Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri
Katy is represented by
Greg Johnson at
WordServe Literary
Read more Katy at
LateBoomer.net
Recent Posts
- Try
- Becoming Brenda Starr
- Off Beat
- Scattered
- That’s It
- So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What?
- The Spoon
- Sciatica
- Sweetheart
- A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose
- However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time
- After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices.
- As with everything in life, balance is key.
- Slow down, you move too fast…
- Yeah, I know. I have issues.
Syndicate
E me at katy @ ngenius.com
The Lowest Form Of Competition (#865)
Hope you’re enjoying guest bloggers Mary DeMuth and Robin Lee Hatcher! Later this evening, check back for another post by the delightful Deb Raney.
In the meantime, I have to share this: Doug and I committed to reading through the New Testament in 90 days, thanks to the inspiration of many of you, including Robin.
We’re doing great so far! Of course, I’ve maintained an edge over the old guy, and even read ahead so that I wouldn’t fall behind from the effects of anesthesia or pain.
Last night in bed, Doug pulled out his Bible and said, “So, how far have you gotten in Matthew?”
“I just finished chapter 23,” I said, trying to recall whether any of the chapters I’d read dealt with the sins of pride, arrogance, boasting, or selfish ambition.
“That’s nice,” he said. “I’m on chapter 28.” And then he yawned, like I wouldn’t notice that something was amiss.
“28? How can that be? When did you pass me up?”
“While you were in surgery.”
Unbelievable what some people will stoop to!
Permalink
A Soapbox Moment (#864)
(Guest blogger Robin Lee Hatcher is filling in for Katy, who is taking this blog entry with more than a grain of…soap.)
Hello, Fallible readers. Let me begin this guest column with a quick GET WELL SOON, KATY! Next comes a warning: I’m not funny like Katy. Trust me on this.
Back on December 27, Katy asked for some career advice, including this line: “So, can you give me some free advice? If I were to start all over again writing a novel from scratch, would you counsel me to…” From there she listed some options, including should she just give up.
I left a comment then, but I think I’ll use this guest appearance to expound on the topic a little further. It happens to be something that can get me up on my soapbox rather quickly.
As in all of the arts (acting, painting, sculpting, etc.), there are many who say they’re interested in writing a novel. There are fewer who actually write one, fewer still who sell and see a novel published, and even fewer who can make a living at it. Those are the facts. But for those with a passion for telling stories through the written word, what else can they do but answer the call to write?
I’ve been around this business for a long, long time. (My 50th book, A Carol for Christmas, will release later this year.) I’m convinced that passion and perseverance are far more important to a writer than talent or education. It certainly is what has carried me through the years, in both my ABA (general market) career and my CBA (Christian market) career.
While I believe that unpublished writers should educate themselves on the market (what are people reading right now, what are the bestsellers, what kind of novels are different publishers releasing and what are they saying they’re looking for), there comes a time to shove all of that information into a dark corner in your brain and let your heart take over.
Tell the story that will not let go of your thoughts and emotions. Listen to your characters. Write with passion, not with the rule book.
Is it really important whether your novel is told in first or third person, past or present tense? Well, yes. But it isn’t your critique group or your mother-in-law or any other person or even the market you should be asking. It’s that writer’s voice inside yourself. What is she/he telling you to do? What voice, what tense, does the story demand?
Listen and then tell your story the way it needs to be told.
My first novel was riddled with bad writing, cliches, contrivances. So why did it sell? Well, there was the matter of it landing on the right editor’s desk on the right day; I think she must have been desperate to fill a vacant slot. But what overcame all of the mistakes in that first manuscript, I believe, was the passion I’d felt as I wrote it. That passion brought those characters as alive to readers as they’d been to me. I opened that proverbial vein and let the words pour out of me onto the paper. (I wrote my first novel long hand on legal paper, then typed it about four or five times.)
