November 22, 2020




Photo by Steve Rondeau




Every holiday my mother would bring her rendition of pistachio dessert, the children dubbed green stuff. After my mother passed away, my husband kept up the tradition. Now our grandchildren look forward to the dish.

This was one way we kept my mother’s memory alive.

I’d never heard of anyone else calling this easy-to-make holiday addition “Green Stuff.”

Due to COVID, we will not have our traditional Christmas and Thanksgiving get-togethers. My daughter mourned the lack of green stuff. “Can you send us the recipe, since we’ll have to make this ourselves?”

Grandpa snapped back with, “Just check online.”

“What do I look under? Just type in Grandma’s Green Stuff.”

“Sure! Why not?”

Brave as always, my husband Googled Grandma’s Green Stuff. Sure as anything, he got a hit on “Green Stuff”

So for all of you wanting to have a little of Grandma in your homebound Thanksgiving, here is the link to the very easy remedy.










November 20, 2020



  by: MARY VEE 

Note: this ebook is on sale for the Christmas season @.99

buy link: 

photo by Mary Vee


The front door to the Windermere family lodge banged open with a burst of icy wind snapping at Sam’s face. Files neatly stacked on the coffee table ripped open. Papers took flight then scattered across the floor. She cowered back into the sofa, staring at a six-foot intruder covered with snow.

Winter goggles covered his eyes, chips of ice stuck to his beard, and a gun was slung over his shoulder. He shoved the door closed as if he owned the place.

Sam edged out of the leather sofa and backward into the open kitchen. Skillets hung from wall pegs above her head. She randomly grabbed one, her fingertips trembled against the cast iron metal handle. “Who are you?”

He removed the goggles and blinked. Dark brown eyes squinted into the room. Above them, ice-crusted brows furrowed. “Who am I?”

“You heard me. Why are you here?” This wasn’t Chicago, and this was not her office. Ed, her boss and boyfriend, wouldn’t know to hop on the next flight to rescue her. No one would hear a voice crying for help from a remote mountain lodge in Montana.

He turned away and set the goggles on a shelf, fully ignoring the question. Her parents’ flight wouldn’t arrive for several hours, and with the storm, they may not land until tomorrow. He clasped his gun in both hands and set it firmly on the rack. Snow bounced free from his jacket with the swipe of his glove.

For years she stayed away from this place. Her high-rise apartment, complete with fake fireplace and located in downtown Chicago, lacked the quiet, but she could at least scream and be heard there. “Are you lost?”

White clumps rolled off his jeans. He untied his boots and set them on the mat after righting hers. Bigfoot folded his arms. His weather-tanned face morphed from stoic to annoyed. “All right, miss. What are you doing in my cabin? Seems to me you’re the lost one.” 

“Me?” On the off chance she’d made a mistake with the address, she reviewed the driving instructions. GPS coverage had cut out a few times, showing nothing on the grid. Anyone could make a mistake in the vast nothingness, especially when several feet of snow covered the landmarks. But. According to the last blip on the screen, this was the right place. “Your cabin? This is my family’s lodge.”

He pulled a brown ski cap from his head, freeing thick strands, and hooked it on the peg nearest the door. “I see you’ve managed to help yourself to my stew and sofa, Goldilocks.”

“Hold on there, mister. My family owns this cabin. A maid service was hired to prepare a hot meal and set up a fire in the fireplace. You need to put that coat back on and leave before I call the police.” She wasn’t really sure her parents had hired the service, but the explanation worked for her.

“You will, huh.” He walked straight to the stove and stirred the stew. “This is not your family’s place. I understand. It’s cold outside. Go ahead and warm yourself by the fire, but then you need to leave.” He grabbed a cleaning cloth and walked toward her.

“What are you doing?” He ignored her question, again, and rubbed a soiled spot on the sofa then lifted each cushion and ran his hand into the corners as if searching for loose change to steal. This was too much. She dialed 911. When the call didn’t go through, she checked the bars. No service. Great

“I’m cleaning the mess you made on my sofa.”

“It’s not your sofa.”

“Look, Goldilocks. If your car can’t handle the blizzard, you can wait until the storm clears. That’s the best I am willing to give.” He stuffed his thumbs in his jeans and cowboy sauntered down the hall near the front door.

Wrong move, mountain man. She picked up the receiver of the old rotary phone and dialed nine as he swaggered back into the room holding a photograph. “See these two guys?” He tapped the picture.

