tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57698477626773674412024-03-05T03:09:05.369-05:00Scattered SeedsThe wind blows where it wills...Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comBlogger273125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-10490384479373408722016-10-17T05:00:00.000-04:002016-10-17T05:00:21.405-04:00Book Review: Stolen Postcards<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1922135399/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=breoffreairpr-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=1922135399&linkId=ca1b70eb7d88fc4aaa1b9678a29556b7" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1922135399/ref=as_li_qf_sp_asin_il_tl?ie=UTF8&tag=breoffreairpr-20&camp=1789&creative=9325&linkCode=as2&creativeASIN=1922135399&linkId=ca1b70eb7d88fc4aaa1b9678a29556b7" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpNSHcu6DwzEr9_Mbt4_BKYP1SnE1hzeL3yoN1O_NmGTEtaGEQ0Y_sMuSouiS3kb3uUZ_vRxKy9TOTb-01s3BVTCZcQgnpOt4sLd_E2J8WgYCCFUfxfGwLWErFhIYbIq1QxGZPoX4vr_Pn/s320/Stolen+Postcards.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Stolen Postcards</span><br />
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;">by Jan Ackerson </span></b></i><br />
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Jan Ackerson’s new release, Stolen Postcards, is a collection of 366 tiny stories, one for each day of the year. But much like the famous potato chip commercial claims, it’s hard to stop at just one. I wanted to read them all, one after another, without stopping, but I found it impossible.<br />
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Each story is exactly 100 words long, and each is a complete, tiny story in itself, revealing a moment in a variety of characters’ lives. But don’t think that these very short entries are mere excerpts of longer sagas. Ms. Ackerson manages to set scenes, flesh out characters, and tell a story in just a few paragraphs. <br />
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Many times I was so blown away by the depth of an entry, I needed to put the book down and take a breath. Often I needed to read a story two or three times, seeing something new with each read, peeling back the layers, before finding the stunning pearl in its heart.<br />
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I was thrilled to receive an advanced copy of this book in exchange for my honest review. I’m sure I will be returning to enjoy Stolen Postcards again and again. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did. <br />
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<br />Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-45839868581073624132016-01-10T13:18:00.001-05:002016-01-10T13:18:40.726-05:00Jewels of Encouragement: Just a Seed?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2016/01/just-seed.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="I'm posting today at Jewels of Encouragment" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxG2n2zdU_IZj0ToDaJ5ixSjohfiVGuIjAkoRixiEvnStBOV08hQK0lXjeiFlI5xiylEs-WNEdobv57BE5ZTyH1h9GS1PV67BwO3lB9mmeWulmNngx1sAcR9_pFreheQESNfkRqiCsqa1/s1600/JewelsOfEncouragementPost.png" /> </a></div>
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I'm scattering some mustard seeds at <a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2016/01/just-seed.html" target="_blank">Jewels of Encouragement</a> today. I'd love to hear your thoughts! <br />
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Be blessed<span style="font-family: rage italic;">,</span> <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglvBSTHCg0tQWA7hR0Y7h3_lM8ms_rp0t8yjdTPqvx0ixGSviTroBp2Q02yvWP-jSDU9RlVJMVzo4ANTT0RsS6eCrJrjne9PJFYq30Py0QScmMED-NtGvI3A54YzftQPruNt2Ik8hzPoLL/s1600/CatrinaSignature.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="48" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglvBSTHCg0tQWA7hR0Y7h3_lM8ms_rp0t8yjdTPqvx0ixGSviTroBp2Q02yvWP-jSDU9RlVJMVzo4ANTT0RsS6eCrJrjne9PJFYq30Py0QScmMED-NtGvI3A54YzftQPruNt2Ik8hzPoLL/s200/CatrinaSignature.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">Psalm 18:24 (The Message)</span></i>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-83987757125737654012015-11-23T23:20:00.001-05:002015-11-23T23:20:13.394-05:00Do we or don't we?<br />
Here is the bottom line…I am conflicted over this whole ISIS / Syrian refugee debacle. My stomach and my brain are doing flip-flops.<br />
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How can we let our fear cause us to turn our collective backs on an entire nation of people – families, with children and grandparents – because a small percentage of them are terrorists? Aren’t we supposed to be the “good guys”?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIu0XiAVXy2eegO0viGSdo87ILJm4YybrroiiIYFlQYK-fCXRdMkOAkEpgegpXUYN_eiEGFw3cWj7uEXYb7z8Yb6zUDPUN0NW5JiHmIYP8JK1ITjv_7kD6XC0iNDAVzJk2EicxERjKzeI/s1600/Ellis+Island+Welcom.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZIu0XiAVXy2eegO0viGSdo87ILJm4YybrroiiIYFlQYK-fCXRdMkOAkEpgegpXUYN_eiEGFw3cWj7uEXYb7z8Yb6zUDPUN0NW5JiHmIYP8JK1ITjv_7kD6XC0iNDAVzJk2EicxERjKzeI/s320/Ellis+Island+Welcom.png" width="320" /> </a></div>
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How could we willingly let a nation of people, known for raising up terrorists, into our country to assimilate with our citizens, when they have openly claimed that there are ISIS infiltrators among the refugees? Aren’t we the nation that fought to be free from religious control and tyranny? Didn’t we fight for the right to defend ourselves? I raised my right hand and took an oath in my early twenties, and have never turned from it.<br />
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How can the USA afford to settle 10,000 refugees across the country with housing, and jobs and a future, when over half a million Americans have no home, no job, and no hope?<br />
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Do we open our gates to a flock of sheep needing shelter, knowing it’s possible, probable, yes, likely even, that wolves sneaked in along with the peaceful lambs? <br />
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Which talking head do we believe? How do we know what we read and hear is truth and what is propaganda? And when it <i>is</i> the truth, how many more truths are they not telling us? What is the right thing to do? </div>
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I don’t know.</div>
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But in the grand scheme of things, my opinion isn’t worth diddly squat. You know what they say about opinions…. So I won’t repeat it.</div>
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I do know that my prayers matter, so I pray that God, who <i>is</i> in control after all, will guide the right people to do the right thing. I pray for the refugees and I pray for their tormentors. </div>