There is no guarantee that anyone will get published. There is no guarantee that I or any other currently published novelist will continue to publish. The business has changed a great deal in the twenty-five years since I wrote my first novel, and it will continue to change in the months and years to come. But if God has called you to write, then write. Write to the best of your ability. Keep learning and improving your craft. Maybe the novel you write today won’t sell, but maybe the editor who rejects it will have a life-changing experience because of something in it.
We see through a glass darkly. God doesn’t.
If you are discouraged because you’ve been writing a long time without selling, if your head has been filled with a lot of rules and regulations (you must do this, you can’t do that), I encourage you to go in search of that passion you felt when you first began. Write for the joy of telling the story and trust God for the end result.
You can’t go wrong when you do that.
In the grip of His grace,
Robin Lee Hatcher
www.robinleehatcher.com
Write Thinking blog: http://robinlee.typepad.com
Some of the books Robin’s written with passion:
The Forgiving Hour
Ribbon of Years
The Victory Club
Beyond the Shadows
Catching Katie
Permalink
just promise me you wont pray that i need surgery more often, ok? (#863)
it’s a quandry, huh?
you get kind of hooked on comong here and then that fallibel chick announces a short hiatus. not to worry, she sayd, there will be some oonderufl authors guest blogging for a whole weed!
and then what happens? i predict you end up with some great new blogs to visit on a regular basusm and not only that—some fabulous wroters whose bookd you’ll want to run out and buy and rad with all your hearts.
promise me you won’t forget me after you’lve been boled over my my lovely fiends, ok?
i owuld miss you way too much if that happened.
by the way the little operation went just fine. and the vicadon didn’t hurt too much ether. one dangling ganglion down, one to go.
check back later this afternoon, everyone! my friend Robin Lee Hatcher will be serving up her strong feelings about living out your passion. you will love it—and her!
Permalink
Aidan’s Outfit (#862)
(Guest Blogger Mary DeMuth is standing in for Katy today. Have fun reading her story!)
I love to write stories. Though I write both nonfiction and fiction, I feel my juices flowing when I’m telling or writing a story. So, today, in honor of Katy, who tells such fab stories, I’ll share one with you. This happened the Fall of 2004 when we had lived just one month in Southern France. Our son Aidan had been invited to Timmy’s to play:
A funny thing happened at Timmy’s house. Aidan forgot to bring his costume.
Timmy’s mother must’ve thought I was bonkers. She had specifically asked that Aidan bring his costume and Aidan, apparently, had forgotten.
“Does your son mind wearing other people’s costumes?†she asked.
I thought of our dress up box at home in Texas and how our kids’ friends loved to don the sparkly, robotic, princess, or king costumes. What a strange thing to ask if Aidan felt comfortable wearing other people’s costumes. Of course he did.
“Sure,†I said. “He doesn’t mind at all.â€
“Well, good,†she said, her British accent punctuating her speech. “We have a whole drawer of them here, so as long as he doesn’t mind, it should be fine. The weather looks to be clearing, anyway.â€
The weather? I suppose they’ll want to play in their costumes outside? I smiled like I knew what in the world she was talking about. I surmised this must be the way British kids play—they invite one another over, insisting they bring their own costumes and then they dress up and play make believe. How clever!
Then I remembered I had donated all our costumes before we moved. They’re getting too old for them, I thought. This was during my I-hate-packing phase where anything and everything looking remotely useless was carted off to the donation pile. (Like Katy, I’m into decluttering.)
But now, as I stood in Timmy’s house, I regretted my overzealous donation spree. How would my children fit in if they didn’t have costumes? How would I explain to my children that I threw away the very item that gave them an “in†in this culture?
What kind of mother am I?
Timmy’s mom and I exchanged niceties. She agreed to bring Aidan back at half past five. I wondered how Aidan would get along with Timmy, costume-less. I worried he would feel weird wearing some other boy’s costumes.
At least Timmy spoke English. Maybe Aidan could explain that we don’t yet have our belongings—that our costumes are there. Then, later, I could break it to Aidan that I ruined his life and donated them all.