“Yeah,” she said, laying the phone back in the cradle. “The one on the left is my great-grandpa, Jack.”

“You are a Windermere?” He rolled his eyes. “Well, if that just doesn’t wreck a day. No one told me there was a girl your age in their clan.” He tapped the other man in the photo. “This one on the right is my great-granddad, Fred.”

“A Tucker?”

“Got that right.”

She took the picture from him and looked at the men. “Daddy never told me there was a Tucker your age. You’re one of them who stole our antique train.”

“The Lionel?”

“I’ve read the story in grandpa’s journal.”

“And you believed it?”

“More than I’d believe the word of a Tucker.”

Now that she knew he hadn’t broken into the place, throwing him out into the blizzard, even if he appeared more than capable of handling the rough outdoors, didn’t seem right. It wasn’t his fault he was a Tucker. “Warm yourself then leave.”

“Lady, I’ve come to this cabin the second week in December for the last four years. Lodge rules allow me to stay as long as I maintain the cabin.”

It was the 1800’s, way before the train incident, when their families first built this beautiful mountain dwelling together. Long before the feud that severed their families’ friendship. He was right. Had she visited even once, she wouldn’t have lost her assigned time. She sighed. Technically, he had the right to stay. Dad would be so disappointed.

The wind whistled against the glass. Tucker slid the living room curtain aside. “Great. There’s no way to leave. A snow drift blocked the road.”


Rock climbing, white-water rafting, and hiking top Mary's list of ways to enjoy a day. She has lived on an island, near the Rocky Mountains, in the city, and in the ?deep country where stars shine like diamonds. Mary married an Air Force man. She has been a finalist in several writing contests and writes for her King. Mary's newsletter takes readers on virtual trips and tells about her recent stories. Sail on a pirate ship, zip-line through redwoods. Join the fun! Sign up at her website:

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High in the Rocky Mountains, the front door to the Windermere lodge banged open with a burst of icy wind snapping at Sam’s face. She cowered back toward the sofa, staring at a six-foot intruder covered with snow. Get ready for a blizzard mountain Romeo and Juliet tale, add a spice of City Slicker with McCoy and Hatfield for a heart-warming, Christmas story worth sitting next to Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.  This is a Christmas with the Enemy.


November 17, 2020








One day during the fall I sat watching the birds. As a fairly avid birder, birds in my backyard can easily capture my attention. On this day the flock of 50+ house sparrows caught my attention. As I watched the unusually large flock, I began to see other birds – chickadees, a white-breasted nuthatch, blue jays, dark-eyed juncos, cardinals, a house finch, and a downy woodpecker.

As I watched, I was reminded of a conversation I overheard several years ago. A resident in a neighboring community had a large and very impressive garden for which he had won a national award. I was visiting on one of the days when he opened the garden to the public. Another visitor asked why there weren’t any bird feeders in such a lovely garden. The owner noted he’d had some once, but all he ever saw were house sparrows who ate all the seed and left a mess in his garden.

In the years that have passed since I visited the garden, I’ve often thought about the owner's comment. Surely there were more birds than just sparrows. My own yard is much smaller, much less diverse in its plant species, yet in one day I had eight species. Over the course of my record keeping, I’ve had more than 60 different species in my yard at one time or another. It occurred to me that if I had not been paying attention to the common birds in my backyard, I would have missed those less common.

This is true of life in general. Rarely do we swoop into a situation, see something extraordinary and depart. Instead, we see a baby’s first steps, a magnificent sunrise, or an act of sacrificial love because we are present during the many ordinary moments. The extraordinary is so because we’ve seen and experienced the ordinary. We know the one because of knowing the other.

If life is about showing up, then my insight from the birds seems to be proof. When we show up, when we are present for the ordinary parts of life, we set ourselves up for the extraordinary experiences that are bound to occur.ABOUT Book Info:


The Christian Living Bible Study Series is designed to assist readers in their relationship with God, help them understand difficult passages, shed new light on familiar verses, and gain an appreciation for statements made within the confines of ancient cultural practices. Through these books, readers not only learn about the life and work of Jesus Christ, but also personally experience the love, grace, mercy, and redemption offered by the Father through the sacrifice of His Son. Learning more about the history and purpose of each verse will enable readers to grow in wisdom and knowledge.

