Miracles do Happen (by Hannah Alexander)

Much of the country has been watching and praying as Oklahoma City and surrounding towns dig out of the debris and devastation caused by a monster tornado attack last night. Many of us prayed for a friend of mine who was stuck in the path of the twister, had no shelter, and didn’t know if her children or husband were safe. But my friend, though often attacked by disaster in her life, is also blessed by miracles. Last night, as we watched live coverage, we saw the tornado skip over her house as all around her lay devastation. This was the second time. Years ago, she had the same thing happen–a tornado jumped over her house. Her friends all rejoiced when she found her husband and children safe, though she grieves today for her church family and friends as they dig out of the debris.

My husband, Mel, was working in ER yesterday here in Missouri and preparing to come home. A tornado was sighted heading in the direction of the hospital, so he was not allowed to leave. We prayed, the tornado missed the hospital, didn’t touch down, and he just made it home a little late. Living in tornado alley sometimes becomes routine.

I just pulled up another clip in which a lonely older lady had dug her way out of the debris of her home after the twister hit. She’d been huddling in the bathroom with her little dog. She was bleeding and cut, but alive and grieving the lost of her dog when all of a sudden they heard a whimper beneath some of the debris, and saw the frightened eyes of her dog. The lady and reporter dug the pup out as the lady suppressed tears. She’d had two prayers–one was that she would live through the tornado, and the other was that her doggie companion would. Both her prayers were answered.

Amongst all the destruction and loss, miracles seem to be more prevalent than at other times. Perhaps it’s the contrast between pain and relief that makes the miracles more obvious. I’m not sure what it is.

I do know there are many miracles taking place today in Oklahoma. As I experienced here in my hometown when a tornado destroyed our main street, Salvation Army and Samaritan’s Purse were on their way as soon as they heard. Locals prepared meals daily for those working to find people who were lost and clear out the debris. In Oklahoma, huge semi trucks will be parked as close as possible to the devastation where they can reach people who need help, food, water, shelter, basics for survival.

If you want to help, please pray, and then send a check to one of these organizations that do so much good during times of disaster. Salvation Army and Samaritan’s Purse are the two I can personally vouch for. They send kind and caring volunteers to help heal the hearts of those with losses, and they use the money they get to do all they can to help clean up the debris and help people.

You can be a part of the miracles. What you do matters. Your love and compassion can help lives devastated by loss find hope again.

Like a Good Neighbor (by Hannah Alexander)

This is not a State Farm commercial.

Friends, meet our yard below. Yes, the grass really was knee high last night. I checked it, and my legs are not short. I could honestly use the excuse that I love the look of the wildflowers that bloom in the spring, and so we wait until long after everyone else has mowed their yard before cutting our blooming purple weeds, but our neighbors, for some reason, don’t like dandelions, which grow very well this time of year if you let them. I, on the other hand, think they’re pretty in all their forms, especially when they look like piles of tiny snowballs nestled in the thick green grass.

After a while, however, the stares from some of the passersby on the street begin to affect me and I suggest Mel needs to get the lawn mower out and make a run over the grass. That’s pretty much how it worked this year, too, because, even though we have four lawn mowers, neither Mel nor I have an engineering degree, and I think that’s what it takes to keep a lawn mower working. Oh, sure, like we’re supposed automatically know how to change the oil and air the tires? So with four flat tires and two mowers that wouldn’t start, it took Mel a few tries. He got there a week or so ago. Make that two weeks. Maybe a little more, but honestly, this picture is a good depiction of how quickly our grass grows in Southern Missouri in springtime.

Then the rains happened. It seemed even the surprising May snow this spring made the grass shoot up, much to my dismay. Life has been frantic in our household, with Mel working two jobs and me working two books. We don’t get out much.

Two days ago, one neighbor who owns the duplex behind us mowed his yard. I watched, while working from the sunroom, while he made several long passes into the far end of our backyard. Dandelion puffs went flying. It was a beautiful sight. What a sweet man. He cut nearly one quarter of our yard. I was humbled and embarrassed.

Then last night, Mel and I had just taken a brief break and walked through the remaining grass when we ran into our next-door neighbor. He and Mel started talking, and I came back inside to get to work. Mel came in a few moments later, and then I heard a mower outside our window.

“Honey,” I asked. “I thought you said you wanted to mow tomorrow night.”

“I did, but Gary asked if I’d be offended if he mowed it tonight.”

“Oh. And of course you said you wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Well, I did tell him I was planning to mow, but I guess he was just in the mood. He likes to use our deep grass as mulch for his garden.”

“Well, then, that’s good. Right?”

“Sweetheart,” he said as he leaned over his computer to study a medical manual online, “we have wonderful neighbors.”

Now, don’t get me wrong. This doesn’t happen all the time. Maybe once a year…or twice. We often get so caught up in our own little worlds that we don’t realize we’re falling behind, so our neighbors help us out. We try to return the favor. Mel will give an occasional free adjustment in the clinic. I’ll help someone write an important letter. It’s just one more thing I love about our tiny community. We really do help each other, just like good neighbors.