I thank God that He gave me my daughter Sophie, who is much more culturally savvy than I am. On our way down the hill from Timmy’s house, as I was lost in thought and pondering why I was a wretched mother, I said, “Why in the world would she ask Aidan to bring his costume? That’s kind of strange, don’t you think?â€
Sophie smiled that grin she gets when she knows more than I do. “Mom, a costume is a swimsuit! Aidan forgot his swimsuit. He knew he was supposed to bring it, but he forgot.â€
A wave of relief crashed over me. I suddenly remembered Timmy’s clear blue pool. And smiled.
Mary E. DeMuth
www.relevantblog.blogspot.com
www.relevantprose.com
Author:
Ordinary Mom, Extraordinary God
Building the Christian Family You Never Had: A Practical Guide for Pioneer Parents (WaterBrook, releases January 24!)
Watching the Tree Limbs (A Novel, NavPress, March 2006)
Permalink
We Take A Break From Our Regularly Scheduled Blogging… (#861)
Some of you may remember that late in 2004, I went on a crazed baby-afghan-making mission.
During November and December of said year, I finished around 15 darling creations, each one intended as a gift for a new mother giving birth at Mercy and Truth birthing center in Kansas City. This ministry is run by some friends of ours, and does a great job of providing low/no cost health care services to underprivileged folks in our town.
I absolutely LOVE crocheting baby blankies, and the reactions of the mothers was a wonderful thing to hear about. Many of them said that this was the only new item they expected their baby to receive.
It meant a lot to me to be able to do it, because I prayed for each baby and family while I crocheted. I prayed that each tiny life would be valued and cherished and nourished and loved.
“We expect 50 babies to be born here in 2005,” director Cathy Gordon told me. “Will you be able to keep up?”
“Sure,” I said. “I can do this in my sleep!”
As circumstances would have it, my blanket-making days have rolled to a stop. Last December, I developed a dumb ganglion cyst on the middle finger of my right hand, and then another on the ring finger of my left hand.
Together, I call them my dangling ganglions. Spooky, huh?
The one on my right hand keeps getting infected, which could result in the infection going into the bone or joint, so they have to operate on it. Tomorrow.
Which brings me to my very extremely fun announcement for tonight: For the next week or so, because typing will be at a minimum, I have invited some wonderful author friends of mine to be guest bloggers at fallible!
If you see copious amounts of links in the body of or at the end of their posts, click on them, people! I’d love for you to have the joy of becoming acquainted with these book authors as I have, so I’ve asked specifically that they link to their sites and books. They all have great blogs and related websites, full of insight into what makes them tick.
Tomorrow, we’ll get off to a comedic start with the lovely and inimitable Mary DeMuth, storyteller extraordinaire who also writes books on parenting. Please join me in welcoming her!
Permalink
I’m Sorry, But This Is Scary! (#860)
Just when I thought it was safe to open the mail, I get this piece today:
“Dear Senior Citizen,
We are proud to announce a Senior Final Expense Program to help pay for your final expenses. This Senior Plan will pay 100% of all funeral expenses up to $25,000 for each Senior Citizen covered.
To receive a Free Memorial Guide and to see if you qualify, mail this postage paid card today. This is a free service, and you will not be charged for this information.”
This is shocking and offensive on so many levels!
First of all, I JUST had a birthday, which should be a cause for carefree celebration. Instead, before I even recuperate my breath from blowing out the candles, my advanced age is being monetized. That’s just wrong!
Secondly, they only offer to “help” pay for my final expenses, and then say they’ll pony up 100% for a freakin’ $25,000 funeral, which sounds like more than “help” to me. I’m no expert, but the last I checked a decent funeral could be thrown for half that amount, even if the booze flows freely. Yeah. I’m Irish. That’s the kind of funerals I’m used to.
Thirdly, they invite me to “see if I’m qualified.” What’s up with that? Shouldn’t the only qualification be a working heartbeat?
And finally, it’s not my final expenses I’m worried about! I trust my husband and children to fork over the big bucks to make sure I go out in style. Forget final expenses! It’s all those pesky interim expenses that I need help with!