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And since I can’t do anything about the refugee crisis, I do what I can for those in need around me. The local homeless men know where they can get a hot cup of coffee, a snack if they’re hungry, socks if their feet are wet and cold, and jackets, hats, and gloves every winter. They also get a smile and a loving welcome. </div>
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If the time comes when I need to make a decision, then I trust God to lead me. Until then, that’s my stand on the matter.</div>
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Peace,</div>
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Cat</div>
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<br />Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-64309230299771755832015-08-04T17:45:00.000-04:002015-08-04T17:45:17.316-04:00Jewels of Encouragment: Snakes and Doves<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2015/08/snakes-and-doves.html" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxG2n2zdU_IZj0ToDaJ5ixSjohfiVGuIjAkoRixiEvnStBOV08hQK0lXjeiFlI5xiylEs-WNEdobv57BE5ZTyH1h9GS1PV67BwO3lB9mmeWulmNngx1sAcR9_pFreheQESNfkRqiCsqa1/s1600/JewelsOfEncouragementPost.png" /> </a></div>
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God put this message on my heart and started giving me words, and I started writing. In fits and starts. Bits and pieces. When I decided to put it all together into a devotion, I thought I was contradicting myself and was at a standstill....until.... my pastor preached on the exact same Gospel story and theme. However, I had been reading the story in Luke, and he preached from Matthew. Luke doesn't include the "snakes and doves" passage, and that was the connection I was missing. Thank you, Dr. Charles Thomas! And also, thanks for always preaching the WHOLE Word of God, not just the "feel good" parts.<br />
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Be blessed!<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;"><br /></span></i>
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<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">Psalm 18:24 (The Message)</span></i>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-19108916776209710412015-04-07T17:53:00.000-04:002015-04-07T17:53:33.232-04:00Jewels of Encouragement: Where's my cross??Oops, I forgot to tell you about my new post on Jewels of Encouragement. How unlike me. (sarcasm)<br />
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My devotion was published on April 4 - Easter Eve. I originally titled it "Unburying the Cross" but when I posted it I changed it to "Resurrecting the Cross" for some reason. Seemed a more fitting word for the day, I guess. Anyway, I'd love you to read my story, and share yours if you have one. Click the pic below.... <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2015/04/resurrecting-cross.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja4t5a5tF1E1ZRiG6WwCl2pkrToK30owWm1XFLYYq86j9FsgQLIcbPe5xhmf2Y15KV_YRwfPPlUmQl6YMlEkwntskc9kUtrzzT5hgPdvFN-apv_019wanu_JMMrN6j-0ePRa-qWBHdXn_y/s1600/Jewels+of+Encouragement+Header301.jpg" height="95" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2015/04/resurrecting-cross.html" target="_blank">"Resurrecting the Cross"</a></span></i></td></tr>
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Peace and Blessings,<br />
Cat<br />
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Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-80403167350869877592014-11-03T06:00:00.000-05:002014-11-03T23:51:19.591-05:00Dried Out - Jewels of EncouragementI've been feeling spiritually empty and disconnected lately. Join me at J<a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/" target="_blank">ewels of Encouragement </a>today to read about how an obscure and confusing Bible story is helping bring my relationship with God back to life.<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">Psalm 18:24 (The Message)</span></i>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-82869853447643007042014-10-04T07:00:00.000-04:002014-10-04T11:33:18.133-04:00Got Faith? As much as this subject nagged at my spirit and my conscious this month, I'm thinking someone needs to hear this message. Or am I the only one? I did my best to express what God laid on my heart to share. I pray it blesses you.<br />
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You gotta have faith...<br />
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Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-51733327987948127772014-09-04T05:00:00.000-04:002014-09-04T08:54:57.199-04:00Jewels of Encouragement: A Treasure of a Psalm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2014/09/praying-23rd-psalm.html" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2014/09/praying-23rd-psalm.html" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxG2n2zdU_IZj0ToDaJ5ixSjohfiVGuIjAkoRixiEvnStBOV08hQK0lXjeiFlI5xiylEs-WNEdobv57BE5ZTyH1h9GS1PV67BwO3lB9mmeWulmNngx1sAcR9_pFreheQESNfkRqiCsqa1/s1600/JewelsOfEncouragementPost.png" /></a></div>
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<i><b>I have treasured Your Word in my heart, that might not sin against You." Psalm 119:11</b></i><br />
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It's not unusual for the yammering voices in my head to be quieted by one of those treasures in my heart - Bible verses that could no more forget than I could forget my own name.<br />
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I'm know I'm in good company when I claim the 23rd Psalm as one of my treasures. It has been my security blanket on sleepless nights, my comfort and counsel in the midst of chaos, my assurance that the Almighty is ever present. Many times, my whirling thoughts have been interrupted by a gentle whisper, "<i>The Lord is my Shepherd.</i>" And that's enough to calm me and remind me Who is in control.<br />
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Way back in 2001, when I was in a one of my rare journaling phases, I wrote out my own prayer as I meditated on Psalm 23. I'm sharing those words with you today on <a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2014/09/praying-23rd-psalm.html" target="_blank">Jewels of Encouragement</a>,<br />
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(The story of how I found it buried in 13 years worth of scattered clutter is a blog in itself). <br />
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Be blessed in His presence today -<br />
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<span style="font-family: rage italic; font-size: 200%;">Catrina Bradley</span> <br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 </span></i>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-90049532145831585062014-08-30T21:05:00.000-04:002014-08-30T21:05:05.925-04:00Book Review: "Ismeni" by Tosca Lee<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23081723-ismeni" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Ismeni: An eShort Prelude to The Legend of Sheba" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1409072718m/23081723.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23081723-ismeni">Ismeni: An eShort Prelude to The Legend of Sheba</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/427839.Tosca_Lee">Tosca Lee</a><br />