Community by Hannah Alexander

Set in Jolly Mill, MO

What a life! I grew up in California, where freeways were already prevalent, crowds were the norm, and traffic in our valley north of LA was already bumper-to-bumper. Yes, I grew up as a valley girl.

My father, however, always dreamed of having a farm of his own, so when I was still too young to have a say in the matter, we packed up and moved to Southwest Missouri, where we lived 1/4 mile from the DIRT road, 1/2 mile from our nearest neighbor, 7 miles–an hour-long bus ride–from a small town school where I eventually graduated, but not before buying my own car to escape the hideous bus ride.

At first, and for years afterward, this transition was a shock to my system. My parents knew about country life. They grew up far from town, knew how to be country folk. All I knew about it I’d learned from them. I discovered that I spoke a different language from my neighbors down the road. For instance, do you know what botten bread is? My new best friend–who grew up in a two-bedroom house with seven brothers and sisters and no indoor plumbing (!!!!)–finally explained to me, very patiently, that botten bread is bread that’s been store-bought instead of homemade. Have you ever had cracklin’ bread? Daddy taught me this one when we  (meaning he) butchered our first hog and rendered the fat. Mom took what was left floating in the lard and baked it into muffins, which, if you bit into the wrong one, would break teeth. I won’t even go into the horrors of mountain oysters, and Daddy’s laughter when I found out he was going to cook them for us to eat. At least we did have indoor plumbing, for which I was exceedingly grateful after spending a few nights with my country friends.

We had a smokehouse for smoking meats, a pump house for the well pump–which, if it broke down, meant we had no water–and a barn that caught fire our first year there when we had over a foot of snow. And that was when I discovered the power of community. My parents were shoveling snow onto the fire, frantically trying to rescue animals from that barn, when we heard the put-put of a strange engine coming down the 1/4 mile driveway. Neighbors from a mile down the road had seen the glow in the sky. The snow was too drifted to drive to our house, and there was no fire department, so they hopped onto their John Deere tractor in the freezing cold and drove through the snow to our house with their shovels. Other neighbors followed, and they fought that fire as long as they could in the middle of the night in the freezing snow. With their help, we managed to save two litters of baby pigs, which I got to feed every day. I still love little piglets. Babe is one of my favorite movies

I’m still learning the meaning of community, and since I live amongst those same people who came to our rescue through the snow, I now write about it. There is a power and connection in physical community that transcends email, that shows the gritty part of human character that lives right alongside the nature of a good heart. When we post online, we usually show our best selves. It’s human nature. When we live near each other and see one another’s foibles and learn to accept one another as we truly are, that’s how a powerful community is forged. It’s why I love our small town atmosphere, why I characterize the small towns in my novels with the same kind of community. It’s what works for me.

Learning From Experience by Hannah Alexander

Have you ever made an awkward move and tripped? Most folks do. Have you ever spaced out and found yourself unintentionally running a stop sign or a traffic signal? I have a friend who once glanced down at her cell phone to enter a number and glanced up again, too late to stop herself from ramming into the pick-up that had suddenly stopped in front of her. I have another friend who panicked when a spider lowered itself on a web into her face while she was driving and had a fender bender–which is why I always keep my windows shut tight when I park my car, even in the garage. I would have bent a fender, myself, if that had happened to me.

Another friend was driving with a puppy loose in the car–no, wait, that was me, back when I was young and stupid and didn’t know about pet taxis. I managed to get the puppy out from under the brake pedal before I had to use it. Oh, and then there was the time, when I was a teenager, when I drove along an empty interstate highway to work while applying nail polish. It’s amazing, but the only wreck I ever had was the fault of the other driver. Looking back, I realize I was danger on wheels for a few years. Never be like me.

Life is full of distractions. Driving has become almost a mindless act after decades of experience, and sometimes we don’t realize how vital our behavior is behind the wheel.

I received some stunning news last night that came as a warning to me, and I hope will warn others: Life is precious, so take precautions.

A lovely young woman named Tammy cleaned our clinic yesterday. It’s been her job for three months. She actually works three different jobs–cleaning, refereeing basketball and night shift at Casey’s. I received a call from her roommate last night that Tammy, who always wears a seatbelt in the car, somehow went off the road along that same interstate where I used to polish my nails. She was found thrown from the vehicle and is in critical condition in ICU. It’s likely she had dropped something–a cell phone, for instance–and unbuckled for just a few seconds to retrieve it. That’s all it takes. Now we’re praying she survives.

Have you ever complained because an older person moved too slowly? I understand it can be frustrating to get behind a slow-moving vehicle on a two-lane road with no place to pass, of course, but there are times when those older people have slowed their actions because of lessons learned the hard way. They’ve slipped and fallen one too many times, and now they’re suffering pain because of it. I’m beginning to understand that better. If I’d moved more slowly when I was younger, if I hadn’t been so rash and impulsive and fallen so many times and done injury to my body, I might feel younger than I do.

