Christmas with Karen Wingate and Family

I'm off, again. Finishing the final three weeks of the fall term at school as I pursue my nursing license. It's amazing how God has poured out His blessing this year. In the course of a week, I passed my nursing school entrance exam and 3 of my stories showed up with incredible writers in this very beautiful, very diverse Christmas Anthology, Christmas Treasures. 

Since I'm away from my desk, my friend, and co-author, Karen Wingate has agreed to be a guest and share her favorite Christmas tradition.

And when you've finished reading, you are invited to purchase your copy of Christmas Treasures: A Christmas Anthology at our Amazon bookstore. 

Enjoy!

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Our Family Traditions: Meet Karen Wingate

For one reason or another, whether it’s ministry, the military, global workers, or jobs, many families live far enough away from each other that “home for the holidays” is out of the question. Since my husband is in the ministry and we are called by local churches rather than being assigned by a national board, we’ve spent only a handful of holidays with extended family. 

That means we’ve had to make up our own traditions instead of borrowing or depending on what our families always used to do.  From the first year we were married, we decided we were going come up with our own unique celebrations.  And create new traditions we did!

Now don’t gag, but for years, our tradition was to have Swordfish for Christmas dinner.  We accompanied it with Grand’s biscuits, strawberry walnut Jell-O salad, twice baked potatoes, and green beans amandine.  Dessert was either nibbling on leftover Christmas cookies or, as our two girls grew older, spending Christmas afternoon making a dessert we had never made before.  

Why Swordfish?  It was something different, expensive and quite tasty.  Since we were usually exhausted by that point by all the church Christmas programs, it was a simple meal that for the most part, went together in about half an hour. Swordfish is now beyond what our debit cards can afford so we’re looking for a new Christmas dinner menu.

We never regretted the exhaustion however.  Christmas Eve services have always been a highlight of our Christmas.  The entire family got involved in the program, whether it was preparing candles for the candlelight portion of the service, singing “Mary Did You Know” as part of a quartet, or playing in the bell choir.  My husband, two girls and I would stand at the exit door, greeting each person with “Merry Christmas.”  After the service, we would go eat at a Chinese restaurant (only restaurant open at eight at night on Christmas Eve) and open the many cards church members had pressed into our hands. Our local Chinese restaurant closed last year –so yet again, we’re going to have to find another tradition.

The best tradition of all though, is reading the Christmas story right before breakfast.  The story never grows old. It always has some new meaning we find to discuss over Christmas breakfast, and unlike swordfish or Chinese restaurants, God’s Word is always available.

My story, “The Christmas Gift” that will be in the anthology, Christmas Treasures: A Collection of Short Stories, is based on one Christmas during our ministry in Colorado.  That was one year I really did miss my family!  It was a year when things didn’t go according to plan or tradition but it ended up being one of our best Christmases ever. –  or at least most memorable!

Karen Wingate, has worked beside her minister-husband, Jack, for the last thirty years and has developed and directed children’s and women’s ministries at each church where they have served.  For years, Karen wrote curriculum for Standard Publishing, the Salvation Army, and Rainbow Publishers’ 5 Minute Sunday School Activities series.  Now, Karen focuses her writing efforts on fiction and is waiting to publish her series of historical fiction sent in east-central Ohio where she and Jack had a small ministry.

Thank you for stopping. Remember to order your copy today, at Amazon.com and visit again next Monday, when Ann Evans joins us for a visit.

Weaving words for the heart and soul,

Karlene A. Jacobsen
Freelance Writer
southpawscribbler@gmail.com

What You See is NOT What You Get!

What you see isn’t what you get.

There is a paradigm concerning health that has bothered me and, honestly, I'd love to kick it in its teeth. If you'll allow me, I'd like to share a couple scenarios that has brought this shift in me.

Four years ago, I lost close to 50#. Almost everyone who knew me told me how wonderful I looked. And sure, I’d lost inches, my clothes hung from my body and lost my frame somewhere inside the fabric. But was I really as good as I looked?

For a while, I tried to tell them I wasn’t healthy, at all, but all they could see was the slimmer me and didn’t hear the struggle I was having. Some asked what I was doing to lose so much weight. I’d tell them, “I live on granola bars and orange juice.” They’d laugh and continue on their day.