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My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1040958494">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
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As I awaited the official release of Tosca Lee's newest masterwork, "The Legend of Sheba", I was thrilled when she snuck in a surprise - a 52-page morsel of prose to appease my cravings and whet my appetite for what was to come. <br />
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Ismeni sets the scene for Sheba, but could also stand alone as a short story. Fans of historical fiction and Biblical fiction alike will appreciate this glimpse at the life of woman literally born under the wrong stars However, much like Esther, circumstances worked to place her in a position of influence to the kingdom. <br />
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Tosca Lee managed to tell a fascinating story chock full of details and description in a brevity of words, and that takes talent. Because of the lightening speed of the storyline and the proliferation of ancient (i.e. hard to pronounce) names I got confused as to who was where and who was who a few times. <br />
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Ismeni's romantic bend caught me by surprise, but then I guess you can never really know what to expect from Tosca Lee's imagination and pen. As Ismeni herself said, "I should have known by then that nothing ever happened as I anticipated." <br />
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Legend of Sheba releases September 9, 2014. You can pre-order your copy today, but if you'd like a small appetizer while you wait, download Ismeni today. You won't be sorry. <br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/2054273-catrina-bradley">View all my reviews</a><br />
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<span style="font-family: rage italic; font-size: 200%;">Catrina Bradley</span> <br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)</span></i>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-81212005040604804952014-05-23T16:24:00.000-04:002014-05-23T16:24:17.042-04:00Book Review: The Miting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Miting: An Old Order Amish Novel</b></span><br />
<i><b>by Dee Yoder</b></i><br />
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Even though Amish fiction isn’t my “thing”, I was looking forward to reading Dee Yoder’s debut novel “The Miting”. Being familiar with Dee’s ministry to former Amish, I knew I was in for an education. But I didn’t expect to be utterly blown away. Not only was the story compelling and the characters life-like, Dee Yoder’s novel is an eye-opening look inside Amish life and faith. <br />
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For example, I didn’t know that there are different Amish groups who are as diverse in custom, tradition, and religious doctrine as Baptists are from Catholics. The novel’s main character, Leah, grew up Old Order Amish – one of the strictest of the strict. <br />
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What I love about Leah is that she doesn’t resent her home, her chores, or the expectations laid upon her. She doesn’t even resent the rules we would consider unreasonably strict. She loves the church and her family, enjoys her life and her work, and overall is satisfied. All she wants to know is why the rules aren’t consistent among the Amish, and why she can’t read what God says for herself. And the yearning to know burns in her heart, refusing to be quenched.<br />
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But reading the Bible in English is forbidden.<br />
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For the first time in her life, Leah rebels against her Amish faith and her parents. She digs out a dusty Gideon Bible she was given as a child and searches out the answers that no one is willing (or able) to give. Torn between the Truth and Life she finally finds in Scripture, and her heartbreak at her parent’s anger and unwillingness to understand who Jesus really is, Leah faces a decision she never imagined she would have to make.<br />
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Dee Yoder has created characters so real, they almost became a part of my life. The Miting is a fabulous novel, and I’ll probably read it again. And again. <br />
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My Rating: 4½ stars.<br />
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<i>Available in e-book or paperback at <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Miting-Order-Amish-Novel/dp/0825443008">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://www.christianbook.com/the-miting-dee-yoder/9780825443008/pd/443007">Christian Book</a>, and other fine retailers near you. </i><br />
<a href="http://www.deeyoder.com/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhClFikgmM-iKqZQotgYyyy8uydEU1FJhIv5QqCt8iOa8ejVdei6V8N8twXLM4akScZbMxypW-nZb_n22Q4kDPSP-lEWlRpbHEYADZ0Hp4jPlZq10uu48Tgg7qa5UrxrH3NvF3UKAAWySXB/s1600/Dee+Yoder.jpg" height="100" style="cursor: move;" width="99" /></a><br />
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<i><a href="http://www.deeyoder.com/">Click here to meet Dee Yoder</a> Learn about her mission to the former Amish and why she wrote this book</i><br />
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Peace be with you,<br />
Cat<br />
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<span style="font-family: rage italic; font-size: 200%;">Catrina Bradley</span> <br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)</span></i>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-11044690467517962632014-05-04T04:30:00.000-04:002014-06-10T18:01:53.069-04:00God knows...Four weeks ago, I knew exactly what I was going to write about for Jewels of Encouragement this month. Three weeks ago I told a few people exactly what I was going to write about. Two weeks ago, I started writing. One week ago I had struggled through about 250 words.<br />
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Today it hit me.... I SO wanted to share a certain message, and I was SO sure God wanted me to share it , I think I forgot to ask him. (Ironically, forgetting to ask God is part of what I was TRYING to communicate.)<br />
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But THIS is the message I wrote in 5 minutes, and edited in 10.<br />