If you’re smart, you’ll learn from your mistakes. If you’re brilliant, you’ll learn from the mistakes of others and possibly save a bump or two along the way. Please, if you are inclined to, would you pray for our Tammy today?

Help! My Brain’s Exploding! by Hannah Alexander

Too smart for his own good

Not long ago, I was, as usual, struggling with chronic pain, trying to come up with a new subject for a blog, and decided to ask Mel for input about pain. He’s a very intelligent man who has about double the brain capacity and vocabulary that I have. He also tends to get on a roll about his work, and it’s difficult to stop his momentum. I should have known better, of course, since the first six medical novels we wrote together had given me an inkling of what to expect. When he has a patient in his clinic, he is wonderful about explaining, thorough in his approach, and has a terrific bedside manner, but I’m not a patient, I’m his wife, and I think he thinks I somehow automatically picked up his vocabulary by osmosis when we got married–also that I can type a thousand words a minute. Didn’t happen. You can tell this by the following exchange:

“I’d love to help, sweetheart,” he said.”Make it simple for me, okay?” I asked.

“Okay, simply put, pain is usually a reflex arc,” he said. “Every part of a pain response is in two-parts. There is the afferent and there is efferent. Afferent is affect, and efferent is effect and–”

“Wait! Honey? What was it you just said?”

“The classic is you put your hand on a hot stove. Pain is the afferent response, as in, it affects you. As a result of the brain feeling pain, it triggers you to pull your hand back, therefore it’s efferent–or the effect. It’s what the muscles do in response. So a reflex arc doesn’t require a higher brain function.”

“Um, honey? Simple words, please. Honey! Wait, I can’t keep up. I can’t type that fast–”"–so treating pain is a process of cause and effect. You just have to remove what’s causing the pain. It isn’t usually as simple as taking a hand off the hot stove.”

“I’m talking about other kinds of pain.”

“Getting to that, sweetheart. The cause of most pain is not nearly as obvious. The best thing is to figure out what’s causing the pain.”

“That’s the catch, isn’t it?”

“If you take away the cause, you take away the pain. While you’re trying ot figure it out, you give pain blockers, which are narcotics–not something the doctor will willingly give you since so many people abuse them. Ultram is a newer pain med that works pretty well–”"Mel? Mel! Slow down! I’m tying as fast as I can–”

“If you can’t adequately block the pain, then you distract. Take a tens unit, for instance. TENS comes from the term trans cutaneous electrical nerve stimulation. It substitutes one pain for another, but the electrical stimulation distracts them from the old pain.”

“Hold it. Wait. Trans cute-what?”

 ”Lidocaine, on the other hand, kills pain as an anesthetic. It doesn’t block nerve endings, but it numbs them. It doesn’t last long, so it doesn’t work well for long-standing pain, although Marcaine with steroids in an injection can last longer.”

“Okay, lidocaine. Is that spelled with an e at the end, or–”

“General anesthesia puts the brain to sleep–another way of killing pain for surgery, though of course you can’t use that for chronic pain. Epidurals are versions of lidocaine, going for bigger nerves to anesthetize, so it’s a regional anesthesia.”

“There! That’s the word I want. Chronic pain. I need to know how to treat chronic pa–”

“For chronic pain, if you have a TENS unit and use it daily, that could help distract from the pain. Capzacin has a distracting agent in it that burns the skin, but the burn tends to go away if you can stand it long enough.”

“All right! Now we’re on a roll!”

“Benzocaine is a topical lidocaine, so that’s used for sunburns or toothache. Ambesol and Orajel are toothache benzocaines.”

“How can that help with chronic pain?”

“A classic example for fixing pain is to liken it to a broken bone–not to gross anyone out– that’s out of place, when you reset it, lining the bone up is probably as good at pain control as blasting the patient with pain medi–”

“No, honey, please go back to the chronic pain treat–”

“It’s the same with dislocations. It hurts when something is dislocated, and it hurts getting it back into place, but the body wants you to know about the problem with a lot of pain. You fix it, you’re better. Like a thorn in the foot. You don’t take pain meds for the thorn in the foot, you remove the thorn.”

“Okay, honey.” Sigh. “Got it. Remove whatever’s causing the chronic pain. Thanks for helping. See you soon! Remember, I have an appointment for you to adjust my back today.”

“Oh. Okay, sweetheart. Is that all you needed?”

“Yeah, once I get it sorted out.”

I no longer write the fast-paced medical novels set in emergency departments, because my brain can’t handle that much information and my fingers can’t type that quickly. I think from now on I’m going to email Mel my interview questions.

Have You Crashed Lately?

Here in Southwest Missouri we are prone to tornadoes, and though there is a specific season for that, we’ve had towns wiped out when it was totally not the season for tornadoes. Therefore we have designated shelters, lots of basements, storm watchers and wind-up weather radios. It’s a huge deal here.

