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Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

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I gave up fiction for Lent, but you can still win a prize

Before I gave up reading fiction for Lent, I devoured the new book, Cold Shot, by Dani Pettrey. And to celebrate the launch, Dani is hosting a giveaway with some amazing prizes.

Things like this:

GRAND PRIZE:
Cold Shot Sweepstakes Grand Prize

ROAD TRIP REUNION GETAWAY

In COLD SHOT, Griffin reunites with friends after they’ve drifted apart over the years. Do you have a friend you want to reconnect with? Here’s your chance to hit the road with them for a friend getaway!

Our Grand Prize winner will receive: A $250 gift certificate to BedandBreakfast.com, good for reservations at lodges across the Continental US, plus a $50 Darden restaurants gift card, and a Chesapeake Bay tote bag, to pack your road trip essentials.

SECOND PRIZE:

FINLEY’S FAVORITES PACK

Cold Shot Sweepstakes Second Prize
Finley has a lifelong love of travel and exploration, something captured in her cozy home decor, right down to her steamer trunk coffee table. This prize gives you a chance to have a steamer trunk just like Finley’s, and a coffee table book from the Chesapeake Bay to go with it.

Our Second Prize winner will receive: A $150 value cedar wood steamer trunk and vivid Maryland coffee table photo book.

 

TASTE OF MARYLAND KIT

Cold Shot Sweepstakes Third PrizeTHIRD PRIZE:
COLD SHOT is sure to leave you with a craving for the mouth-watering snacks Griffin, Finley, and the rest of the crew enjoy in the story. If you wish you could sample Chesapeake’s one-of-a-kind local fare too, this prize is for you.

Our Third Prize winner will receive: The beautifully lithographed, $50 value Taste of Maryland Tin, including the Chesapeake Bay Cookbook and famed local treats such as Old Bay Seasoning, Maple Syrup, Maryland crab soup mix, specialty dip, and Goetze’s Caramel Creams.

 

The series takes place in Pennsylvania and Maryland, in and around the Chesapeake Bay area, and these look like some great prizes! You have until March 7 to enter, and you can do that by clicking the banner below, or here:

Enter the COLD SHOT Sweepstakes from Author Dani Pettrey
So, enter the contest, and then get your hands on a copy of the book. Here’s an excerpt, to peak your interest:

In COLD SHOT, the first book of author Dani Pettrey’s brand new Chesapeake Valor series, park ranger Griffin McCray and forensic anthropologist Finley Scott uncover buried remains near the Civil War battleground of Little Round Top. There’s only one problem: the bones aren’t Civil War-era.

Griffin just wants the case to go away, but when Finley discovers evidence pointing to the work of an expert sniper, the case connects them with FBI agent Declan Grey, and crime scene investigator Parker Mitchell, friends from a past Griffin’s tried to leave behind.

Soon the reunited friends realize they’ll need to confront the darkest days in their shared history if they–and those they care about–are going to escape a downward spiral of crime, danger, and murder.

It’s an exciting adventure, and a dynamite start to a new series!

After the storm comes

The rain blew sideways, thousands of drops pinging the windows as phones beeped alerts warning of conditions right for a tornado.

Stuck in a restaurant, waiting for my husband’s shift to end, we weathered it as best we could. We encouraged the kids to play in the play area. We kept away from the panes of glass that loomed all around us. We ordered coffee and monitored the radar from our phones.

When the threat expired, we braved the drive home, wishing each other safe travels. The roads bore witness to the severity of the storm. Water pooled over entire lanes. A fire truck, sirens blaring, lights flashing, sped past us to one of many incidents.

We made it home safely, but only morning would reveal just how much damage the storm had done.

***

Roads and driveways were strewn with fallen branches. There is a sort of noticeable chaos after a storm. Everything looks a bit different, less ordered, more distressed, as if the earth survived a hard-fought battle and lived to tell about it.

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The river’s banks could not contain it. Homes along its borders woke to find yards swallowed by the river’s gluttony. Roads were closed because the water dared to creep across it in the low-lying areas.