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So THIS is the devotion I posted. I set aside MY idea, and went with God 's instead..That decision has never failed me yet.<br />
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<a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2014/05/and-all-shall-worship.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxG2n2zdU_IZj0ToDaJ5ixSjohfiVGuIjAkoRixiEvnStBOV08hQK0lXjeiFlI5xiylEs-WNEdobv57BE5ZTyH1h9GS1PV67BwO3lB9mmeWulmNngx1sAcR9_pFreheQESNfkRqiCsqa1/s1600/JewelsOfEncouragementPost.png" /></a></div>
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Love and blessings,<br />
Cat<br />
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<span style="font-family: rage italic; font-size: 200%;">Catrina Bradley</span> <br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (The Message)</span></i>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-19851351310597976022014-04-18T22:31:00.000-04:002014-04-18T22:34:38.980-04:00Oh, the Suffering<blockquote>
<i>From my archives... originally posted in March of 2009.</i></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: verdana;">But God demonstrates his own love for us in this:<br />
While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."<br />
Romans 5:8</span></blockquote>
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Much focus is put on Christ's resurrection (and rightfully so!), but I tend to dwell more on His sacrifice. Romans 5:8 is one of my favorite verses. The words that strike me to the core are "<span style="font-weight: bold;">while we were still sinners</span>". Not after we turned our lives around and decided to be good; not after we have made great strides on the road to holiness; but <span style="font-weight: bold;">while we were rotten to the core.</span><br />
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That's PURE, UNADULTERATED, UNCONDITIONAL, PERFECT LOVE, baby!<br />
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I didn't realize the extent of Jesus' sacrifice until I read "The Case for Christ" by Lee Strobel. Mr. Strobel spells out, quite graphically I might add, the horror, the pain, and the suffering the man-Jesus endured. He didn't have to endure it. He could have called a legion of angels to protect Him. He could have called on His divine nature to avoid it. But to save us, He DID endure it, with all of the emotional and physical agony any man feels. I haven't looked at the Cross the same since.<br />
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Take a moment to reflect on what Christ's gift to us cost Him, and don't forget to thank our Father for His Love, His Grace, and His Mercy.<br />
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In His most Holy and precious name,<br />
Cat<br />
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Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-10140785288891091982014-04-04T04:00:00.000-04:002014-04-04T04:00:00.690-04:00Jewels of Encouragement - A Thorny Confession<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxG2n2zdU_IZj0ToDaJ5ixSjohfiVGuIjAkoRixiEvnStBOV08hQK0lXjeiFlI5xiylEs-WNEdobv57BE5ZTyH1h9GS1PV67BwO3lB9mmeWulmNngx1sAcR9_pFreheQESNfkRqiCsqa1/s1600/JewelsOfEncouragementPost.png" height="206" width="320" /></a></div>
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Who remembers this song from the classic TV show "HeeHaw"? Come on, sing with me!!<br />
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Gloom, despair, and agony on me<br />
Deep, dark depression, excessive misery<br />
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all<br />
Gloom, despair, and agony on me</blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgZoDTIVHNtKWDr9UmM75wqGAsCLuVkrzyanDEMPnngtV4ULWz513qpAhNa4p5Dak1CmydjH9RqMMSbN4VIykXImymvtGTAfIXib2pGmg53gw7yWuoMTEpjL3cFRoui6rsmGhmPl9gETX/s1600/thorn_206948.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDgZoDTIVHNtKWDr9UmM75wqGAsCLuVkrzyanDEMPnngtV4ULWz513qpAhNa4p5Dak1CmydjH9RqMMSbN4VIykXImymvtGTAfIXib2pGmg53gw7yWuoMTEpjL3cFRoui6rsmGhmPl9gETX/s200/thorn_206948.jpg" /></a><br />
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On a similar note (see what I did there?), I'm posting about a prickly subject today at <a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/">Jewels of Encouragement</a>. Please come visit -- we have a first aid kit with a big cross on it. :)<br />
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Peace and love,<br />
Cat<br />
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<br />Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-1081969215415395312014-03-04T22:07:00.000-05:002014-03-04T22:07:06.454-05:00Book Review: Angels of Humility<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Angels-Humility-Novel-Jackie-Macgirvin-ebook/dp/B00513PJKC"></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Angels-Humility-Novel-Jackie-Macgirvin-ebook/dp/B00513PJKC" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="http://www.amazon.com/Angels-Humility-Novel-Jackie-Macgirvin-ebook/dp/B00513PJKC" border="0" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/419iEzXPjSL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-v3-big,TopRight,0,-55_SX278_SY278_PIkin4,BottomRight,1,22_AA300_SH20_OU01_.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Angels of Humility</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> A Novel</b></i></span><br />
<i>by Jackie Macgirvin</i><br />
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Oh. My. Wow. <br />
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If you’ve ever doubted the power of praying… read this book!<br />
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If you’ve ever thought that your imperfect prayers didn’t matter, read this book!<br />
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If you are a prayer warrior, praise the Lord! And read this book!<br />
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And if don’t believe in prayer, or even know who to pray to, I hope you will consider reading this book.<br />
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When I see a Kindle Freebie with 18 reviews and 17 of them give five stars, I can’t help but be skeptical. Especially when the majority have a common thread. In the case of <i>Angels of Humility</i>, that thread was “I’ve never read anything like it… A life changing book… My prayer life will never be the same.” I don’t let skepticism stop me, however. I like fiction about spiritual warfare, and there were enough positive words NOT in common to sway me to pick it. <br />
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About four chapters in, I had decided this was a 4-star book. It’s extremely well written, and it’s <i>readable</i>. The story and the characters drew me in – I wanted to keep reading. But I felt the plot wasn’t entirely original, and I considered it to be heavily influenced by Frank Peretti’s “Darkness” duo. (Not a bad thing!)<br />