One tornado sneaked in on us a couple of years ago and destroyed the local Pizza Hut and nearly missed the apartment complex where my mother lived, only three blocks away. We had no warning. Ten years ago our town was destroyed on May 4 except for four buildings on  the main thoroughfare. We have our hidey-holes, believe me.

Today, however, I was caught off guard in a different way, which is why this post is later than I’d hoped. No tornadoes this time–not yet, anyway–but our internet/phone provider was apparently attacked and the main wiring was destroyed. It supplied the whole area of Southwest Missouri. Our clinic had no phones and no computers to treat patients, I had no access to internet, and no phones.

Mel and I are now discussing if we should have a backup system in place–perhaps with a different provider–so this doesn’t catch us off-guard again. I can miss posting a blog, but patients depend on their doctor to be up and running at any time, so Mel can’t afford to let his people down.

I read another blog today that impacted me, as well. I know we can’t live our lives in fear of attack, but do you take precautions when you’re driving at night to make sure no deer run out in front of you, ensure that you have working headlights and taillights, and if you stop somewhere at night, as mentioned on The Killing Zone blog, do you take precautions to protect yourself from attack? I was almost attacked once at night in the mall parking lot. I was just getting into my car when a man grabbed me and tried to shove me into my car so he could force me across the seat and he could follow. I screamed like a little girl and kept screaming, and the man ran away.

Do you have backups in place in case your primary system–any kind of system–fails you? I have only one primary source that never fails me, and that is Jesus Christ. For everything else, I need backup.

 

Don’t Fence Me In…Or Should You? By Hannah Alexander

I’ve always been a bit of a rebel, and I’ve never understood why. It isn’t that I don’t believe in rules, because I do. Logic tells me that abiding by good rules is the smart way to live. Having discipline in our lives can make us much better people and give us abundant success, and since I’m a logical person, it would stand to reason I would abide by the rules, discipline myself, and be a success in whatever I choose to do in life. After all, this beautiful river retains its beauty because it follows the riverbed that’s been carved out over thousands of years. If not for the guidance of soil and boulders, the depth and quality of the water would be shallow, filled with sludge, useless. But do I always think about that before I rush into life headlong without a guide?

Nope. In fact, among novelists, I would be called an SOTP person–Seat of The Pants–even though I don’t typically write that way. Right now I’m baking a gluten-free, low carb blueberry-peach cobbler. I have no idea what it’ll taste like, because I didn’t first look for a recipe, I just made it up as I went with the ingredients I had at hand. My poor husband has learned to smile and say “yum” no matter what comes out of the oven. Thanks to experience and knowledge of foods and baking, I even get it right sometimes. Just not always. I tend to be spontaneous.

Do you ever find yourself doing that? Rushing into a situation without stopping to think of the consequences? Do you occasionally like to be spontaneous? Have you ever hopped into your car without the GPS turned on or a map spread across the seat, and just driven to see where the road would take you? Even more dangerous, have you ever taken a hiking trail, then veered from the main trail onto a place less traveled? Throughout my life, I have tended to take that trail less traveled. At times, I’ve been disappointed. At times, I’ve been lost (more times than I’d like to recall).Often, however, I’ve found new vistas I’d never dreamed were there, encountered fresh valleys, wild animals, trickling brooks of pure beauty I wouldn’t otherwise have seen.

Our pictured river, after all, originally made its own way through the mountains, following the path of least resistance. I’m sure the formation of the banks changed over the years, and it’s different from what it once was. So even a river, especially during flood season, enjoys some spontaneity.

I still believe in following the rules, and as I’ve matured I’ve learned to do that more consistently. Still, at heart, I love it when I give in to a spontaneous spirit and explore life, trails, roads, cooking in a new way. I encourage you to try it. Live a little more often, forget the map and wander from the road once in a while. You might be surprised at the new discoveries just around an unknown corner.

 

Are You Hiding This Season? by Hannah Alexander

You may be a very happy person who is always thrilled about Christmas drawing near, as are some of my dearest friends. If that’s the case  I would suggest you delete this post without reading it, because it isn’t for you, and I don’t want to depress you. However, if  you avoid the stores that started playing Jingle Bells early this year, this may be for you. I just want to tell you that you’re okay. There is nothing wrong with you except something has likely traumatized you enough times during the Christmas season when the jolly songs were playing that you can no longer function as well emotionally as you usually do. You’re being bombarded with those memories every time that music begins or those bells start ringing or people start wishing you merry Christmas. I know how you feel.

Last week I walked through a local grocery store in search of several items, and the stocked shelves with holiday baking goods mocked me. Mom and I had last shopped together in this store. Now she’s gone. I cried throughout that shopping experience. Very embarrassing. Mom would have loved having a Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner at her house, and she would gladly make every single dish, as long as people would show up. She went out of her way to make foods Mel and I, both celiacs, could eat. If it had been up to her, the whole world could show up at her doorstep and she would have been thrilled. Me, if Mel’s working a holiday, I turn off the phones, take a hot bath, or even stay in bed late and watch a movie to take my mind off the world going on outside, because I don’t want to be a part of it. I did go to be with Mom when she was alive, because I knew she wanted my company. But now I don’t have that drawing me out.

