Tater Tot!” His nickname for her ever since their dating days at Purdue University.

Her mouth flew open at the display before her. Several pots of burgundy, yellow, and white mums wrapped in shiny gold foil marked off a circle on the shag carpet. The wedding ring quilt gifted by her grandmother on their wedding day rested on the floor inside the circle. The room glowed with candles of varying sizes, too many to count, some atop boxes, others on the floor. “Close to You” played softly on the stereo.

Joe eased the frame out of Celeste’s hands and set it among the flowers, then swept his rough hands over her forehead and cheeks, finally coming to rest on her shoulders. “Surprised?” His arms slipped around her waist, and he pulled her close.

“Uh . . . very. When in the world did you have time to buy all this and set it up?” With working extra hours at Schreiber Metal Works, he’d barely had time to breathe, let alone plan a celebration.

“Ah,  have  you  forgotten?  I’m a  man of many talents.” He waggled his dark eyebrows in a Groucho Marx expression.

She frowned, fighting back tears. 

His hands slid down her arms. “What’s wrong?” Lightly squeezing her palms, he stepped back, head tilted, and studied her.

Heat filled her face. Their fifth year wedding anniversary required something better than pizza, but with the move and the beginning of a new school year, she’d been swamped with work. “I didn’t have much time or energy to come up with something all that special.”

“What? No filet-mignon? How could you?” Mock horror swept over his face.

Determined not to be outdone, she playfully slapped him on the arm and started for the kitchen. “Wait right here”—hands splayed in front of her husband—“I’ll be right back.”

            “No problem. I’ll just slip into something more comfortable.” His eyes sparked, and excitement rippled through her body.

When she returned carrying a heart-shaped pizza, he sat in the circle, one hand anchored on his right knee, the other resting on his left thigh. At the sight of him, she almost dropped the tray. Wearing silky boxer shorts, could he look any yummier?

“Come here, you.” His mouth curled into a playful grin.

Kneeling, she set the silver-plated tray between them. He gripped the back of her head and smothered her lips with a kiss.  A delightful tingle traveled from her head to her toes.

Joe released her and sat back. “What’s this?” He stared at the pizza. “Creative. I Love You spelled out with my favorite topping, black olives.” Using the pizza wheel, he cut two slices, handed one to Celeste, and bit into the other. A cheese string trailed from his lips. When Celeste leaned over and swept the gooey mozzarella from his chin, he caught her hand and kissed it. Lips hungry for more, his mouth traveled down the side of her face. He blew a raspberry into her neck. The stubble tickled her skin. Giggling, she scrunched her head and shoulder.

She pushed on his chest. “Calm down, lover boy. Let’s enjoy dinner first.”

He took another bite, his gaze fastened on her. “What’s that perfume you’re wearing? Smells like the beach.”

“It’s not perfume; it’s lotion with cocoa butter.”

Reaching for her arm, he gently buried his nose in her skin and breathed deeply. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips. He plowed through another pizza slice, then smeared his hands on his shorts.

The record now over, he rose to reset the needle for a second round of the Carpenters. He retrieved two wine glasses and an ice bucket hidden behind the grouping of mums and lowered to the floor across from Celeste. He spun the goblets and set them between them.

Warmth filled her heart. She brushed the crushed ice away from the bottle. “Ooh, Barbaresco. I’m impressed.” She lifted the bottle from its cradle, gripping the  base  with  one  hand  and  the  neck  with  the  other. Seemingly out of nowhere, a haunting scene flashed before her eyes.

Her mother pulled the covers down, urged her into bed. Here, drink this. Her severe face grew large like a character in a horror movie. It’ll help the pain go away . . . pain go away . . . pain go away . . . away . . . away . . . Her voice echoed in Celeste’s mind.

Joe reached for the bottle, bumping her back to the present. “You’re sweating.” He peered at her face.

Celeste swiped her upper lip.