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It wasn’t long, though, before <i>Angels of Humility</i> set itself apart as something different, and my rating climbed to 5 stars. By the end of the book, I knew why all of the Amazon reviews were high. I was gasping in awe and wonder. <br />
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Many of us have no idea what an overwhelming gift of responsibility and power we carry – untapped. And, though it sounds cliché, I can honestly say … “I’ve never read anything like it… A life changing book… My prayer life will never be the same.”<br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(This review is completely unsolicited, unless you count the promptings of the Holy Spirit.)</i></span><br />
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Blessings and prayers!<br />
Cat<br />
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<br />Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-76295346014601682852014-02-04T05:00:00.000-05:002014-02-04T08:37:31.099-05:00Jewels of Encouragement: Indisposable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Has it really been since before Christmas that I've posted here? Wow, I need to get my rear in gear.<br />
<br />
I haven't been writing much lately, but I do have a new devotion to share with you today at <a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2014/02/indisposable.html" target="_blank">Jewels of Encouragment</a>. The original title was <i>Disposable</i>, but when it came time to type it in the Blogger "title" block, I thought about what I wanted you to "take away", and typed <i><b>Indisposable</b> </i>instead. Click through and tell me if I made the right choice, even though spellchecker says it's not a word. :)<br />
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Love and Blessings,<br />
Cat<br />
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<br />Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-62880621445153629432013-12-13T23:45:00.000-05:002013-12-14T01:15:10.576-05:00Elf-ish<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMU2kMOzBuSlObjSYoZwiYMcMdRRF1iMZnFwlC2-DfSNk4ol9d4L-brH3yxRnl_9HXqDYyYqlG6xV4t6JcNlGrN4JH7NdAmKqkSDb0NO07YfxYR_N5Fp8JgvMIeNR_Sae5xbtD4rupQs/s1600/sitting+elf+melonheadz+colored.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMU2kMOzBuSlObjSYoZwiYMcMdRRF1iMZnFwlC2-DfSNk4ol9d4L-brH3yxRnl_9HXqDYyYqlG6xV4t6JcNlGrN4JH7NdAmKqkSDb0NO07YfxYR_N5Fp8JgvMIeNR_Sae5xbtD4rupQs/s200/sitting+elf+melonheadz+colored.png" width="86" /></a></div><br />
<i>My friend, "Aunt" Bonnie, is a Christmas Elf. She has been posting on Facebook about at least one "act of kindness" she's done each day this December. (She doesn't normally "advertise" her elfisms ,but I have no doubt she's on silent duty 365 days a year. Her goal in this is to encourage others to be "elves" also.) Today she posted that she was distracted by the passing of a friend and hadn't done any good deed except to pray. (The most important good deed in my book.) I replied that I'd done three elf acts so she was covered, and she asked me to tell her about it. My answer is way too long for an FB status reply, so I'm posting it here...</i><br />
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<br />
I have some awesome work hours at the church. On Fridays, I get off work at 11:30 am -- technically, that is. In reality, I rarely leave on time (be it Friday, Thursday, or any other days.) I don't mind; an extra 30 minutes or an hour is nothing compared to God's many gifts to me, so how can I honestly complain? But today... well...Ummmm, no.<br />
<br />
Today is the Friday before the third Sunday of Advent. You can imagine how crazy-busy it must be at a church at this time of year, so I didn't get home today until my regular quitting time, and then answered work-related texts and worked from home until close to 6pm. And my shopping still isn't done and my Christmas tree is still in the attic. I had planned to take care of those things, plus laundry, etc. this afternoon. <br />
<br />
Yeah, I know, I've got it rough. *wink* But I'm not here to complain - I'm here to tell you about how God used those extra hours I put in, not only to complete stuff that had to be done, but to bless others through me.<br />
<br />
If I hadn't been there this afternoon (when I really wanted to be somewhere else) none of the following might have taken place:<br />
<br />
- A homebound, senior adult just out of physical rehab wouldn't have lights or heat tomorrow morning.<br />
- A 10-year old, coatless girl wouldn't have a brand-new winter coat - her only one.<br />
- The family attending the memorial service for their beloved patriarch might not have meat for their fellowship lunch tomorrow.<br />
- A mother might not have Santa presents under the tree for her children this Christmas.<br />
- A single mom might not have food for her children tonight.<br />
<br />
I didn't orchestrate or provide any of the above needs--I was just God's liaison; His hands and feet--used by Him to ensure that His blessings were received by others. Sometimes, all we have to do is be there, in His place and at that time, in order for God to work through us. It doesn't take any effort on our part except to show up.<br />
<br />
Back to Aunt Bonnie.... last night she shared this Facebook meme:<br />
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<a href="https://scontent-b-atl.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/1422544_555637044516995_256685136_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://scontent-b-atl.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/1422544_555637044516995_256685136_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<br />
and I replied,<i> "But is it okay if sometimes I DO ask God to make my life easier?"</i> Being Bonnie, she answered, <i>"Absolutely, just remember He may not answer the way you wanted or expected..." </i> Boy, she got that right. And so did I when I said, <i>"I always love His answers, and I love that I can ask Him anything..."</i><br />
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Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-19451229945834591602013-12-09T22:26:00.001-05:002013-12-09T22:26:09.013-05:00There IS a Difference<div class="_1x1">
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">The difference between Santa Claus and Jesus Christ:<br /> <br /> Santa says: “You’d better not pout”.<br /> Jesus says: "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28<br /> <br /> Santa says: “You’d better not cry”.<br /> Jesus says: "[I] keep track of all [your] sorrows. [I] have collected all [your] tears in [my] bottle." Psalm 56:8<br /> <br /> Santa says: “You’d better be good”.<br /> Jesus says : "No <span class="text_exposed_show">one is good except God alone." Mark 10:18<br /> <br /> Santa says: “You’d better watch out, I’m telling you why”<br /> Okay, Jesus says that too.