I sang in church choir for about 30 years. From September to the end of December, I practiced the same kinds of songs, was urged to go caroling, urged to enjoy the Christmas lights, urged to wear Christmas clothing, and was soundly berated when I didn’t fall in line. What was wrong with my Christmas spirit? A couple of years ago, I dropped out of choir. I couldn’t face another long season of  torture, because even the beautiful, holy songs I used to love began to take their toll on me. Instead of calling to mind the birth of my Savior, my brain honed in on funerals, family discord, broken lives–oh, yes, I recall vividly the day after one Christmas when I was asked for a divorce. Too personal? Not for those of us who have been through this kind of thing. What is it about this season that brings out the worst in some of us?

Maybe you could tell me if age has something to do with it. One friend who is my age almost to the day, and who has been fighting cancer for years, absolutely loves Christmas and everything about it, from caroling, to putting up trees, to giving gifts. Yet some of us, who are obviously the minority, wish we could find a comfortable cave and hide until January. I’m not sure why that happens to some of us. Personality type? I wish I knew.

Whatever the cause, to those of you who identify, I’m glad you know you’re not alone. Today I’m supposed to show up at a Christmas party for grief recovery group. Really? Hello? I’m going, I suppose. I don’t want to. I’m dreading it. If you’ve ever been through this, you are SO NOT alone. Much love from me to you if you’ve ever been called a scrooge, a grinch, a killjoy, a whiney-butt. You can get past this next month, and I, for one, will not tell you to cheer up and put on your party face. You can even cry if you want to.

You are not alone.

 

An Excellent Read–By Hannah Alexander

I’ve always thought of myself as a romantic suspense reader. After all, that’s what I write, so it obviously interests me. Phyllis Whitney and  Mary Stewart were two of my favorites, among others, when I was developing my taste in fiction. Beautiful prose draws me, as well, which is why I enjoy a good Dean Koontz novel despite the fact that I’m not a lover of horror. Dean usually manages to insert a happy ending into his work, which keeps me coming back for more.

Looking back over the more recent years, however, I’ve discovered that I enjoy a well-written fantasy novel, such as Donita Paul’s Dragon series, which was supposedly written for younger folk, but which many adults enjoy. I love fantasy not only because they are fun, exciting stories, but because it’s possible to portray great spiritual truths in these stories without being accused of preaching. After all, it’s fantasy. Kathy Tyers is another sci-fi/fantasy novelist whose work I enjoy, as well as my friend, Karen Hancock, who has won multiple Christy awards for her intense and excellent work.

If you haven’t already discovered RJ Larson, let me introduce you to a fantasy novelist who has captured the very essence of the technique in her Books of the Infinite series, a sort of Hunger Games with hope. I’m not sure how many books will complete the series. The first novel was Prophet, about a young woman who is chosen by the Infinite to become His prophet, shocking all the priests in her city. Throughout a journey into other lands–including romance! Yay!–our young prophet discovers and learns to depend on the power and personal love of the Infinite in her life, and in the lives of those she meets. In Judge, the second novel, our prophet, Ela, and the hero she loves, Kien, are plunged into political intrigue, war, betrayal and hope as their faith is tested and forced to grow deeper through experiences the prophets and children of God must have felt in our Bible. As I read, I find my own faith reaffirmed, as I’m sure other readers of this exciting series have discovered, as well.

If you like Christian allegory and fantasy, you will not be disappointed with this series by RJ Larson. If you haven’t tested the waters of fantasy, I urge you to pick up a copy of Prophet or Judge today and get your feet wet. I think you’ll be encouraged.

 

Ethel Herr–by Hannah Alexander

We received word that a beloved friend passed from this world this morning. Ethel Herr lived a full and productive and loving life. She reached out to those around her with grace and understanding. If you’ve ever been touched by Ethel’s hand of kindness, you would be reassured of God’s goodness, in case you’d been doubting.

Ethel fought her final battle with cancer, and some of us had been praying that God would take her home. I’m so happy for Ethel that our prayers have been answered, so saddened that this world has lost one of those powerhouse human beings we need so badly.

If you’re a reader or a writer, you may well have known Ethel, or been introduced to her words. How I wish I could respond with her kind of grace when I am fighting for my life. May she be given all the gifts and pleasures in heaven that she gave to us here on earth.

The Power of Words

This lady will be celebrating her 89th birthday in a month. Unfortunately, she also fell and broke her hip last Wednesday. We were horrified at the time, because she’s Mel’s mother, and she has Alzheimer’s. Conventional wisdom is that when someone her age falls and breaks a hip, it’s a death sentence, but we have high hopes that she’s going to recover and return to the care center where they are experts with Alzheimer’s and dementia. She’s happy there, she has lots of friends, her mind is constantly stimulated.