“Brings back memories, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, don’t you remember? Our honeymoon. The resort staff put a bottle of Barbaresco on our bed along with two chocolate kisses.”

She blinked and ran a hand through her shoulder length hair. “Of course.” She managed a wobbly smile, torment cramping her abdominal muscles. In her mind, she shoved the skeleton in her closet into an empty box and tossed it in the trash. 

After using a corkscrew to open the top, Joe poured a small amount into a glass. Swirling the red liquid under his nose, he inhaled deeply. “Hmm . . . cherries, hickory, slightly hot at first”— he flashed his eyes at her—“then spicy, not so different from you, my love.”

“Let me taste that.” She grabbed at the glass.

He stuck his hand out. “Not so fast. These things take time.”

“What  things?” Her  husband  sure  was dragging this out.

He poured a second glass and handed it to her. Leaning forward, he crossed arms with her and took a sip. “You know, just like at our wedding reception.”

“Yes, yes, I get it.” She conjured up another smile and took a quick sip, then unhooked her arm and set her glass down.

He puckered his brow. “You seem fidgety.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Nothing. Maybe a little anxious to—”

“You sly dog.” He shot her a silly sideways glance.

She reached for her glass. No timid sip this time. A swig filled her mouth and wormed its way down her esophagus, settling into her stomach. Pain go away . . . go away . . . go away. Jumping up, she ran from the room.

“Hey, where ya going?”

“I’ll be right back.” Rounding the corner of the living room into the kitchen, she nearly slipped on the shiny hardwood. Once in the bedroom, she maneuvered around several boxes and yanked open her vanity drawer. She sorted through socks and underwear until she unearthed their wedding album. The black nightie Joe had bought her on their first anniversary lay folded beside a velvet box filled with costume jewelry.

She shrugged out of her baby doll blouse and slacks. Anything to distract her mind. Pushing the pain of past memories aside, she envisioned the look on Joe’s face when she stepped into the living room wearing the lacy lingerie.  The sight of her would certainly make up for any momentary angst he might have detected earlier.

One final glance in the vanity mirror, a quick swipe of soft plum lipstick to accentuate her porcelain skin and jet-black hair, and she was set. Grabbing the album off the bed, she slinked back to the living room.

“Whoa.” Joe’s mouth flew open.

Sidling over to him, she dropped to her knees and placed the album in front of them. He drew her close and kissed her neck.

“Pictures first, remember, like at our wedding.”

“No fair.”

“Look who’s talking. You’ve been dragging out this entire evening way beyond frustration. Well, two can play this game.”

“Okay, okay.” He huffed and sat back, hands limp in his lap.

“Look at this.” Celeste pointed to a photo of the two of them standing under an archway in a late summer garden. Eyes shining, she held a bouquet of white lilies. Pink and white roses snaked around white latticework. “And the powder pink roses accented the hot pink gowns my attendants wore—”

“Yeah, yeah.” He drew his finger down her back as she leaned over the album.

“You’re not even looking,” she huffed.

He snapped to attention. “I’m looking already. I’m looking.”

“That’s more like it.” Smirking, she turned the page. Four faces leapt off the page, her mother’s one of them.  Dread  flooded  her  abdomen,  spiraling  her into a

dark hole.

Closing the album, she laid it aside.

“What?”

“You’re not interested anyway.”

“Those are just pictures, Celeste . . . uh, beautiful pictures, that’s for sure. But hey, I’ve got the real thing right here. Let’s make some new memories, how ‘bout that?” He pulled her into a warm embrace, then released her. Standing, he urged her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her, and began to sway to the music. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

She couldn’t speak through her tears. Wasn’t that the same question he’d asked over and over again that weekend? The weekend that changed her life forever?

###

Her hand on the banister, Sonya Miller paused on the bottom step in the foyer and sucked in a sharp breath. This was one of those days when she wondered if she’d survive to the end of the homeschool year, and it was only September. Six kids, ages ten and under, kept her mopping floors, grading papers, reading stories, and wiping noses.