What they didn’t realize was that I left for work every morning, my stomach twisted into knots, and my heart wrenching from my chest because I’d failed my sons who were “home schooling” and I wasn’t available to assist them in their work. My youngest wasn’t reading, therefore couldn’t do much of anything without the constant presence of my husband or me. And for me, I felt the entire weight of this deficiency in my children’s education.

When at work, I felt inadequate, and still more a failure when there was the constant reminder coming from someone in authority who found it necessary to diminish my worth in the presence of four and five year old children. I often left the classroom in tears because these children were told crying was a sign of weakness. When the year ended, I couldn’t wait to get home and curl up on the floor of my bedroom, where I stayed most of the time that summer. In tears. I’d lost huge editing accounts because I couldn’t function, emotionally.

And the weight kept melting from my body.

And the compliments kept coming in.

And yes, the only thing my stomach would digest was a granola bar; and the only thing that tasted good to drink was orange juice. One meal every day. Then sleep. Or floor time in tears.

As the new school year approached, my stomach twisted tighter and the grand diet of granola bars fell to a minimum of one bar each day.

I was in effect starving my body of precious nutrients. Sure, I looked good … on the outside. But no one could see the mess on the inside.

After a while, when I realized no one really could hear my pleas for them to hear the pain I was in, I quit trying to tell them and let them think I was as healthy as they.

So why share this?

It is true. When you eat healthy—take in the proper amount of essential nutrients your body requires every day—you will look healthy. But you can also look this way and be unhealthy. A person can consume 1200 calories each day, loaded with fats and carbohydrates, and still look fit; but, is this person truly healthy? Most likely not. Eventually, this lifestyle will catch up and “surprise” the individual with either blood sugar or heart diseases. Maybe a combination.

On the flip side, a person can be overweight, searching out and consuming all the right foods, avoiding an excess of junk food, and be found by the doctor to be healthy. To this, I can attest. 

Almost two years ago, I was at work (Target) when after racing around to keep the team members well supplied with freight to put away that I began to feel pain in my chest. My supervisor insisted I go home, and a friend decided she was taking me there. Their instructions were for me to see my doctor as soon as possible. I was sure there was nothing wrong.

When I did go to my doctor, he found my heart rate to be a bit too low for his liking so I spent the night (2 actually) in the hospital undergoing a series of tests. One of the nurses came into my room one night to record my vitals. Her comment left me grinning. “Wow. Finally, someone on our floor who is healthy.”

Now, how is it that I, an overweight person, could be considered healthy? I was eating foods that fueled my body efficiently. It turned out I was having an episode with latent asthma, which the pulmonologist said the dust at work could upset.

So. Are you healthy? Would you like to learn healthy dietary habits?

As I learn, I will pass it along. Let’s shift the paradigm that tells us we’re only healthy if we look good.

Weaving words for the heart and soul,

Karlene A. Jacobsen
Freelance Writer
southpawscribbler@gmail.com

Come With Me

What do I know about health?

I have authority in the subject of weight-loss? I don’t think so.

Then again, as I think about it, maybe I do have something to share. At this time, I am approximately overweight and frustrated. I’ve lost weight only long enough for it to find me again. And yet, people ask, “How do you do it? What are you doing? Please help me.” So maybe. Just maybe. There’s something I will say that might resonate within you and bring freedom in an area you’ve struggled with for longer than you care to count. Maybe you, like me, have listened to those who would say their “diet” plan, or new lifestyle is the answer only to find that it’s more of what you’ve grown to know as another disappointment.

Whether you need to lose weight, maintain, or simply engage in a healthier lifestyle, there are some ideas and thoughts I’d like to share. Remember, though, that these are my ideas, not proven by any health guru, other than my own journey that is continuing to unfold as I take each step across the terrain of my life.

If you’ll walk with me in this, I would love to hear your successes, but more than weight-loss. I want to hear stories about how you’ve found freedom within your heart to do the thing many of us have trouble doing.

What is that?

To love yourself as Christ loved you.

How can anyone love their neighbor well if they don’t first love and care for their selves? How can anyone truly love their family if they can’t first be kind to their selves?

We can’t.

Jesus taught us to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. So the first thing in this fight is to find out how to conquer self-loathing, self-defeat, self-sabotage, negative self-talk, and anything else that is indicative of our distaste for the amazing creation God called us to be. We need to be able to look in the mirror each day and truly like who we see staring back. I believe once we can do this, our health will be a beautiful bi-product.

Won’t you join me? I hope you will. It’s never fun to walk alone.