After our initial concern for her life, we began to worry about her mind. When someone with Alzheimer’s or dementia (as my own mother had until she passed away earlier this year), has general anesthesia, it can destroy more brain cells and greatly worsen her mind. This was what happened to my mother last summer. Had we realized this then, we would have asked the anesthesiologist for a spinal block instead of general. The surgery my mother had took her mind and she was never the same. She couldn’t even read or work her word puzzles afterward. So when it came time for Mel’s mother to have her surgery, he met her surgeon in the wee hours of the morning and instructed him to give a spinal block. If you remember nothing else about this blog, please remember this: if you or an older loved one need surgery, spinal block can spare so much of the brain, because the brain is not placed into a deep sleep. The brain is barely affected.

The surgeon did as Mel asked, and when his mother opened her eyes, she started to read! She looked at words that had been written on the white board on her wall, and when they stood her up–YES, they stood her up merely hours after her hip ball had been replaced by stainless steel!–she started reading the words written on the building across the street outside her window. She’s been reading ever since. The next time we visited her, I took her a large print Reader’s Digest magazine, and she already had her Bible. Oh, the power of the written word! Not only can it inspire us, change our lives, give us direction, entertain us, but it can literally save our minds. SAVE them.

When my mother learned that she was in the early stages if dementia several years ago, she started working on word puzzle books. She always had one in her hand. She also read constantly. I believe she prolonged the good years by protecting her brain as much as she could by exercising it with words. When she stopped reading and lost her ability to understand words, I knew it was only a matter of time before she lost everything, but she prolonged the good years by using words.

Of course, as a writer, I’m bound to believe in the power of words, but my belief has been affirmed by the experiences I’ve had in the past few years. Never give up your reading skills. They will enrich the last years of your life, and possibly prolong them.

 

Journey Through the Bad Place–By Hannah Alexander

Last week Mel and I flew west to attend a conference for his upcoming change in career choice–from ER to private practice. We stayed at the resort where the conference was held at Lake Tahoe–one of the most beautiful places in the world, in my opinion. Our stay there was perfect, and Mel learned more than he’d ever expected to learn. He’s so excited!

The travel to and from the conference, however, was like a trip through the bad place. Had I been given a choice, I wouldn’t have gone. I was struggling with strep throat, was taking antibiotics–therefore wasn’t contagious–and had no energy. A trip anywhere, even to one of my favorite places in the world, did not excite me. I was depressed, grumpy, sick. Mel, however, insisted. That’s not like him. I didn’t want to disappoint him, because he hates traveling without me, and he knows how much I love Tahoe. So I went, and tried hard to be sweet about it. Funny, all I did was grumble to God. I didn’t think to ask Him to help me enjoy it.

Our first clue that it would not go well was when the initial flight was late. Then we were loaded quickly into the jet, taxied to the take-off area, where the pilot turned off the engines. “Folks, there’s a weather problem at our destination, so we’ll have to just sit here awhile until we’re given the go-ahead.” We were assured that we would be there in time to catch the next flight in our layover–that they would wait for us. We weren’t. They didn’t. We did have a nice meal of sushi at the San Francisco airport before catching the next flight, which was also late. We saw no signs of weather problems, so we’re not sure what caused the delays. I know I complained a lot. Worse, because we arrived late at night, there was nighttime construction taking place on the road, so what would have taken us thirty minutes took us an hour. Poor Mel couldn’t help hearing me sigh and grumble under my breath. Funny, I didn’t think to pray.

Finally we arrived! Of course, it was way past our bedtime, so we tumbled into bed without unpacking, and I slept late the next morning. The next afternoon, when Mel came back from class, he was ecstatic, I was awake, and he insisted we explore the area. He took me on a hiking trail and I hiked for the first time in almost two years. I tried to be cheerful, but I was sick, sad, stuck in depression. This was my first time back in my home state of California since my mother’s death this past winter, and grief still held me–the reason I’ve been sick for so many months. I couldn’t walk very far that day, so we only hiked about a mile, and then caught a shuttle back from the Squaw Creek Square. I crawled into bed and Mel climbed in beside me. We watched TV the rest of the night. I spent no time in my Bible or talking to God. I just grieved.

The next day, however, I emailed some friends about my struggle, and those friends started praying. My throat still hurt and I still didn’t feel well, but when Mel returned to the room he was bouncing with excitement over what he was learning, and I caught some of that excitement. We hiked much farther that day, and the scent of Squaw Valley–hazelnut and vanilla combined with pine–began it’s work on me. The sunshine dazzled me, and my spirits lifted. They never dropped quite so low again for the rest of the trip. Finally, halfway through the week, as Mel and I were hiking again, I said, “Honey, did you know how badly I didn’t want to come on this trip?” He said, “Yes, Sweetheart. I knew. I also knew that you would start to feel better once you got here. You needed to get out of that house and start to live again.” I said, “Do you know how much I love you?” He took my hand, then took me into his arms and kissed me, then held me tightly there in the middle of the forest in the Sierras. “Yes, I know.” And I thanked God for such a wonderful husband. I started speaking to God a little more, as well.