If the Final Expense Program folks would channel some of their considerable assets into “helping” me with putting my “final” child through college, to the tune of 100% of college expenses up to $25,000, we’d have a deal. We could call it my Senior Graduate Expense Program.
Or, if they’d like to take on helping me with my health insurance expenses, which run me $1065 per month for the three of us, that would be peachy. 100% of all health insurance expenses up to $25,000 would reduce my interim expenses for the next two years. We’ll call that my trusty Health Insurance Expense Program.
But Final Expenses? I’m SO not interested, thank you very much.
Jesus is SURE to come back before it’s my time to kick the bucket and besides, I just looked at the envelope.
Whew! It’s addressed to Doug.
Permalink
Persuasion (#859)
My mom’s been back in her assisted living apartment (after three months in a nursing home) for two months already. She’s only fallen once in that time, and now her re-injured broken arm is back to being just plain old completely broken.
That’s progress, huh?
The difficulty with Mom arises when she starts to forget the pain and anguish and disability involved in one of her notorious falls. The longer she goes without falling, the more she starts to believe she’s “better,” she’s “over it,” she’s “okay.”
And when she thinks she’s OK, she stops using her walker.
The past two times I’ve arrived unannounced, Mom was sitting or standing in a spot in her apartment at least a room away from where she left her walker.
Yesterday, she was sitting on the side of her bed with her pants down around her knees. I knew that meant she’d just come out of the bathroom and couldn’t get her pants pulled up. Her walker was in the far reaches of the living room.
Did she think I couldn’t do the math?
“Your pants aren’t pulled up,” I said. She looked at me like I’m the World Champion In Stating The Obvious.
“I didn’t know you were coming.”
“How did you get to your bed?”
“I walked, silly.”
“Where were you coming from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is your walker?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why are you walking without your walker, Mom? You do NOT want to land on the floor again—”
“Would you listen to those old biddies out in the hallway? They do this every morning…”
“Mom, don’t change the subject. Every time you break a bone, I lose six months of my life—”
I know, I know. It sounds selfish. And I guess it is. But Mom needs to realize that her decisions affect others, not the least of whom is yours truly.
“Listen to them! They’re singing! Those are the drinkers.”
Mom succeeded in grabbing my interest. Her topics are WAY more fascinating than mine. I stopped my lecture long enough to listen to the cheer outside her door.
“It’s a little early for them to be drinking, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? They start right after breakfast and finish at bedtime. They’re like this all day—loud, and laughing, and carrying on. My friend Ann and I won’t have anything to do with them.”
“Well, they certainly sound like they’re a lively bunch, although I really doubt they’re heavy drinkers…”
“Katy, no one acts like that unless they’re drinking. You know that.”
“Mom, about your walker. You need to use it EVERY time you’re walking. Even in your own apartment. The doctor said—”
“They do sound happy, though, don’t they?”
“Yeah, Mom, they do.” I finally realized that our conversation about assistive devices was not contributing one bit to my mother’s happiness. “You know what? I think you should be friends with them. They’re having fun. Only when you go dancing and singing through the halls, take your walker, OK?”
“OK. I’ll start drinking. If that’s what it takes to be happy.”
You see? THIS is why I am a highly paid healthcare professional.
Permalink
Let’s Go To The Movies! (#858)
Public Service Announcement: If Kansas City is any indication, Pride and Prejudice won’t be in the theaters much longer! In fact, only a couple venues in town are still running it at all.
Doug and I are heading out this afternoon, while the heading’s good. I don’t mind being late to the party, but missing it altogether? I don’t think so.
I’ve heard nothing but GREAT about this show, so if you want to see it on the big screen before you end up doing so in the privacy of your own home, now’s the time, ladies.
And men, of course. All you Mr. Darcys out there, that’s your cue!
Permalink
You Say You Want A Resolution (#857)
I think I’m starting to figure out the thing I really don’t like about New Year’s resolutions. It’s the failure, of course, but it’s not just that.