She lowered to the step and scratched Snarls, the family’s retriever, behind the ears. He panted and pawed at her skirt. His shiny brown eyes tented by raised brows mirrored her worry.

“Are you as weary to the bone as I am?” She offered a weak smile, rubbed his nose. “It’s okay, boy, we’ll manage somehow.”

She gazed out the window. The last golden rays of the sun gracefully bowed to the entrance of the full moon, and still no Sam. How she wished her husband could give up the gas attendant job, so he could spend more time at home. But they needed the extra income to make ends meet. On top of that, the promised payroll increase at Harvester Foods never materialized. Hopes raised, then mashed like a pile of boiled potatoes. 

Snarls nudged her hand, and she smiled into his furry face. “I hate to complain,” she confided to her faithful friend. “It’s uncomely, I know, especially for a woman. Besides, Sam keeps food on the table and a roof over our heads.” She stroked Snarls’ back. “Without his financial support, the family would be sunk. In all fairness, he does pitch in around the house on occasion. A load of laundry here. A math lesson there.”

Feet pounded the floor overhead. Harsh words erupted between her two eldest sons, then a door slammed.

She stood, her ear cocked toward the upstairs racket. “Boys, I want you in bed by the time I get up there,” she yelled, and Snarls barked in response.

“Yeah, you tell’em, boy.” She sighed, pressed the small of her back, and trudged up the steps, Snarls skittering past her. Her foot landed on a ball, and she grabbed the railing for support. A sharp pain shot up her calf. Grimacing, she stooped and rubbed her ankle. How many times had she told those kids not to leave toys on the stairs? Definitely time to incorporate another safety lesson  into  health  class,  since  many household injuries, even deaths, stemmed from falls.

Better yet, apply a penalty for this “ball” infraction. First, she’d have to root out the careless little culprit. But not tonight. In the morning. Things always looked better in daylight.

She lifted her face to the high ceiling of the old farmhouse stairwell. “Lord, bring Sam home . . . please,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

Sam was a good husband, so why the growing feelings of resentment? She forced her mind to wrap up in the thought of his strong arms, her head pressed to his chest, ear absorbing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. A heartbeat they both shared.

More scuffling overhead, then a loud thump. Another argument to arbitrate without Sam. If bodies didn’t litter the floor by now, they would by the time she reached the boys’ room. She’d make sure of that.

She reeled in her temper and plodded up the remaining steps. Calm down, Sonya. Deep breath. Counting to ten now.    

   

At the top of the stairs, all was quiet except for Tommy’s nasally breathing which sounded from his crib. She frowned. Must be allergies again. She’d set up the vaporizer. Slipping a strand of hair behind her ear, she peeked in the bedroom shared by two children. Lily knelt on a mat and looked for something under her bed. When the floor creaked, she turned her head toward Sonya. Eyes wide, she blinked slowly. “Pooh?” she said in a loud whisper.

Sonya  opened  the  closet  and pulled out a stuffed Winnie-the-Pooh from under a pile of toys. She helped Lily slide under the covers, then sat on the bed and tucked the yellow bear with red shirt under the little girl’s arm. “How ‘bout you keep Pooh on your bed instead of tossing him in the closet?” Sonya pulled the covers up as Lily plunged under holding her favorite toy.

“I not mix him in the closet.” Seven-year-old Lily spoke with the mental acuity of a three-year-old.

“Mix him?”

Lily unplugged her thumb from her mouth. “Like salad.”

Sonya snorted a soft laugh. “Right.” She wove her fingers through the child’s curls. “You go to sleep now.”

Lily smiled around her thumb and clamped her eyes shut. She was a dear little girl, but perhaps they’d jumped too quickly when they signed on to be foster parents to a special needs child. Certainly they had their hands full caring for their biological children. Yet they’d always felt compassion for unwanted kids. Neither she nor Sam could ignore that heart tug.