One town woke to devastation, roofs torn off, buildings collapsed, and an official declaration: tornado.

People banded together, an instant rally to rescue chickens, survey damage, clean up.

The storm was long gone by morning, but its memory lingers. Its aftermath remains.

***

This is how it is with storms. They blow in, sometimes with warning, sometimes not. They bring with them fear and worry, a sense of helplessness.

Who can withstand a storm’s full force and come out unscathed?

***

I hardly remember the biggest storm of my life, and I can hardly forget it. I remember how overwhelming it felt to try to navigate life while the storm raged. Even now, as I write about it, the anxiety builds.

It was like gripping the steering wheel tight, guiding my car on a road that should be familiar but instead is cloaked in fog, or a deluge of rain. I could not see beyond the headlights. I didn’t know when, or if, I would get where I was going.

And when the storm cleared, there was damage with which to contend. But a person had to know where to look.

Could they see my eyes swollen from a flood of tears? Could they see our dreams, downed and broken, like limbs from a tree in tornadic winds? Was the chaos obvious, like the morning after a storm? Our life was scattered bits of what it was only days before. The natural order of our existence was off, and only a trained eye could spot the difference.

I tried my best to carry on as usual, but when a storm ravages your existence, there is only so much maintaining you can do. The truth surfaces, like pools of water in the yard because the ground can’t absorb it.

The aftermath became too much for me to bear and what revealed itself was a life littered with hurt, fear, shame, bitterness, and anxiety.

I could not recover alone.

Nor could I pretend the storm had never happened.

I could not wish the storm out of my past, and I would not let it paralyze my present. It would alter the course of my future, but it would not be the end of the story.

***

I have yet to find a geographic location that is safe from any kind of storm. This should tell me something about life, as well. We are never out of danger of a soul-crushing storm. Not one of us will get through life without something that threatens to break us. Even Jesus, the Hope and Light of the world, promised we would have trouble in this life. We are not immune to hardship.

But we can carry on after the storm has passed.

Here, in Lancaster County, there was an immediate response from the community to those in need. The Amish rallied and started work on barns and roofs and schoolhouses. A church called on its people to help a family whose chicken barns were leveled. Family and friends checked in from across the country on Facebook, and those with damaged buildings got right to work on rebuilding.

Maybe this isn’t always the way it is with life’s storms, but I realize that one key component of rebuilding after the storm is community. Neighbors, friends, church people, family. These are the relationships nurtured before the storm comes. This is the support group in place before it is needed.

This is how we weather storms.

By noticing the needs and spreading the word and showing up. With tools. Or a meal. Or a word of encouragement. 

This is how we weather storms.

By looking for the damage. Maybe it’s not a collapsed building but a collapsed spirit. A broken dream. 

Love your neighbor as yourself, Jesus said. And, do to others what you would want others to do for you.

We weather storms together because the next time it could be us. We step in because we would want others to step in and help if it was our time of need.

This is how we weather storms.

Together.

Finding the strength to go on: Review of One More Step by Rachel Wojo

No one begins a journey in hopes it will end before they get too far down the path. The roads of life don’t begin with detour signs, and people don’t start with the feeling of wanting to give up. Not one person sets goals because she wants to fail. The beginning of a journey usually appears to be streamlined. We calculate the route from point A to point B and draw plans to connect our dreams with real life. We want to finish strong, but circumstances creep in, people change, and negative feelings emerge.” (p. 3)

From the start of One More Step, I connected with Rachel Wojo’s circumstances and encouragement when life’s journey becomes hard. (Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book in exchange for my review.) One More Step offers tools for finding strength to face unwanted challenges. one more step

Rachel Wojo relates personal experiences of challenge from her life: divorce and a child with increasing medical needs. Each chapter finishes with Scripture verses and a journaling exercise to apply the themes and steps discussed in the chapter. I appreciated the chance to make personal what I had read, and I was surprised at how transforming the exercises were. From the first stepping stone to the fourth, my attitude changed, as reflected by the written prayers I recorded in a journal. The steps were challenging and encouraging and helped me immediately apply what I had read.