Trina has a Masters of Arts in Christian Ministry from Ashland Theological Seminary and is a passionate Bible teacher and writer. For over 20 years, she has shared Biblical truths in compelling and memorable ways as a Bible study leader and a member of the Restorative Prayer Team at her church. Her trip through Turkey visiting historic sites including Istanbul, Ephesus, Cappadocia, Haran and Antioch, as well as two trips to Israel’s holy sites bring reality to Trina’s teaching and writing. Additionally, Trina is an avid birder, loves to cook, travel, work in her garden, and knit.



Lighthouse Publishing of the Carolinas









November 12, 2020







It’s 1879, and the Oregon Trail is still ferrying emigrants west to California, Oregon, and Washington. Hundreds of covered wagon trains with thousands of people every year, all searching for something better than they left behind.

Kate Benton has run just about as far as she can. After escaping the sordid life of a saloon prostitute the year before, she hid out in a wagon belonging to the younger brother of the Lame Johnny stagecoach robbing gang. All she wants is a fresh start.

Tom McBride, said younger brother, is running from his past, too. Forced to work for Lame Johnny to save his brother’s life, he’s on the run from the gang, the law – and God.

In the first book, Kate, their tale of adventure and love is filled with secrets, threats, and narrow escapes as they head for Oregon City.

Now, Kate and Tom have safely put their past behind them. Or have they? Kate realizes her dream of working for the Pinkerton Detective Agency, and her first assignment is to find a local missing woman. When she begins investigating, however, she is threatened and their house is set ablaze. But that won’t stop her.

Until her son is kidnapped.

Tom and Kate must work together to solve this case and find their child. In the process, they discover a God who loves them even more than they love each other and their little family.

The idea for this book came from a book I read about Kate Warne, the first Pink Lady detective.  As a young widow in the 1850s, Kate marched into the Pinkterton office and said she wanted a job. Alan Pinkerton thought she meant a clerical job, but no. Kate wanted to be a detective. And she turned out to be one of his best “men”, paving the way for many more female detectives in the coming years.

Kate Warne was a feisty woman with definite ideas of how she wanted her life to go, and so is Kate. While Kate Warne never remarried, I wanted my Kate to balance family and a professional career, a relatively new concept in the 1870s.

Watch for more books featuring Kate and Tom in the future, but for now, check out A Pink Lady Thanksgiving and my other books at


Sitting on the front porch of her rented house, Kate McBride propped aching feet on the footstool her darling husband crafted especially for her. At almost seven months into her pregnancy, she tired quickly, finding she needed to stop and rest more often throughout the day.

She sighed and rubbed at the small of her back. Her first baby. An exciting time, to be sure. But also one with its challenges. Thankfully, living in town meant she needn’t spend as much time tending a garden, pumping water, and hauling firewood compared to residing on a farm or ranch outside town.

Not that Tom would let her do those chores anyway.

No, siree. He hovered more than a mother hen over her chicks.

To watch him, a body would think she was the first woman in history to have a baby.

A baby.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, rocking in the chair he’d also made. She had no right to complain. He was the perfect husband. Loving, caring, tender, patient. Taught her everything she knew about cooking. Which wasn’t much. A year into married life, she managed not to burn their food more than once a week. A marked improvement over her days on the trail.

She smiled and opened her eyes. Their old wagon rested in front of their house on a side street in Oregon City, Oregon. Across the way, one of the Daley children chased down a chicken, almost catching it before the old biddy escaped by fluttering over the fence.

She rubbed her swollen belly, massaging a tiny heel or fist until the baby eased back into a more comfortable position—at least for her. Their son or daughter was an active one, kicking and jumping now for months. She sang to him. She hoped it was a boy for Tom’s sake although he said he had no intention of stopping with one so its gender mattered little to him. Her mama would be tickled pink to welcome this little one.

As usual, when thinking of the woman, her eyes watered. Mama would love to see this little one. Maybe a girl they could name Elsie Something—what was Tom’s mother’s name? She’d have to ask him.

Her feet and back weren’t ready to get back to laundry—maybe she should reconsider Tom’s offer of taking the dirty clothes to the Chinese laundry down on the main street. She’d choose to indulge them for a few more minutes. She picked up the copy of The Saturday Evening Post and skimmed through the pages.

Near the back, her eyes roved the small typeset. Personal ads, missing persons. . . wait, what was that? A correspondence course. Become a private detective. Set your own hours. Be your own boss. Hmm. Interesting concept.