If you haven’t already, subscribe to this site and receive additions to this journey in your email box.

Weaving words for the heart and soul,

Karlene A. Jacobsen
Freelance Writer
southpawscribbler@gmail.com

Heading for the Finish Line

In just a few short days I will be returning to the classroom for another year's pursuit of my RN license. I tell people there are only two things I've ever wanted to do with my life: write and work in medicine. And is it any wonder that God has this notion that I will get to do both? Both now, and in the future, writing will be part of my life as I create word documents as academic papers, powerpoint presentations for class, research papers, or assisting other students with their writing. I also get to spend time in my "sandbox" as I link words and watch fun stories form that touch the readers' hearts and entertain at the same time.

For now, I am focused on my degree. I know this is where God is leading me, although it's difficult to scale my efforts to write a novel back to simple blog posts and/or journal entries. But, it will be worth the sacrifices when I cross the stage and receive my RN pin, begin my new career in a hospital, and grow in the field of medicine, helping others learn healthy habits.

Until then, please visit often as I record this journey to the finish line.

Weaving words for the heart and soul,

Karlene A. Jacobsen
Freelance Writer
southpawscribbler@gmail.com

Until Then . . .

Hello and happy Friday, folks!

I'm so excited I get to host Friday Fiction with you today. Today's fare is something I wrote a couple years ago, birthed from an image I had in my head when thinking about the Scripture: (Exodus 14:13) And Moses said to the people, "Do not be afraid. Stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD, which He will accomplish for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall see again no more forever."

This came to me in a day when I needed God's encouragement most about a financial situation. He was victorious and I was speechless. Today, I need this reminder. He will be victorious ... again.

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He stood. A man—yet a boy—ready as any eager youth, to join the fray of battle, defending his country and ideals. To his right and the left, others flanked him, chanting, “To the end, we’ll never bend.” There would be no negotiations with terrorists. Ever. Period.

Like a thousand volts of electricity, energy ran through his body, intensifying with each repetition. It mattered little that his station held him squarely in the center of the sun’s scorching rays. Nor did it bother him to know once training was complete he would brave the untamed land surrounding him.

From the corner of his eye he noted his commander approaching. Quick checking: his body straightened, shoulders back, chin parallel to the ground, eyes forward. It was an honor to serve in this Commander’s army—the most notorious known to history. Soon, he was there, toe to toe, eye to eye. The intensity of the Commander’s gaze electrified the soldier to greater degrees than he thought possible. “Soldier, this is not going to be easy.”

“Sir. No sir.”

“This could kill you.”

Death? He didn’t like that word. Who did? His heart tripped over his lungs. “Sir. Yes sir.”

Soldier’s weapon slipped as his arms tired of their position. He fought to maintain his stance; his muscles quivered and quaked inside his uniform. Prayers sped through his mind, Please God, don’t let me fail now. Beads of sweat gathered around the inside of his helmet, waiting for the opportune time to splash over his goggles, blurring his vision.

“Sir. I will fight, sir.”

The Commander scanned Soldier’s appearance. Soldier ran through the checklist silently: Belt—check. Boots—check. Weapon—check. Helmet—check. What am I forgetting?

Commander stepped back a pace or two. Looked right—then left. “I will be with you always. Don’t forget.” He pointed to the radios each soldier possessed. “Never forget.”

Right. Always with me. Don’t forget. Don’t forget. There was much to remember. Soldier comforted himself. Commander would send him with his comrades. They’ll help each other along. None will be left to himself. Ever. They were a unit now. Right?

Together they marched. Taking the land given to them would end in victory. Commander promised it. “You’ll never regret fighting to the finish. Stand your ground until you see me coming with relief.”

“Sir. Yes sir.” Each soldier acknowledged Commander’s direction. Soldier wondered whether he was the only one turning to jelly inside.

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On the field, battles raged. Soldier won, grew in confidence and strength. What was I afraid of? They run from my weapons.  He laughed with his comrades when back at camp. Nothing would stop him.

That is until his buddy to the left fell, a fatal wound to the chest. Then on his right—amputation by mortar fire.

His radio crackled to life. “Remember Soldier. I’m here. Don’t quit. Fight.”

“Sir. Right sir.”

“Stand your ground.”

“Sir. Yes sir.” He stood. Holding his weapon at the ready. Helmet secure. This was no time to entertain fear.

Firing ceased.  “Soldier. This is not the time. Stand alert.”