Though taking one more step sounds simple, this is not a book to take lightly or breeze through. I read it more slowly than most books, and took time to let each chapter sink in and take root.

If you’re facing a challenging situation in life and aren’t sure whether you’ll get through, One More Step will give you practical tools and encouragement to help you believe that you can.

Why I temporarily stopped reading fiction (and what I’m doing instead)

A few months ago, I read a book about a man’s first 90 days of sobriety from alcohol. In it, he suggests that maybe we’re all addicted to something, and invites readers to consider what it might be in their lives.

His words challenged me, and as I’ve committed to my OneWord, present, this year, I’ve realized that fiction is often an escape for me. A chance to tune out from my real life. A distraction.

Before I say anything else, let me be clear: I love stories. I think fiction is an effective method for communicating truth. I like to be entertained by a well-written book. But just because something is good does not mean it can’t become an excess. And that’s what fiction has become for me. Or was on the verge of becoming: my go-to distraction when life becomes too difficult.

And because I need boundaries and deadlines and structure, I decided that Lent would be a good time to give up reading fiction. Forty whole days without fiction.

Now, maybe that doesn’t sound like a major sacrifice, but by giving up fiction for 40 days, I’m giving up at least six books I could have been reading. Fiction is my fast read. Non-fiction makes me slow down and take my time. I have to digest it.

So, it’s been a week, and I’m working through a non-fiction book about overcoming life’s challenges. It’s a one-chapter-at-a-time kind of book, and it’s not something I pick up for a few minutes to read between activities. It’s a slow process.

And I’ve noticed that I’m filling my time with other things, for good or bad, some surprising.

Since giving up fiction, I’ve read three online articles about Peyton Manning. In case you missed that, I’ve read three sports articles. I don’t read sports articles. I’ve read friends’ blog posts. I picked up a magazine at the chiropractor’s office this morning, and I chatted with a fellow patient. I finished the Gilmore Girls series so I’ve read numerous online articles about the revival and lists of “things you don’t know about Gilmore Girls,” and I’m watching an interview with the cast on YouTube.

I’ve turned to Facebook and social media more often than I would like, but I also watched the Grammys, which is something I rarely do. And part of a presidential debate. It’s not that I want to replace my fiction reading with television, but I’m generally out of touch with culture and current events, so I’m more open to engaging with these kinds of things.

We are reading out loud, as a family, The BFG, and I don’t count the books I read to the kids or they read to me because that’s more like work. And I may have to bend my rule once to help launch a book by a friend. But I knew that going into this journey.

Am I making it sound easy? Because it’s not easy. I sit in the kitchen while my husband is washing dishes, and instead of zoning out in a book, I’m cleaning off the countertops from the months of school papers that have piled up. What is this madness?

I don’t know if I’m experiencing anything like fiction detox yet, or if that’s even really a thing, but I do find myself wanting to slip into a book to escape, so the struggle really is real.

I’ll keep you posted, although I’ll try not to bore you with the number of online articles I’m reading or anything like that. Oh, and I did plan out which non-fiction books would help get through the 40 days.

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Ambitious, no?

I’ll let you know how it goes!

One literal step at a time

This was not how it was supposed to be.

When I chose “present” as my One Word for this year, I had visions of how it would play out. (I do this every year, and I should know better by now that my One Word is my guide, not the other way around.) Being present meant I would set aside my phone more often and focus on the people in front of me. I would spend more time with my kids, doing crafts and reading books with them, things I often neglect because I’m caught up in an online world of my own making. I would worry less and pay attention more. It would be lovely and transformative and peaceful.

But two weeks into the new year, my body decided it had different plans. Muscle spasms in my lower back had me writhing in pain anytime I tried to take a step and for the better part of a month, I was confined to bed while the world spun on without me. Other than trips to the chiropractor’s office, I didn’t leave my house.

Lacey Raper via Unsplash

Lacey Raper via Unsplash

My world shrank to the number of steps between the bed and the bathroom, my time to measurements of 15 minutes as I rotated the ice pack on and off my back.