Her mind cast back to the year before when she’d teasingly—but perhaps more in seriousness than she first thought—told Tom of her idea of becoming a Pink Lady. Pinkerton’s Detective Agency, renowned for hiring women agents, needed her nose for solving mysteries and averting crime.

She read through to the end of the advertisement. Two dollars for the correspondence course. She could manage that from her pin money, saved from selling eggs and frugal spending habits. Work at her own speed. She could complete it before the baby’s birth. Then, once back on her feet, Pinkerton’s would be sure to hire her immediately.

She tore out the notice and entered the house for a pen, envelope, and the money. As she completed the information required, her stomach fluttered at the thought of learning something new. Of taking a role in improving their situation. Of solving mysteries. Averting crime.

Yes, indeed. She’d be the Kate Warne of the West.

Wouldn’t Tom be surprised when she told him?




Donna lives in Denver with husband Patrick. As a hybrid author, she writes historical suspense under her own name, and contemporary suspense under her alter ego of Leeann Betts, and has been published more than 30 times in novellas, full-length novels, devotional books, and books on the writing craft. She is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, Writers on the Rock, Sisters In Crime, Pikes Peak Writers, and Christian Authors Network; facilitates a critique group; and teaches writing classes online and in person. Donna also ghostwrites, edits, and judges in writing contests. She loves history and research, and travels extensively for both. Donna is represented by Terrie Wolf of AKA Literary Management. Stay connected so you learn about new releases, preorders, and presales, as well as check out featured authors, book reviews, and a little corner of peace. Plus: Receive a free ebook simply for signing up for our free newsletter!

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November 10, 2020







A feeling of awe swept over me as I listened to the speaker. I sat in Shiloh, an archeological dig in Israel. For over three hundred years, this area served as the capital of Israel since the tabernacle sat on this site. I chuckled at my ignorance as the Jewish lady pronounced the city Sheeelow. How many years had I said the name the wrong way? She explained archeologists found shards of pottery everywhere, which helped confirm the spot’s identity. So fascinating! I learned each time a Jewish person brought an animal sacrifice, a portion belonged to the priest. After completing the ritual, the priest consumed his part, broke the dish, and scattered the remains over the ground. These pottery fragments appeared so often that a visitor might uncover one while strolling around.

How neat to make such a discovery! My vision focused on the dust around my feet. Yes, I could see a design. Two slivers of rock to my right had lines that ran from front to back. My heart raced as I reached down and picked up the two fragments. They didn’t seem to fit together, but I imagined they might come from very different parts of a dish. Excitement sizzled in my chest.

Later, I showed my treasure to a Jewish guide, and he proclaimed my prize a nutshell rather than an artifact. My heart sank, but I hesitated to toss my useless trophy until I remembered it would soon turn to dust.  Perhaps my excitement overwhelmed my judgment.  I thought how often I valued pretty items or longed for trinkets I didn’t need. Colossians 3:1 came to mind.

“Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.”

As I let the shell scraps slip from my hand, I determined to focus on eternal matters rather than gadgets that would decay or break.



A Chattanooga native, Cynthia L Simmons and her husband have five grown children and reside in Atlanta. A Bible teacher and former homeschool mother, she writes a column for Leading Hearts magazine. She has written homeschool curriculum, conducted writing workshops, served as president of Christian Authors Guild, and coached new writers. She is fond of history and hosts Heart of the Matter Radio to offer women the elegance of God’s wisdom.


Uneasiness permeated Chattanooga where Mary Beth Roper grew up. Every conversation she overheard is heated, yet her banker-father was hesitant to reveal the facts. Will Tennessee secede and force them into a war? She was an adult and demanded he tell her the truth, yet she feared the heated politics she’d seen. Then she learned a rogue customer threatened their bank. Somehow, she must find a way to work with Peter Chandler, her father’s partner, even though she can’t bear to be near him. As she unraveled an impossible puzzle, she learned to value her faith.

November 5, 2020









“That’s it!” Matthew snapped his fingers, then pointed at her. “That’s what’s different. You’ve cut off all your hair.”

“I didn’t cut it all off.” Laney touched the back of it and frowned, as if he’d insulted her. “It’s just short.”

The style was complimentary. He tugged on the strands she’d been trying to tuck away. “Very short.”

            Laughing, she knocked his hand away. “Stop.”

            Scanning down to her heeled feet again, he shook his head. “You look… so different.”

            A small crease formed between her brows. “Thanks?”