How Commander knew Soldier had thought to relax, Soldier didn’t know. “Sir. Yes sir.”

He stood.

The sun’s heat burned through Soldier’s helmet. Sweat poured from his face into his uniform. He waited.

Minutes blurred into hours. Hours ticked into days. Days flipped weeks into months. Soldier stood. Winds blew through his uniform. Frostbite threatened to steal his fingers. He remained steadfast, waiting for Commander’s release.

Voices echoed from behind him. “Soldier, stand down. It’s over. Can’t you see? It’s peace time. No one’s firing on us.”

“Where’s Commander?”

“He sent us.”

“No. I’ll wait for Him.”

They mocked him. Soon, he knew there was no one to trust. None would stand with him. But he stood, ready.

Rains fell. His weapon slipped. He readjusted his grip.

“Hold your ground, Soldier. Don’t quit when you’re so close.”

It had been a while since hearing Commander’s voice. How’d he know I thought of sitting; let someone else fight a while? He said I’m close, though, right? “Sir. Yes sir. To the end, for You I’ll bend.”

Alone he would fight. Commander would soon come and rescue him. Bullets whistled past his face once again. He stood. Ready. Night fell. The land, lit by the moon, shone with silver halos over the horizon.

Soon. A breath of hope filled his lungs. The war would end. In that moment he could lay his weapon down. Until then, he must stand and fight. 

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Thank you for stopping by today. It's been a pleasure to share with you, this story. Be sure to visit the other links and enjoy the talented writings of my friends. Have a blessed weekend.




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Rebellious Heart: Book Review

You are a girl. It doesn’t matter how intelligent you are, it’s not good enough. God created you to spend your days learning to sew, read the Bible, cook a few savory meals, care for children, and host a grand party. You will be a grave disappointment, considered wild and unruly—a deviant—should you attempt to read a book beyond the Holy Book. Your voice on political and societal issues will not be heard because you are uneducated and have no idea of what you speak. Just leave the concerns of life to us men.

In 1763 and this was the mindset of the general population. Many women, as well as men, followed it without questioning or challenging its truth. However, there were some women who could not remain within the constraints of this system. There were fewer men who would recognize the value of a woman’s mind and her opinion. Abigail Adams was one such woman, brave and bold, unable to accept the confines society had placed her in. John Adams was a rare man who would encourage and enjoy his wife’s radical behavior. Theirs was a marriage many see as having romance woven through their 50 years together.

Author, Jody Hedlund, has taken this historical couple and imagined what their early courtship might have been like and pieced together Rebellious Heart to loosely convey their (the Adams’s) relationship to us. Because there isn’t a great deal of information, her creative mind spun a tale of love and heartbreak, sacrifice and loyalty, determination and courage, surrounded by the pre-Revolutionary War era. She has painted images of the unrest that most likely stirred among the colonists as our “mother” country, England, imposed taxes and unjust laws upon a people she hardly knew any longer.

Her main characters, Susanna Smith and Benjamin Ross, found themselves faced with moral and spiritual versus legal decisions. Susanna struggled with whether breaking the laws of England were right in God’s eyes, even though morally the question should be settled. The question of obeying your authorities versus obeying your conscience came to the forefront.

Should you aid an abused runaway slave, or return her to her master to be further abused, raped, or put to death as punishment for running? Is it possible that God’s law is higher than man’s? Can it be so that man’s law contradicts God’s law? If so, is it right and expedient to reject those laws and press society to seek change?

Such questions plagued the men who forged their way through the days prior to the Revolution, and is portrayed in Ben Ross’s chosen path as a Harvard Law graduate seeking justice for the oppressed. As the story progresses, we are able to glimpse into the lives of these two heroes and cheer them along.

Understanding of their time grows as well as (for me) a deep gratitude for the courage it took for those who forged the path toward the birthing of our nation, grounded on the mission statement penned and signed by 55 men known as our Declaration of Independence. This story paints a clearer picture of all that led up to the Revolution. The rattling of cages was necessary to gain our freedom from oppressive and unjust governors.

I trust you will agree when reading that this is an engaging page-turner. Jody has created characters who have such depth that their credibility as people are unwavering and their end is beautifully done, without feeling forced.

**While this book was a gift upon the agreement of acting as an influencer for the author, Jody Hedlund, the statements made in this review are not based on the generosity of the author or publisher, Bethany House.**

 

You'll find your copy of this book at Baker Publishing, Amazon, Christian Book Distributors, Barnes & Noble, and perhaps your local bookstore. 