But the “why” is for a different reason. Santa says he'll bring you
your earthly desires one day a year IF you do what he says. Jesus says
He give you all your earthly needs PLUS unfathomable, heavenly, eternal
riches -- even when you fail. And, unlike Santa, Jesus ALWAYS delivers.<br /> <br /> Jesus’ love is unconditional. All He asks is that you love Him back.</span></span></div>
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<span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="text_exposed_show">Christmas blessings and LOVE,</span></span></div>
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<span class="UFIBlingBoxTimeline"><span data-reactid=".r[1q70y]"></span></span>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-68877513861166303632013-10-25T18:52:00.000-04:002013-10-25T22:18:51.181-04:00Friday Fiction: Such a Time <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fellow writers,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do you have dozens (or more) fits and story-starts in your writing file? I have more than I can remember writing. I was scrolling through my files today looking for something to share for Fiction Friday, and didn't recognize "Such a Time". I vaguely remember writing it, but I have no idea where I was going. Reading this snippet for what seemed like the first time, I realized it might be able to stand alone as a very flashy flash fiction, along the lines of Jan's "100 Words" series (but more like 175 words.) Or I might expand it .... some day. :)</span><br />
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<h3>
Such a Time</h3>
Abigail shaded her eyes and searched the sky for a hint of a cloud, any small sign that the Lord would bless them with rain today. The clear blue morning seemed to mock her prayers; the devil’s laughter came disguised as sunshine.<br />
<br />
She carried the dented tin bucket to the creek, hoping that she’d be able to fill it at the wade-in without trekking another quarter mile to the murky pool in the hollows. Without rain, the creek had grown thinner and stingier each day, much like her meager garden… and her mood. <br />
<br />
It did no good to lament clear, cool water easily obtained with a few pumps of a handle and food she could collect from the market instead of from the sweat of her brow. Those days were behind her, as were company calling daily, socials in the square, and worshipping behind solid walls and stained glass. As were her family and her friends.<br />
<br />
Michael should be home by sunset. She prayed he would bring with him a letter from home. <br />
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~~~</div>
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Yeah, that's it. *smile*. <br />
<br />
But there is more reading to be read at Sara's blog today! Come check it out at<br />
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<br />
Friday blessings,<br />
Cat<br />
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Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-13940479720749853012013-10-20T00:12:00.000-04:002013-10-20T00:12:35.050-04:00Friday Fiction: The Year the Magic DiedI'm very late for Fiction Friday, and this isn't even fiction... except where my early childhood memories might be jumbled. This vignette of Christmases past was inspired by the Faithwriters.com challenge topic "Curiosity killed the cat", and had I started writing before bedtime the night before it was due, I might have turned it into something more.<br />
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Vonnie (Yvonne Blake) is our lovely and loving hostess for Fiction Friday this week. Drop by <a href="http://www.mybackdoorministry.blogspot.com/2013/10/friday-fiction-dindon.html" target="_blank">My Back Porch</a> to read her story about a different kind of turkey, plus follow links to more original writing. And don't be shy - add your own link!<br />
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<h2>
The Year the Magic Died</h2>
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Memories...</div>
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A tiny me, sitting in my big sister’s lap. She’s saying, “Santa
brings us presents on Christmas because that’s how he celebrates Jesus’
birthday.” I wonder at the logic of that, and decide it makes sense. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A slightly less tiny me, sitting in my big sister’s lap. She’s
explaining, “Mom’s handwriting is on the tags because Santa doesn’t label them. But Mom knows who the presents are for, and
she puts tags on them.” I don’t question
that answer. It makes sense to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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An excited little me, snuggled in bed with my big sister. She’s
hushing me. “Santa has a lot of houses to visit, and a lot of presents to
deliver. How can his sleigh hold them all? He came early and put some of ours
in the storeroom. Now be very quiet so he won’t know you hear him. Pretend you’re
asleep.” And pretty soon I was.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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A little bit bigger me, in the den with my big brothers. One
of them brags, “I bet we can guess what Santa is going to bring you for
Christmas. We’ll write it down to prove we’re right.” On Christmas day, we all looked,
and their predictions proved true for both my little sister and me. At first I
was amazed, then I grew skeptical. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A slightly older and taller me, in the den with my big
brothers. One of them confides, “Our Christmas presents are in the
storeroom.” I knew I shouldn’t, and I
didn’t… for a while. But then I did. I snuck in and I snooped. And then I knew
the truth. I mean, I kinda knew before, but now I really knew. And on Christmas morning, when I saw those
same presents under the tree, I felt like the magic of Christmas died. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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An even bigger me, huddled behind closed doors with Mom.
“Will you help me wrap some presents?” She knew that I knew, and the magic of
Christmas was reborn as I gleefully and giddily wrapped presents from “Santa”
for my little sister. Later that night, we read one of my favorite Christmas
storybooks about animals at the Nativity. On Christmas morning, I smiled when I sat that “Santa”