If failed resolutions existed in a vacuum, never to be resolved again, this whole thing would be a cinch. I’d just start over with different resolutions every year and, after abandoning them in mid-January, let the matter drop.
But that’s the thing. Every New Year’s, my resolutions are almost word for word what they’ve been for my whole adult life. I might shift priorities enough to fool others, but never myself.
“Exercise more” sounds easy, especially when you’ve been exercising, um, not at all, but even then I find it challenging. Pitiful, huh?
“Get out of debt and stay out!” always has an exclamation point for some reason known only to God and Wells Fargo Home Mortgage. At the end of the year, though, that little point won’t even be deductible. Pathetic.
How about “Get Organized”? Right. Have you noticed that the ads in the Sunday papers are rife with Rubbermaid 30-gallon tubs and Christmas ornament storage crates? I purchased so many organizational aids last January that I’d need a whole year just to organize them. No more.
Of all the resolutions I feel the most regret about, this one takes the cake: “Read through the Bible in a year.”
You know what I’m talking about, right? I start out wholeheartedly, with a high-quality card stock Bible reading schedule in hand, highly motivated by the dedication I witness in Christians all around me and determined that this year, I will be disciplined.
On the first of January, I begin. With Genesis, the beginning. I’ll tell you this much: I am a bona fide expert on the Book of Genesis!
It’s one thing to disappoint myself by not following through on exercising, getting out of debt forever, and staying organized. But feeling like I’ve disappointed God by not sticking to a structured spiritual discipline makes me reluctant to try again.
But you know what? God is gracious, that’s what. I’m going to give it another whirl. Some folks I know are reading through the whole Bible in 90 days, but I’m going to concentrate on reading the New Testament in 90 days.
If it was just another so-called resolution, I wouldn’t care so much. But this is the kind of personal resolution that can lead to a personal revolution, and isn’t that what being a follower of Jesus is about?
If I fail, I’ll get up and do it again. Because God’s forgiveness is ready and His grace really is sufficient for me.
Permalink
Thoroughly Modern Carrie (#855)
My poor little girl had to endure Medical Procedures Of Horrific Magnitude in the middle of last night. I felt for her, and when I say that I mean that I’ve felt what she’s felt.
It’s not the blood draws in the ER that freak us out, people. It’s not even the insertion of the IV, no matter how many times they have to stab us delicately-veined chicks.
And it sure isn’t the CT scan of our heads to look for aneurysms or subarachnoid hemorrages or tumors as a logical explanation for a Headache Unlike Any Other The World Has Ever Known.
Even Carrie agrees that those Medical Procedures are a Reece’s Piece compared to the Dreaded Lumbar Puncture.
Tell me, who comes up with the names for these prodedures anyway? It was bad enough when they called it a Spinal Tap, but at least I could comfort myself with a picture in my scrawny little mind of a tiny faucet over a narrow little sink called a spine.
And then when they tell me my spinal fluid is leaking from the tap on a Sunday, I can just tell them to call a plumber and pay him overtime, right?
But, no. Those days are over. Now it’s a Lumbar Puncture, folks. And there’s just no way to come up with glossy 8x10 mental picture that looks like a classy bathroom fixture ad in Martha Stewart Living when they tell you you’re headed down the long, dark hall for a Lumbar Puncture.
But she lived to tell about it, and they found Nothing Terribly Remarkable, so that’s good. What’s bad is that Carrie had her first horrible migraine, which makes her an unhappy member of the club that already contains her mom, dad, and brother Scott.
We were on the phone long distance from 10 last night until 2:30 in the morning, getting frequent and wonderfully informed updates from Carrie’s boyfriend, Marc. I was on red alert, a condition I find myself in often, ready to burn up the highway getting to her if need be, but Marc handled the situation with grace and calm.
“How are you this morning?” I asked when I talked to Carrie a few minutes ago.
“Better,” she said. “But my back hurts. I want to get up and move around…”
“You don’t want to get The Spinal Headache from getting up too soon,” I said. “It might make you wish for the good old nights, I’m afraid.”