We didn’t have any more trouble until we started back home. At the airport in Reno we returned to the bad place. No flight. Engine problems. We spent the night at a local hotel and spent hours trying to contact someone to get us out of there the next day. Mel got it worked out, though we no longer trusted this airline to tell us the truth about anything. The next day we finally boarded, after yet another delay, but by then I was on better speaking terms with God, and I asked hundreds of friends online to pray. Of course, as we sat in the plane, the hostess explained that they had to fix the bathroom door. We and the rest of the folks on the jet made a pact to never fly with this airline again, but my attitude was somewhat better, even after our flight out of Denver was also delayed. I’m so glad we didn’t know until the next day that that same airline had a jet lose an engine over Newark NJ about the same time we were flying. They circled for hours before landing safely. With all the problems this airline had, it could have been us.

So I still don’t like to fly. I probably will again, though not with this airline. And not without a lot of prayer. What was I thinking, to get onto a jet without praying first? Whew. I hope I never do that again. With God as the pilot of my life, everything goes smoother.

Have you ever had a discovery like that?  Come pray with us.

 

Bless Our Editors! By Hannah Alexander

Are some of the best editors in the business an endangered species? Please tell me it isn’t so. Pick up a book, any book, that hasn’t had the loving touch of a good editor on it, and you’ll see what a tragedy the publishing world could be in for. We lose perfection. We lose direction. We lose beauty and polish and charisma. No writer is an island, no matter how creative and insightful and stunning their words. I could not move forward without the guidance of my dear editing friends. What a wonderful symbiosis happens when a writer and an accomplished editor work together on a story. The writer feels freer to let go and allow her words to flow across the paper without her own editor on her shoulder–she knows her wise editor will catch the flaws and make her creation beautiful.

Now, I’m not saying that we writers need to get lazy and dump all our work onto an editor without rewriting and polishing and loving our characters, but there comes a time when we can no longer see clearly what our stories are about. That’s when we need fresh eyes. That’s why God made editors.

I spoke with a friend of mine who often edits my work, and i told her I was all messed up, writting the same scene over and over again without getting it right. I needed help. She told me to stop rewriting and move on. She would fix my mess. She did. And she pulled out those words and phrases that made my work shine. How does she do that? She edits. She knows how to cut away the unnecessary to showcase the beauty.

 

In this world of do-it-yourself publishing where an ebook can become a sudden, hot new hit, I see sadly that editors aren’t utilized as often as they should be. Spelling, grammar, a grasp of the best words are lacking. So many would-be writers fall short of the mark because, even though they may tell a good story, they tell it with a lack of finesse. Those who read the work, and, heaven forbid, like the work, learn that spelling isn’t as important as it once was. Grammar is a word becoming obsolete. Without the guidance of an editor, I can see the crisp style of good prose shattering and melting into mere words on a page, and often not even good words.

 

Please, if you write, whether it’s blog, editorial, letter to the editor or novel, swallow your pride and find a good editor. Try several different ones if you’re self-publishing. Ebooks are a particular concern, because the world is exploding with ebooks, anyone can write an ebook, it seems. Too many people are going to find that they won’t have a lot of sales unless they find a good editor first.

 

God bless our editors!

 

Christians Read newsletter – what we’re reading

News from Vicki Hinze

Christians Read Blog is now available on Kindle.  Great News for CHRISTIANS READ readers.  If you prefer to get blogs on your Kindle, the CHRISTIANS READ blog is now available. It’s $.99 per month and you can sign up so posts will automatically forward to your Kindle at:  http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B008QEOTGI .  There’s a two-week free trial. Just click the icon.    You can, of course, still read the blog on www.christiansread.com, on WordPress, or on Facebook.

New Love Inspired Suspense series.  Lost, Inc. (www.lost-inc.com) will launch in October.  So far, there are three books written in this series.  The first is Survive the Night.  You can preorder a copy now.  There’s a list of booksellers here.  In December, Christmas Countdown releases, and in February, Torn Loyalties.

I just finished reading Karen Kingsbury’s Just Beyond the Clouds.  A very touching story about families and adults with Downs Syndrome.

What’s on my nightstand?  James Rollins’ Map of Bones.  I’m about three chapters in, and hooked.

Since school starts in a couple weeks here, I’m spending some time with my angels (the grands).  We’ve visited the Pensacola (Florida) Naval Aviation Museum, had Girls Days Out, seeing movies and shopping and doing lunch, and did a day trip to Marianna Caverns.  It’s been a good summer—if too short!

News from Maureen Lang

My newest book released just in July and is titled Bees In The Butterfly Garden, set in New York City during the Gilded Age of the 1880s. Ian Maguire is determined to stop Meg Davenport from following in her father’s footsteps. He was, after all, a thief. But considering Ian learned everything he knows from Meg’s father, he may not be able to convince her otherwise, not even when they both end up over their heads in the biggest heist of Ian’s unlawful career. In trying to gain everything, will they end up losing it all?