I could not do; I could only be. I could make no plans for the future, only for today.

Read the rest over at OneWord365.

3 words that would guarantee my vote

We were watching the first NASCAR race of the season, and when it ended, we switched over to the latest GOP debate, our first time tuning in to any debate in this wild election season.

Until then I’d read articles and status updates, watched parodies, and heard about the ridiculous behaviors of the candidates and their claims. Seeing it first-hand was something else. The shouting, the interrupting, the slinging of insults. Debates are not exactly civil forms of discourse.

I should disclose here that I have no freaking clue who I am voting for, nor do I consider myself a Republican or Democrat. So, the choices are pretty much wide open for me, though I can say with near-certainty that I will not vote for Donald Trump.

I might reconsider, though, if he said three little words.

Michael Browning via Unsplash

Michael Browning via Unsplash

***

The election process is built on promises. Plans for change. Reform. Dreams of better than what we have now. No matter who you align with, your candidate has ideas for how he or she would do things if elected.

And all of them are lying to some extent, whether they intend to or not.

I’ve never run for any kind of office, so maybe the following illustrations are weak, but I have made promises to myself that I haven’t kept.

Promises like, “Our marriage will be different.” Marriage is hard work. Spouses fight. Divorce is a real possibility. All the things people told me before I was married, I dismissed because I thought I knew better. I imagined something different but I didn’t have all the information. I had no idea what it would be like to join my life with someone else’s and to work through the rough patches.

Promises like, “I won’t be that kind of parent.” Isn’t it amazing how much we know about parenting before we have kids? The truth is, it doesn’t matter what kind of parent I think I’m going to be because each child is unique. I can’t possibly predict my parenting skills before I meet the objects of those skills.

I don’t have any data to back up this claim, but human nature being what it is makes me think that every president has broken a promise of some kind. What was pledged during a campaign was altered once in office.

It’s foolish, really, to expect a person to keep all the promises they make about the next four years because none of us really knows what the future holds. Did George W. Bush expect to be president in a post-9/11 world that brought terrorism to our country and security changes none of us could have imagined ever needing?

Could John F. Kennedy have predicted his death before his term had ended? Did Lincoln anticipate a brutal civil war? Did Hoover know he’d lead the country during a depression? Were FDR’s promises based on the country’s involvement in a world war?

These are all examples of disaster and tragedy, sure, but aren’t those the things that sidetrack our dreams? That challenge our promises?

***

So, what are the words I want to hear from a candidate?

“I don’t know.”

Those three words say so much. They leave room for learning, for teamwork. They are a humble admission of weakness. (My husband says they also would be political suicide.)

Frankly, I’m tired of know-it-alls. Tired of overpromising and underdelivering. I’m suspicious of big plans and lofty dreams. Maybe that means I’m a cynic or a pessimist. Or a realist. I want to believe that the next president will do good, but I’m also aware that he or she is just a human, like me, with just a few more qualifications for national leadership.

I want to hear why a person is qualified for the job, what drives them to campaign for a position that will undoubtedly age them and wear on their families.

And it’s not that I don’t want to hear anything about a candidate’s dreams for the nation; it’s just that I don’t want them to sound like guarantees. I’m okay with a leader who says, “I’m not sure what I’d do in that situation, but I know whose advice I would ask, what factors I might consider.”

Maybe I’m the one dreaming now. I get that there’s a playbook to follow in this game, and no political strategist would advise a candidate to say these words.

But I know if I heard them, I’d be much more likely to vote for that candidate. They would at least have my attention for something other than circus antics.

***

I know how hard it is for me to say, “I don’t know” in my own life. I want to have answers. I don’t want to admit there are things I don’t know.

So, maybe the best I can hope for is to start with myself. To admit my inadequacies, my areas of weakness, the things I don’t know.

And maybe that will never change a nation, but it will change me.

Good thing I’m never planning to run for president.

Into the deep

I have never been sailing. Never been on a cruise. I have a fear of drowning.