He averted his gaze to the people coming and going around them. “I meant it as a

compliment,” he said, swinging his attention back to her. “Have you forgotten your

nickname?” He leaned forward. “Button.” Matthew was smart enough to not mention

the knobby knees and skinny arms he remembered.

“That’s because of what your mom said.”

“I remember my mom shaking her head, saying you were cute as a button because

of something you’d say or do.” He also remembered the main reason he had highjacked

his mom’s observation, turning it into a nickname. “The nickname suited you.”

Laney cocked a brow, giving him a saucy smirk. “So, you thought I was cute?”

Finding her response mildly fascinating, he laughed. “Out of everything I said, that’s

the only thing you heard?”

“Got to take what I can get these days.” A teasing smile led to her examination of

him. “You haven’t changed much, except for those.” She pointed at the frames on his

face. “Are those reading glasses?”

“No.” Matthew pushed them up, her question pricking his ego. “I have a slight

astigmatism.” He pocketed his hands and slacked a hip, giving her a languid smile. “Most

women tell me I look intellectual.”

Laney pursed her lips. “You do have that scholarly thing going on.”

When she grinned, his gaze dipped to her mouth, and a jolt of attraction ran through

him. Taken aback by the direction of his thoughts, he straightened and adjusted his tie.



Having lost her mother in a tragic drunk driving accident, Laney Spence is no stranger to grief and loss. Despite this tragedy touching her life at such a young age, Laney has maintained her belief that God brings good out of even the most difficult circumstances. For her, that good came in the form of her older brother’s best friend, Matthew Jordan. Kind and compassionate, Matthew helped her grieve—and she’s been harboring a crush on him ever since.   


Years later, when tragedy shatters Matthew’s life, Laney is there for him the same way he’d been there for her all those years ago. But they’re not kids anymore. She’s a teacher with little life experience, and he’s a jaded divorce lawyer with a past he’d rather keep secret. Neither of them can ignore the attraction that blooms, though, leaving them both wondering—is attraction, history, and a shared faith in God enough to keep them together for good, or will circumstances beyond their control drive them apart?  

Together for Good; By Penelope Powell

Contemporary Christian Romance

Release Date: 11/10/20

Available on Amazon

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Penelope grew up in Tennessee, but has lived in various states and a few countries outside the United States. She holds a BS in Business/Political Science and a MS in Multinational Commerce from Boston University. After working in the field of banking and finance, she left to invest her time with her children. Now that they are grown, she is pursing the life of a writer. As an avid reader of fiction and a student of Biblical truth, she combines what she learns into stories of redemption.  A Powerful Voice and A Furrow So Deep and A Powerful Voice are full length romances published through Anaiah Press, LLC, as well as, her Christmas novella, My Christmas Hope. 

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November 1, 2020








We all have those moments when our brain has to search for a word and then it finally comes to us. As we age, short term memory becomes more challenging. I can remember the names of every boy I dated in high school, but I have to think twice to remember what I had for breakfast.  We laugh about these minor annoyances and call them “forgetful moments.” Since I am blonde and in my 60’s I often say, “Was that a senior moment or a blonde moment?” But when memory loss is from a disease like dementia or Alzheimer’s, it’s not funny anymore.

A recent report shows that 5.7 million Americans suffer from some form of dementia and most are over the age of 65. It’s a topic that is difficult to address, but almost everyone knows someone who is affected by this disease.

My newest picture book I Love You to the StarsWhen Grandma Forgets, Love Remembers (Kregel), is inspired by a true story. A young boy is happy when his grandma and her dog, Sunny, come to live with them. They enjoy putting puzzles together, reading books, and playing at the park. But when Grandma gets lost while going for a walk and starts putting things where they don’t belong, everything changes.

The boy’s mother explains that Grandma’s mind is sick and that’s why she is forgetting things. She explains to her son, “Grandma has always helped us, now it’s our turn to help her.” Eventually Grandma moves to a home where others can give her the care she needs. The boy’s mom brings him and Sunny to visit Grandma at her new home where they enjoy spending time with her.

The story was written to help parents and children understand that even though the relationship with Grandma or Grandpa is changing, the love between them will last. My prayer is that families who have a loved one with memory loss will find comfort and hope in the pages of this sweet story.


Crystal Bowman is a bestselling, award-winning author of more than 100 books for children and 4 nonfiction books for women. She also writes lyrics for children’s piano music and stories for Clubhouse Jr Magazine. She enjoys walking, eating ice cream, and hugging her grandkids.