 

Happy Reading!

Semony Pt. 2

Welcome to Fiction Friday.
My friend, Vonnie, is hosting today at her blog. I'd love for you to stop there and see what she's sharing.

I've continued the story of Semony from two weeks ago and am so grateful, encouraged, and pleased that you (those who've had the chance to read it) are enjoying the story. When working with a group of Hindu women and children, I noticed things that appear to be part of their culture and their faith. I couldn't help but fall in love with the children. I hope you will too.

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Semony, Pt. 2 

She hadn’t closed her eyes five minutes when she heard sounds of pounding feet and children laughing. The place was awake and chattering. Didn’t they know it was night?

Opening her eyes enough to appear closed yet able to see through the slits, she spied on the room. Amelia giggled, chattering with Miss M. The two apparently had become friends. Well, good. Then I don’t have to.

“Semony, we’re going for breakfast if you’d like to join us.”

What? Did she know the secret? How could she, there was no way. Miss M. walked over, sat on the bed, and continued to talk. If she didn’t sound so nice, it would be easier to resist. Semony pulled back, looking about, hopeful she concealed herself.

Her stomach rumbled, flopped, grabbed her lungs and gurgled. Whether she came out now or later, her stomach was determined to give her secret away. Reason had no more room where hunger was concerned. Her stomach saw to that. Resistance was no more an option. If she didn’t move now, she would be forced to remain until death came for her, and then they would still find her. How could she win under such circumstances?

One arm in front of the other, she crept from beneath the bed. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

“There you are. I was beginning to wonder whether we’d lost you.” Miss M.’s smile made Semony’s heart ache for her mother’s hug. She fought back the burning tears that came with weak people.

“Come dear. You can eat with us.” She reached her hand toward Semony.   Like a magnet drawn to its attraction, her hand reached for Miss M.

Don’t do it. That’s how she’ll get you. Her arm jerked, as though saving herself from certain doom, she grabbed her hand with the other. She would have to be more careful in the future. This woman’s got a force about her that would entice black to become white.

The walk to the dining room was short, but seemed to take an eternity. The eyes of every child directed their attention to her, or was it slimy-green-goo-nose-girl? It didn’t matter. Semony still felt the heat of their stares. She hated it. It was much safer beneath the bunk, snuggled next to the suitcases.

Miss M. led them through the line and helped slimy-green-goo-nose fill her tray. The food’s aroma tickled Semony’s nose, drawing her to the savory meal. Spoons and forks flashed in the light next to napkins and a tray of glasses ready for juice or milk. Miss M. said she could have both if she wanted. Nothing is rationed? Before she could think about how this food was not only bad, but not vegan, she found meats and eggs and biscuits had somehow gotten up out of their place and landed on her tray. The war in her belly grew in anticipation of the eventual incoming foods. She admitted her hunger and her weakness, in silence, begging the gods to be forgiving.

Trays filled, juice, milk, and yogurt waited at the end of the line. Miss. M smiled helped fill their glasses, set one of each on her tray, and on slimy-green-goo-nose-girl’s also. What kind of people were these that they would be so generous? Rations in her village wouldn’t allow such abundance. It was considered greedy and self-gratifying.

 “Come girls, I see a table.” Miss M weaved through the tables like a needle in cloth and pulled the girls along like well waxed thread. As busy as the room had become, no one bumped or jostled the girls’ trays. Soon, they were seated at a round table with other girls and grownups assigned to be room guardians.

Hunger prevailed. Semony grabbed her fork and stabbed the meat and poised it to meet her tongue and teeth.

“Hold on, Semony.” Miss M placed a hand on Semony’s wrist. “First we thank the Lord for our provision.”

Thank the Lord? For provision? I don’t think so. Everyone at the table took the hand of their neighbor, bowed their head, eyes closed, and waited.  Semony’s hand, trapped in Miss M.’s hand and the woman next to her—she didn’t catch her name—sweat under the devastating development taking place. These people seriously talked to their god … as if He listened. He’s deaf. He’s hateful. He murdered my parents. Well, they can hold my hand, but they can’t make me pray. She searched the room for others who felt the same. Few others looked about as well.

Did they know what she knew?

To catch up with Semony Pt. 1

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Thanks for stopping. Be sure to leave a comment then click on over to Vonnie's site to read hers and to see what others are writing this week.

Have a blessed week.