But there’s something about deep water that draws me. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to be in the middle of the ocean, no land in sight. What would I see? What would I hear? What would the night sky look like unfiltered?

David Valuja via Unsplash

David Valuja via Unsplash

I’m fascinated by the creatures that live in the ocean depths, but I’m a bit claustrophobic, so I can’t see myself scuba diving or boarding a submarine anytime soon. I am content with pictures and aquariums, with the experiences of those who brave the deep to explore what can’t be seen.

So it is with my spiritual life, I’m embarrassed to admit.

There is a longing inside of me to go deeper. To have the kind of inner spiritual life that is untouched by the world and its circumstances around me. Sometimes I trick myself into thinking I am deeper than I really am, but when faced with someone whose life is richer and fuller and more deeply rooted, I see the truth.

I am shallow. My toes are on the sand, where the water grazes them and retreats. I am knee-deep by accident when the tide rushes in. I hear the water beckon, but I stay put.

Here on the shore, I can feel the ground beneath me. Here on the shore, I can easily retreat to a place where the water can’t reach me. Here on the shore, I am within shouting distance of help. Here on the shore, I am in control of my actions.

Out there, in the water, it’s unpredictible. Wild. Dangerous. What about sharks and jellyfish and riptides? What about water in my mouth and muscle cramps from trying to stay afloat and struggled breaths? Out there, it’s work to stay afloat, to stay alive.

Read the rest over at Putting on the New, where I post on the 12th of each month.

A strength that bends, not breaks: Review of The Feathered Bone by Julie Cantrell

New Orleans is known for a lot of things: Mardi Gras, the French Quarter, Hurricane Katrina, to name a few. But human trafficking? I would not have linked the two.

feathered boneIn The Feathered Bone, author Julie Cantrell does. She also tackles such subjects as domestic abuse, grief, suicide, natural disaster, and divorce. When I think about the number of “heavy” issues in this novel, I’m surprised at how uplifting the story is. That’s the beauty of Cantrell’s storytelling for me. (Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book in exchange for my review.)

But The Feathered Bone is all about holding on to hope, no matter the circumstances. And the analogy of hope being like a feather, a strong, bendable support that doesn’t break under pressure, is a beautiful reminder that pain and suffering don’t have to be the end of the story.

Cantrell starts the story pre-Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, where a class field trip ends tragically after one of the 12-year-old girls goes missing. What follows is a heart-breaking chronicle of grief and enduring hope. This is no fluffy escapist read. Some of it is shockingly difficult to process.

But it’s an important story, one of the best I’ve read recently. Take your time with this one and proceed with caution. The journey is worth it. Hope is its promise.

It takes four

One of the first questions my therapist ever asked me was, “Have you been overfunctioning?”

I was in tears at the time, no surprise. Therapy brings out some of my best crying. And I wasn’t sure I understood her question. I tried to clarify, but like any good therapist, she let the question linger.

I couldn’t say “yes” because I didn’t think it was true. I’m a wife and mom and I work from home and so I do a lot. But that’s normal, right? Most of the women I know are in similar situations. We make dinner, take care of the kids, do the laundry, run a business or volunteer, keep the house clean. How is that overfunctioning? I wondered. Isn’t that just what we women do?

(And to be fair, my husband is not simply the guy who brings home the most income. He can cook better than I can. He’s comfortable at the grocery store. He does his own laundry. He has taken the kids for an entire day so I can pursue my writing interests. Don’t let me paint a picture that is all about poor me.)

I can’t remember how exactly I answered the question. “Probably” is the answer that seems to fit the best. It’s been more than a year since she posed the question, and I haven’t thought about it again until recently.

—

If you read this blog regularly (and if you don’t, scroll over to the sidebar and put your email address in the box so you can get them all delivered right to you! Subtle, I know.), you know that this past month has been challenging. For several weeks I couldn’t do much more than hobble from bed to bathroom and back because of muscle spasms in my lower back. I was out of commission for weeks, the longest stretch since being married and having children.