October 29, 2020








Genre: YA Dystopian

Release date: 11/3/20

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While her classmates prepare for elite careers across America, Nyssa Ardelone trains for her secret job as the president’s dream interpreter. But when her mentor lies to the president about the prophecy in his latest dream, Nyssa must figure out why before the lie unravels. What she learns could destroy her own future.  

Fearful of a rumored rebellion, the president has launched a gas attack on Nyssa’s hometown, and her mentor lied about the dream to protect the survivors from more harm. When Nyssa learns her parents were injured in the attack, she flees with a stranger sent to steal the antidote—a stranger who claims to know her. 

Together, they race to deliver the cure as well as an interpretation of another prophetic dream only Nyssa can provide. But a devastating loss dulls her caution, and she learns too late that not everyone is trustworthy. To survive the president’s deadly pursuit, Nyssa must break every rule she’s ever followed, learning along the way that faith is the only thing that can save her. 


            After our pastor did a sermon series on the book of Nehemiah, I began to research his life as well as the life of Daniel and the Babylonian exile of the Jews. When I learned that only the elite Jews were exiled to Babylon and everyone else was left behind to fend for themselves, a story began to brew. What if the Jews who were left behind not only survived, but they thrived, waiting somewhere for their ultimate return to Jerusalem?  

            Fortune’s Fall was born from that question, only I set it in a futuristic America. It’s the tale of a people exiled to an unfamiliar place against their will, those they left behind, and a girl’s quest to reunite them.


Katherine Barger writes stories about characters of faith in a world where faith is challenged. When she’s not wrangling kids alongside her forever-forbearing husband, she’s writing, eating Mexican food, or snuggling with her family’s two rescue pets: a dog named Queen Elsa and a cat named Princess Jasmine. 

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October 27, 2020




Photo by Josh Applegate on Unsplash


After some deliberation, the church board concluded the church’s computer needed to be replaced. The system was simply too antiquated to perform the new tasks needed. All agreed the time had come to upgrade.

After being presented with several options, many members admitted to their dearth of knowledge. “We need help from a professional.” An expert with a good track recorded was consulted and a relatively painless transition resulted.  

Sometimes people barge ahead despite insufficient knowledge—and often with disastrous results. While risk-taking can be admirable, some individuals fail to recognize a cause and effect: a poor outcome resulting from poor execution.

I am reminded of the time we went bowling with my son and his family who had been visiting. Though not avid bowlers, my son and daughter-in-law try to provide their children exposure to the sport.

During previous visits to our local bowling alley, they have been assigned alleys equipped with bumpers, devices to prevent the ball from falling into the gutters. Akin to training wheels on a bicycle, the bumpers assist in helping the learning bowler until he develops the skills to keep the ball on the lane.   

When we arrived, the bumper lanes were in use. My son opted to begin on regular lanes until the others became available. Before the six-year old began, his father offered to show him the basic approach, but the child refused the help. “I can do it myself,” he insisted.

He threw his first ball directly into the gutter.  “Oh, man!” he said.

He came back with bowed head. Stomping his feet, he screamed, “That’s not fair!”

He lacked the maturity to equate his poorly executed approach to the poor outcome. Instead of owning culpability, he blamed the pins and even his parents for his failure.

At his turn, the oldest picked up his ball. “How do I hold this?” he asked.

“I need coaching!”

Grandpa tried to show him a few tricks. When his first throw ended in the gutter, he went to his father. “I need bumpers!” He recognized his inexperience and humbled himself to accept assistance.  

The first rule in gaining expertise is to recognize our limitations. The second is to seek help from someone in the know.

The familiar story in the Bible tells of two men who attempted to build a house. The foolish man built his upon the sand and when the rain came, the house fell. The wise men built upon a solid foundation, and when the rains came, his house remained.

As believers, we serve a God who is omniscient. He knows all because He is Lord over all. Not only does He possess encompassing knowledge, but He loves us. He will fill in our knowledge gaps to provide a satisfactory outcome. If we simply ask.

He who gets wisdom loves his own soul; he who cherishes understanding prospers (Proverbs 19:8 NIV). 


The author of I Prayed for Patience God Gave Me Children


Who Put the Vinegar in the Salt


  BY: LINDA WOOD RONDEAU Photo by Steve Rondeau   by LINDA WOOD RONDEAU   Every holiday my mother would bring her rendition of pist...