had added my name to a couple of the tags on my sister’s presents.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And the real magic of Christmas lived on.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtxq7pcEvgq-vAzgFIvtrWZ1w_yYfy6WY05FIl7TKgMtu-NeAgZB6IE1G4thQZOqMsa3cuKQE-j27ByTYtnAkeHFmfEH9vLTKM-hQTZ1tFlePMSCPEbx0PPbxv3ZwUhL_NOn0vzY3cmNdi/s1600/CatrinaSignatureSS.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtxq7pcEvgq-vAzgFIvtrWZ1w_yYfy6WY05FIl7TKgMtu-NeAgZB6IE1G4thQZOqMsa3cuKQE-j27ByTYtnAkeHFmfEH9vLTKM-hQTZ1tFlePMSCPEbx0PPbxv3ZwUhL_NOn0vzY3cmNdi/s640/CatrinaSignatureSS.gif" width="640" /></a>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-79988367608195680712013-09-20T12:26:00.000-04:002013-09-20T12:26:48.665-04:00Friday Fiction: Scurvy Sue and the Quest for Abundant Treasure<br />
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<br />
<blockquote>
<a href="http://fictionfusion.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-greybell-flower-part-2-friday.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpr6KPEy_DuEDwLzkw2zUJOJmvkmjxv2o1TpgMipKwHlhnYefTWAZYm9v6KGy6da5PS4-2Pn1T_-211SATOXkdGNatDJtVwE4QzJ2UAG-0jxN7VYIc_30P1ukA_NzTTyfS-VvxbCW5xCe/s200/FFButtonSara2011.PNG" width="200" /></a><br />
Ahoy, Mateys! 'Tis a most glorious day in Georgia! Perfect weather for International Talk Like a Pirate Day! Sweet <a href="http://fictionfusion.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-greybell-flower-part-2-friday.html" target="_blank">Sara Harricharan</a> is hosting Fiction Friday today - she's got the linky thing on her blog if you'd like to join the fun!</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<br />
This family-friendly, pirate adventure bubbled out of my imagination while brainstorming and outlining possible creative directions and Biblical lessons for my church's own "The Pirates of the I-Don't-Carrribean VBS (Vacation Bible School) a couple of years ago. We stepped out of the box - the box of curriculum and the box of expectation, and created something new. Thanks, Mr. Blake, for the inspiration.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
_______________</div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Scurvy Sue and the Quest for Abundant Treasure</span></b></span><br />
<br />
Scurvy Sue scurried up the gangplank, clutching her leather satchel to her bosom. "Pete! Joe-Joe!" Her boot-falls echoed through the <i>Merry Marauder</i> as she ran pell-mell across the scarred wooden deck.<br />
<br />
A burly man crashed through the door from the hold, sword drawn and eyes on fire. "What scallywags be on yer tail, me girl? I'll take their sorry heads off."<br />
<br />
"Ye like t'take me own head off, ye oaf. Watch where ye be swingin' that saber. Ye surely be dubbed correctly, Perilous Pete."<br />
<br />
A barking laugh nearly made Sue drop the satchel. She peered around Pete's massive bulk to see Joe-Joe hitching up his breeches.<br />
<br />
"There ye be Jolly Joe. Not everythin's a laughin' matter."<br />
<br />
"We all be carryin' monikers t'fit us, Scurvy Sue." Joe-Joe sniffed her and winced. "Now, what be causin' this ruckus if yer not bein' hounded by no-good landlubbers?"<br />
<br />
"Treasure," Sue whispered, eyes darting left and right. She leaned closer, patting her worn bag. "I found a map."<br />
<br />
"Shiver me timbers!" Pete roared. "Up anchor, hoist the sails. Let's be heavin' ho!"<br />
<br />
"Quiet yer trap," Sue hissed. "We got some decodin' t'do first."<br />
<br />
Safely behind closed doors, Sue laid her satchel on the wobbling table. "I might o'been misleadin' ye a wee bit. 'Tis not a picture map. More like a word map. But I snatched the decodin' book, too."<br />
<br />
Pete's eyes flared, but Joe-Joe stopped him with a smirk.<br />
<br />
Sue pulled a yellowed page from her bag. "This be the map. See that at the top? <i>The Road to Abundant Treasure.</i>"<br />
<br />
Pete scowled. "Don't be lookin' like no road t'me. It' be lookin' like a lot o'words. An' we don't travel by road, we sail the seas. What be the meanin' o'these letters an' numbers?"<br />
<br />
"It's some secret code. But look here." Sue took a thick, leather-bound book out of her satchel.<br />
<br />
Joe-Joe's eyes widened at the golden words on the cover. "Holy Bible. That missionary ship we looted had some o'em. Where'd ye pilfer this?"<br />
<br />
"Big fancy church. I thought t'find some doubloons lyin' 'round."<br />
<br />
"Looky here, twas written by the late King himself. Thar's his moniker." A giggle burbled from Joe-Joe's throat. "Kings surely know where treasure's hidden, arrr?"<br />
<br />
"Arrr, Joe-Joe. Me thoughts ezactly. That be why I took it. The map was inside." Sue crossed her arms and stood her full 5'2". "So let's be crackin' the code."<br />
<br />
The three sat and bumped their dirty heads together over the documents.<br />
<br />
"Gadzooks, Sue. Can ye back off a bit? Yer stench be stingin' me nostrils." Pete rubbed his nose. "Here, ye take the book, an' Joe-Joe the map. I'll do the thinkin'."<br />
<br />
Sue snorted, but chose not to mention that besides, he couldn't read. "Right then. Joe-Joe, what be the first clue?"<br />
<br />
"Romans 3 23. Looks like lots of 'em be startin' with Romans."<br />
<br />
Sue gasped. "Blimey! This frontish page holds a list o'names an' suches. One o'em be Romans. There be a number aside o'it too, but I think it be a page number." She flipped through the thick book and found the right place. "Arrrr, there be numbers all through this writin'. What be the rest o'that clue?"<br />
<br />
"3 an' 23."<br />
<br />
Sue bent closer, scanning the lines with her finger. "Aha! I think I cracked the code! Listen t'this: 'For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.'"<br />
<br />
Pete smacked the table. "Arrrr. We be pirates. 'Course we be sinnin'."<br />
<br />
"But it said "ALL have sinned." Joe-Joe said. His puzzled face didn't erase his steady smile. "That'd include priests an' the good king hisself. Let's gander at the next one. Sue, find Romans 5 an' 8"<br />
<br />
She flipped through a few pages, and scanned the text. "It says, "But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.' Well, that don't be makin' much sense."<br />
<br />
Pete scowled. "I be thinkin' we ain't close t'no treasure yet."<br />
<br />
On and on they deciphered clues. With each code, Sue's eyes grew softer, her face brighter, and her smile wider.<br />
<br />