I could not do anything. No laundry. No dishes. No cooking. No grocery store. No driving. No cleaning. I could barely walk. Most days I lay in bed watching Netflix or reading or sleeping or sobbing and feeling sorry for myself and my poor family who just can’t get along without me.

The truth, though, is that they could get along without me. The kids pitched in to do laundry. They know all the settings on the washer and dryer. Izzy pours the detergent and Corban loads the washer, and they haul–with great drama I might add–the full baskets to and from the mud room. Folding is not their strong suit, but neither is it mine. My husband has taken on dishes duty. We are, what feels like, the last remaining household on planet Earth to not have a dishwasher. We are still catching up because washing dishes in this house is a major feat. He did the grocery runs. And the meal prep.

And I saw how exhausted it all made him at the end of the day. Not only was he working a full day at his job, he was then coming home to be a dad and a caregiver and a housekeeper/cook. For the first time in our married life, I wondered if that’s what I look like some days, trying to do everything for everyone.

What I’ve learned from this unexpected injury is that one person cannot do the work of four.

Annie Spratt via Unsplash

Annie Spratt via Unsplash

Maybe this is a no-brainer for you. Maybe it’s something I should have learned years ago. Maybe you disagree because that works for your family. But for me the revelation is liberating. I can’t do it. And I don’t have to. Four people live in this house, and it’s going to take all of us to make it the kind of home we want to live in.

Sometimes, the kids are going to have to do the laundry. Sometimes, my husband is going to have to do the dishes. Sometimes, we’re all going to have to pitch in to clean up. It’s an unequal and unfair equation when four of us are making the messes and only one or two of us are setting things in order.

I can now say with certainty that yes, I was overfunctioning in this family, and that may be, in part, why my back decided to give out. I’m not in the best physical shape of my life, and it’s possible I was doing too much.

This is not an excuse for laziness on my part or a plea for martyr status. It’s simply what is true for our family. We are all tired after a day of work, whatever the work may be. School. Writing. Full-time job. But if we all work together at the end of the day or week, we can all give a little to get a lot done.

How this will work itself out practically, I’m not sure. We’re not good with chore charts and rigid role assignments. Some structure will be necessary, but what’s more important to me, is the recognition of the need to change the way things were. And that starts with me. With asking for help before I’m overwhelmed or injured or exhausted. With giving my kids responsibility because they can handle it. With releasing the need to fix everything or take care of everyone all the time while ignoring my own health and needs.

—

I suspect this isn’t just about families, even though that’s where it’s starting for me. I think there’s a broader lesson here, one I’m not quite ready to explore. Maybe we, all of us, the whole of humanity, need each other to step in and assist and help, to do our part so others can do theirs.

Maybe it’s going to take all of us working together to make this place the kind of place we want to live in.

Page-turning CSI-style adventure: Review of Cold Shot by Dani Pettrey

Dani Pettrey’s writing hooked me from book one of her Alaskan Courage five-book series, and the first story in her new Chesapeake Valor series sets the scene for another hard-to-walk-away-from lineup of characters.

cold shotCold Shot introduces us to a group of friends working in the Chesapeake Bay area, who are brought together on a crime investigation when a body is discovered in Gettysburg National Park. (Disclaimer: I received a free copy of the book in exchange for my review.)

Ranger Griffin McRay interrupts what he thinks are opportunistic grave robbers but soon discovers the body is a more recent death. He calls on attractive forensic anthropologist Finley Scott to help with the investigation. Griffin is soon reunited with childhood buddies Declan Grey, now with the FBI, and Parker Mitchell, a crime scene investigator. The three friends used to be an inseparable foursome, but they’ve been driven apart by a circumstance no one talks about and the disappearance of the fourth friend, Luke Gallagher.

That all sounds complicated, but Dani peppers the murder investigation with the friends’ history in a palatable way, so readers aren’t overwhelmed with the setup of a new series.

If you’re a fan of crime scene investigation shows on TV, I think you’ll like this book. I personally don’t watch them, but I read this book in less than 7 hours. It’s fast-paced adventure and I already look forward to the next one. (If there’s any downside, it’s that I finished so quickly and now have to wait!)