I’m happy to share that Bees In The Butterfly Garden has received some wonderful reviews. 4 Stars from Romantic Times, saying: The grandeur of the era is evident in the story, the charming characters, the beautifully descriptive prose and even the cover! And Library Journal said: This character-driven historical set in the American Gilded Age represents Lang (Look to the East; Whisper on the Wind) at her best.

Right now I’m in the revision stage of my next Gilded Age novel, All In Good Time, which will release early spring of 2013, also from Tyndale House. Set in booming 1880s Denver, my hero has built his successful bank on an illegal fortune. And despite my heroine’s own secret, she is determined to do all she can to rescue the many women who’ve found only hard times in the Rocky Mountain state—even if she must get ahead of God’s schedule by garnering a bank loan. Will the secrets of their pasts ruin their future?

As far as what I’m reading now, I’m busy! I’ve been in a classic mood this summer, having just finished Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter and am now taking up My Name Is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok. I’m also reading Kaye Dacus’s upcoming book, Follow The Heart, as well as a debut novel that a friend of mine, Jane Steen, meticulously and boldly self-published, The House of Closed Doors. Lots of wonderful titles to satisfy my reading pleasures!

News from Elizabeth Goddard

Oregon Outback, a four-in-one novella collection, just released in July. The harsh, yet peaceful Oregon Outback molds the lives of four rugged brothers who stumble into love. FBI agent Jonas Love has brought trouble back home, endangering his life and that of an old flame. Cattle rancher Carver Love finds himself falling for the sheriff in the midst of chasing down modern-day rustlers. Thrill-seeker Lucas Love fears nothing—until he meets a beautiful bookkeeper. Justin Love is trailing a fugitive who’s heading too close to home—and one particular lodge keeper. How will God protect these men as they risk their lives to defend the ones they love?

Hearts in the Mist (Heartsong Presents) releases in October. I’m currently working on the second book in a Love Inspired Suspense Series. The first book, Treacherous Skies, releases in December.

I just finished reading When the Smoke Clears by Lynette Eason, and I’m starting on Firethorn by Ronie Kendig. I’m also trying to make a dent on my never-ending TBR pile and have started  Almost Forever by Deborah Raney, and a historical, The Rose of Winslow Street by Elizabeth Camden.

I’m gearing up for another year of home schooling three boys and that includes shopping for curriculum and organizing my office after a big move from Texas to Louisiana.  Never a dull moment.

News from Hannah Alexander

Right now I’m getting ready to read Secretly Smitten by Colleen Coble, Diann Hunt, Kristin Billerbeck and Denise Hunter. I’m also reading two books for review, but none of them are available right now, so shouldn’t give the titles of them.

No exciting news for me except we’re getting ready to start building Mel’s new clinic. It’ll be an exciting change from ER to family practice.

News from Camy Tang

I’m writing a few books for some Guideposts series (Patchwork Mysteries, Miracles of Marble Cove, and Secrets of Mary’s Bookshop). I never realized how fun cozy mysteries are to write until I started writing them for Guideposts. Now I love them!

I’m also gearing up for the release of the second book in my Protection for Hire series, A Dangerous Stage, which is out in November. I honestly think A Dangerous Stage is one of the best books I’ve ever written, and I really felt God’s hand on me as I wrote some key scenes in the book. I’m praying He uses the book to touch the readers He wants to reach!

I just finished Angel Eyes, a Christian young adult novel by Shannon Dittemore. It was like a God-centered mix of Twilight and This Present Darkness by Frank Peretti, and I think Christian teens will love it.

What Vicki Said-by Hannah Alexander

Our beloved Vicki Hinze spoke from her heart yesterday when she blogged about the tragedy in Colorado. I appreciate the passion of her spirit, and her ability to do as an excellent novelist would do by identifying with those victims of the massacre. I think it’s vital that those of us in other states are capable of grieving the loss of those people who were killed and injured, because it could have been us. Situations come into play all the time that could destroy the loved ones around us if we aren’t diligent. There is evil in this world, and it isn’t a crime to watch for this evil and do something about it when we do see it.

I’ve always said that there is good, and there is evil, and there is nothing else. Our pastor’s sermon on Sunday morning made me question my own motives about the actions I take daily. Do I really need to be online that many hours a day, or am I addicted to social networking? Shouldn’t I be working on the book this blog is meant to eventually showcase? Why gain the attention of all two of my readers when I’m not completing the next book due out in the marketplace? And why am I writing? To share God’s love with others, or to show off my own talent?

What was the motive of the killer in Colorado? What was going on in his head, and why wasn’t he helped? And why was his illness allowed to get so far that he became capable of murder? I’m not exonerating the serial killer, I’m saying he had good and evil at his hands, and he chose evil.

I hope I don’t follow down that path by making the wrong choices. May I hesitate before making a choice tomorrow that might lead me in the wrong direction, and if I make the wrong choice, may God guide me back to where I belong. May we all seek God’s will in our choices each day, and may we be a part of the answer, not a part of the problem.