“I know, Mom, but my back…”
“Do you have a heating pad? That would help.”
Carrie sometimes suffers awful cramps, so I thought she might be well-equipped. Turns out she is, too—kind of.
“I’ve never needed one before,” she said. “I’ve got a laptop.”
She’s gonna be OK.
Permalink
Reader’s Choice (#854)
Well. Blogging has kind of fallen by the wayside these past few days. It seems like years since we’ve been here…you turn around once, and it’s 2006!
I’ve had my birthday—a lovely time eating at McCormick and Schmick’s with Doug and the kids—and then focused on forgetting my age. Believe me, it’s for the best.
We’ve celebrated New Year’s eve with special friends, and New Year’s day at church. What better way to kiss the old goodbye and to ring in the new?
I’m going to get serious about posting here any day now. But for today, I’m thinking about all the great books I enjoyed in 2005.
Looking back, I think I got the most joy per word reading “Gilead.” I would gasp at turns of phrases and read them aloud to Doug. I didn’t even have to put them in context for him to appreciate the beauty of the language.
Doug loved “Peace Like A River,” so that’s his 2005 vote. I read it in 2004, so it couldn’t be in the running for me.
How about you? Any one book that you cherished reading above all others in 2005?
Do tell! And make sure you leave a link to your blog. There are some truly fascinating folks who stop in here, and it would be fun if we’d check each other out.
Um, you know what I mean.
Permalink
A Fallible Year In Review (#853)
My blogging buddy Carrie K., not to be confused with my darling daughter Carrie K., did this fun idea on her site and I thought I’d give it a whirl over here.
To perform a Blog Year In Review on your site, simply list the opening sentence of the first entry for each month of 2005, in order. I’ve taken the liberty of using more than one sentence if the result is more compelling, bizarre, or gross. In the case of the month in which I refer to Michael Main (Number One Of The Four Michaels Who Comment Here), I decided the title of the post was much more meaningful than the first sentence, so I used it.
If you compile your own post of twelve one-liners, let me know in the comments section, so we can read yours, too!
I haven’t previewed mine until now, so I’ll be just as shocked, mystified, and confused as you. That’s only fair, huh?
Here goes:
Usually, when I come down with one of those rare disorders/diseases that no one’s ever heard of because only one out of 100,000 people in the general population contract it, I end up feeling pretty lonely.
“If I Die Today, There’s Not Enough Make-Up In The World To Make Me Look Good In My Casket.” You probably think the title of this post sounds like something my mom would say but, uh, it came out of my own mouth.
Tell me this: Aside from being in Ireland to tread the auld sod today, what’s your idea of a great St. Patrick’s Day celebration?
I’ve come to the conclusion that few of us—if any—ever fully believe in the strength of our own stories.
I’m not the kind of woman who puts on make-up to make a run to the grocery store, even if I’m crossing the state line into Kansas, into one of the most prosperous counties in the nation.
We are getting absolutely pounded here with torrential rains and 70 to 90-mile-per-hour straight-line winds.
Well, the nurses and docs went into overdrive to compensate for failing to accurately document my mother-in-law’s spiking fevers.
I keep my head behind the china cabinet, just so I know where it is. Now I wish I kept my breasts there, too.
Michael Main Is One Of The Most Very Extremely Intelligent Men Alive Today!
Well, this is a red-letter day. Not only did I find out that my biopsy turned up no skin cancer, but Doug found out his brain is “unremarkable.”
I…I…I…well, that was weird. After typing the word “I,†nothing else came.
The emails and phone calls have begun. You know the ones I mean, where the circle of friends and family finally becomes unbroken, as once a year everyone tries to worm out of everyone else what everyone wants for Christmas. I haven’t even started shopping, and already I’m exhausted.
Permalink
Career Advice Sought Here (#851)
I trust you people. You know that, right?
Some of us have been together five years already and even those of you who are my newer online friends have probably already got more insight into my personality and writing style than I have myself.