Lily’s eyelids flew open. “We forgot to pray.”

“Yes, I guess we did.” Sonya had been too tired to follow through with the family’s nightly ritual, which typically took place right after supper.

“Let’s sing our prayer.” Lily maneuvered to her knees, her eyes shining.

Sonya glanced over her shoulder at the crib. Tommy, now awake, fingered his blanket and peered through the slats. “Okay.” She scratched her head, sifting through her memory files for a song.

“’When I am Afraid, I Will Trust in God.’ Let’s sing that.” Still on her knees, Lily bounced up and down on the mattress.

Sonya nodded. She couldn’t count how many times Lily had reminded her to turn to God in the midst of fear. And she was doing it again.

As Lily sang, Tommy clapped his chubby hands. When she finished, she reached under her pillow and drew out a sheet of white paper. Crooked letters formed with various crayon colors spelled Lily. She beamed and handed it to Sonya.

“Good job writing your name. I’ll post this on the refrigerator.”

Lily flew into Sonya’s arms. For a few seconds, the twosome rocked and hugged. Sonya breathed in the shampoo-sweetness of the child’s hair. At last, they released one another, and Lily slithered under the covers. “Night, Sonny.”

“Good night, Lily.” She smoothed the child’s damp ringlets from her forehead. Passing the crib, she touched Tommy’s plump cheek and covered him with his blanket. His chest rose and fell on a sigh.

A scrubbing sound propelled Sonya to the bathroom where six-year-old Mia and four-year-old Hannah stood on stools brushing their teeth. Thankfully, they’d obeyed when she shooed them away from the supper table and told them to get ready for bed. “About done, girls?”

Mouths foaming with toothpaste, the girls nodded, spit into the sink, and stumbled over  each other to  get to the towel. With a tap on their bottoms, Sonya sent them giggling out of the bathroom and into their bedroom.

In the hallway, a light from Matthew’s and Anthony’s room drew her attention. She uttered a silent prayer for grace. Both boys lounged on their twin beds, one reading and the other fiddling with a model airplane. Snarls lay in a ball at Matthew’s feet. Whatever argument had previously taken place was either resolved or kept under tight wraps in mom’s presence. Relieved, she tapped the doorjamb. “Lights out, boys.”

“Ah, can’t we stay up until daddy gets home?” Anthony flung his hands onto the chenille bedspread. Ever the dramatic one, her second son clung to Sam like a koala to a tree.

“Not tonight, honey. We’ve got another school day tomorrow, and I want you rested.” She moved into the bedroom. “Now, get under those covers and get to sleep.” She made a scooting motion with her hands.

The boys groaned, but obeyed. Sure, they scuffled at times, but didn’t all boys? They were good kids, really. Not much to complain about on that score. But sometimes she felt like a single parent, and single moms with six kids to teach and care for were sure to burn out sooner or later. Nerves on edge, tears so close to the surface. She shouldn’t be feeling this way so early in the school season, especially after the summer break. Even though they couldn’t afford to take a vacation, they’d made up for it with trips to the park and the lake, with enough snow cones sloshing around in their bellies to carry them through to next summer.

She backed out of the bedroom, flicking the light off as she exited. After checking to make sure Mia and Hannah were in bed, she started down the stairs. She collapsed into the living room rocker and stared out the window. How long she sat there she didn’t know. At last, the front door pushed open and in walked Sam, apology stamped all over his face.

Something in her bristled, and she fought against a rising tide of anger. Yes, she could fuss at him for not being there to read a Bible story to the children, sing, and pray, but what sense would that make? He couldn’t help it if he had to work late. If only she could contribute somehow to the household income. Maybe that would ease her husband’s workload and give him more time with the family.

But buying Sam more time with the kids might cost Sonya her sanity. And the way she felt lately, it might not take much to push her over the edge.  

~~

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