Here’s the deal: In two short days, I turn 52 years old. On Christmas Eve, my beautiful 23-year-old daughter Carrie and I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, bettering ourselves. I said, “You know, this whole old age thing—” And she broke in and said, “Yeah. I hear it sucks.”
We both laughed, but you know what? The only real reason why old age should suck is if you haven’t done with your fleeting life what you want to do—yet. And what I want to do is write books.
So, can you give me some free advice? If I were to start all over again writing a novel from scratch, would you counsel me to:
a. write in first person or third person?
b. write chick lit? lady lit? women’s fiction? romantic mid-life crisis comedy? romantic suspense? nursing-home thriller?
c. write what I know, or run from everything I know like there’s no tomorrow?
d. forget the whole writing thing, and stick with cooking the books for Doug’s website design firm, (n)genius media, inc.? (Did I say cooking? I meant keeping.)
Any and all comments appreciated and taken under serious or comedic consideration, depending.
Thank you for your support!
Permalink
Resolved (#850)
OK. I’m serious this time. New Year’s resolutions. I’m. Not. Kidding.
1. Either get the novel I’ve already written in publishable shape, or write another. It’s not rocket science, Katy.
2. Finish all the paperwork to get both my British and Irish citizenships.
3. Bulk up the travel fund ASAP, and make the journey with Doug to Ireland and Scotland. Stay until we really want to come home.
4. Don’t join the gym, but do exercise at home.
5. Continue to thin out possessions. Plan future purchases around items with intrinsic, increasing value rather than fleeting, decreasing value. In other words, stop buying and warehousing worthless junk.
6. Avoid doing any type of meditation which encourages me to “find my center of emotion.” That’s too scary for even the firmly resolved to contemplate!
7. Invest in relationships—with God, my family, and friends both new and old. Sing “Auld Lang Syne” on New Year’s Eve with a Scottish brogue and a devoted heart.
That’s it for me. How about you? Anything you intend to do or—equally important—avoid doing?
Permalink
Holy Day (#849)
It’s Christmas Eve morning.
Carrie arrived home last night. Her boyfriend drove her into town and stayed a while, which was really nice. He’s a great guy. He and our daughter have excellent taste.
Scott and his wife Brooke and our youngest child, Kevin, will arrive in a couple hours. We’ll knosh on goodies and open our “little” family’s presents before we head out to Doug’s family gathering.
Doug and I are cozy in bed, except for that I got up to put on the coffee ten minutes ago.
“Baby,” I say, “I can’t believe you’re still snoozing at 7:50…”
“It’s still early until it’s 8 o’clock…”
“But it’s Christmas Eve! I thought maybe you’d get up and get me a cup of coffee.”
“Okay.”
I wait a few seconds until his snoring sets back in.
“Honey? My coffee…”
“I said OK,” he says. “I didn’t say NOW.”
This sets off gales of laughter from both of us, because Doug NEVER says stuff like this when coffee is involved. He knows not to mess.
While he’s pulling on his pants, I say, “Carrie was right. You’re looking thinner. Your stomach is totally flat.”
“I’m holding it in.”
He pushes it out to demonstrate the difference, and sure enough, he was holding it in.
“I thought you hated being bothered with holding it in. Did you do it last night because Marc was here? Were you trying to make a good impression?”
“Maybe.”
He sticks it out and makes himself comfortable, along with making a not-so-good impression.
“But why don’t you always hold it in?” Enquiring minds, and all that.
“It’s too much work. Besides, this is real.” He points to his belly, which in the early morning light is reminiscent of a bowl full of jelly.
“Trust me,” I say, speaking very much from experience, “if you can hold it in, it isn’t real.”
So begins another holiday, and another Holy Day, too—a day set apart from the first lame joke, the first bulging belly, the first sip of coffee, the first magically grown-up child’s Christmas greeting.
Set apart to celebrate the wonder of a family’s love and the goodness of the Savior’s gifts to us, who need Him more than we’ll ever, ever know.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Permalink