"Scurvy Sue, ye be grinnin' like Jolly Joe. If ye've figured where 'bouts t'set our compass, attest an' let's heave off. Thar be treasure awaitin'!"<br />
<br />
"Me thinks I was mistaken."<br />
<br />
Pete sprang up, sending his chair crashing over. "Arrrr! Ya mean t'say thar's no treasure?"<br />
<br />
"Oh, thar be treasure alrighty. But it's not out thar. The treasure's in here." She thumped her fist against her chest.<br />
<br />
Joe-Joe nodded. "I'm thinkin ye might be right, me curvy wench. Back t'the church?"<br />
<br />
"Aye. Back t'the church. T'find someone t'explain this abundant treasure we've discovered."<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></i> <i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(c) Catrina Bradley 2012</span></i><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/profile/ba1969" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzzFooyY53tVBLGK8nBaUY4fZj1cuxBqwqYR7Hwlf8YDCsFl5By8zQFBAK9yD3B20_5qeu7OnyFT_cbSkypUKP-sdocoOEQvMHZ6W0c6FbJaPq0DSWdrxN21_k7c0Y_DqPYHJ81BzwKs6q/s320/BiblePageRomans.jpg" width="207" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;"><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/profile/ba1969">ba1969</a><span class="xlite"></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
_______________</div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.sxc.hu/profile/mhardisty" target="_blank"></a><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: rage italic; font-size: large;">Catrina Bradley</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 14px;">"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 14px;">Psalm 18:24 (The Message)</span></i>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-10896121224991420902013-08-30T15:45:00.000-04:002013-08-30T15:45:42.683-04:00Friday Fiction: Play Me That Tiger Rag<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhRYf9jYQbk4RcQhf_8e8Y1Golw_3p846Tkaq5a5VBt0njAu0vX1V3K2hvIE7qkkzfYk-3PjDwJV0ovBaZWz8tVZy80U8zVhr3Ye0Jejt9rSlmZreJzus5QidR4iLmt1ivEnzg_0zSSv1h/s1600/FFButtonSara2011.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhRYf9jYQbk4RcQhf_8e8Y1Golw_3p846Tkaq5a5VBt0njAu0vX1V3K2hvIE7qkkzfYk-3PjDwJV0ovBaZWz8tVZy80U8zVhr3Ye0Jejt9rSlmZreJzus5QidR4iLmt1ivEnzg_0zSSv1h/s1600/FFButtonSara2011.PNG" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fiction Friday is at home with sweet Sara today -</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">be sure to visit her awesome blog, <a href="http://www.fictionfusion.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Fiction Fusion</a>,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">to find the Linky tool and join the fiction fun!!</span></blockquote>
<h2>
</h2>
<br />
I am not a fan of football, but I tolerate it for those I love. I've even been known to have fun watching a game. And being there in person is always a good time. This little ditty is in celebration of college football opening weekend, and in honor of my husband's alma mater. The setting and characters are real, but the rest is all fiction. Have fun!<br />
<br />
<h2>
Play Me That Tiger Rag</h2>
"The game you're attending<br />
Depends on one hue;<br />
Wear it; proclaim it,<br />
At all costs to you.<br />
<br />
"Do not don a t-shirt<br />
Of red or of black!<br />
You must wear the Orange<br />
Or risk an attack.<br />
<br />
"The Tigers of Clemson<br />
Are king of this day;<br />
The orange and purple -<br />
They WILL have their way!"<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I scoured my closet;<br />
A tiger I sought;<br />
The closest to orange --<br />
A pale apricot.<br />
<br />
(I did this because it's<br />
My husband's one passion.<br />
I rarely buy orange, see<br />
It's not quite my fashion.)<br />
<br />
I put on the t-shirt<br />
And strode to the kitchen;<br />
Where hubby awaited<br />
Just itchin' to pitch in.<br />
<br />
Although I'd been told,<br />
and my brain is not lame,<br />
I listened with poise<br />
As he told me again:<br />
<br />
"The snacks and the drinks,<br />
Hon, they cannot be scorned;<br />
Be clever; inventive!<br />
Pumpkin pie! Candy corn!<br />
<br />
"Is it orange? Then yes,<br />
It will be most accepted.<br />
Bring Cheetoes, Doritos.<br />
Faux pas? Soon detected."<br />
<br />
Do I need reminding<br />
Of consequence grim,<br />
If I make a fool of<br />
Big tiger fan him?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjhZom3pCQD9PnHlCMe0tPNdcvBDQB5IimSIrntdiaFTCO6zI31P2Sk-mfAJN0RweTszzSB8nCgYoLiIeQjYzBkvSqpjS2QzYXzpOJ1cCPsn0NLkrLAacq6SCa_GyzUAkiKbCwkFLgjt-E/s1600/Red+Matrix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjhZom3pCQD9PnHlCMe0tPNdcvBDQB5IimSIrntdiaFTCO6zI31P2Sk-mfAJN0RweTszzSB8nCgYoLiIeQjYzBkvSqpjS2QzYXzpOJ1cCPsn0NLkrLAacq6SCa_GyzUAkiKbCwkFLgjt-E/s320/Red+Matrix.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
On this, my first trip<br />
To his old college haunts,<br />
He'll not be subjected<br />
To his buddy's taunts.<br />
<br />
We can't take my car,<br />
See, it's bright cherry-red,<br />
So we pack up his pick-up;<br />
It's full steam ahead.<br />
<br />
Stuck to his truck with<br />
Mechanical claws<br />
Are flags of bright orange<br />
Decked out with white paws.<br />
<br />
We pull in the lot<br />
To a welcome of cheers;<br />
His friends are all jumping<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlfg0yQUWEwZi63ptjJ3tcDxRX-E6N0EbUJbNGBgT155u53RfkcAHkYx4LhY-jqy0H1kPYvytM9NrDxZ5xIKjIQ_MKvo5F-a9iDkBYlGAwuFdwpZqo0cxZIkc9AS2Me6PxRvz0iYCV6R6t/s1600/Clemson+Flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlfg0yQUWEwZi63ptjJ3tcDxRX-E6N0EbUJbNGBgT155u53RfkcAHkYx4LhY-jqy0H1kPYvytM9NrDxZ5xIKjIQ_MKvo5F-a9iDkBYlGAwuFdwpZqo0cxZIkc9AS2Me6PxRvz0iYCV6R6t/s200/Clemson+Flag.jpg" width="200" /></a>And waving their beers<br />
<br />
Hubby hops out and<br />
Heads straight for our ice chest<br />
While I contemplate<br />
If I failed my first test.<br />
<br />
I open my door and<br />
Step out on the dirt,<br />
Straighten my shoulders<br />
And smooth out my shirt.<br />
<br />
One look at his face<br />
When he pulls from the ice<br />
A bright can of soda<br />
Says this won't be nice.<br />
<br />
"Um, honey, is this<br />
What you brought us to drink?<br />
What were you thinking?<br />
Did you even think?<br />
<br />
"This is football, a tailgate!<br />
Have you lost your mind?<br />
I knew that I should have<br />
Just left you behind."<br />
<br />
I take a deep breath<br />
And I say, "But my dear,<br />
You gave me instructions;<br />
You made them quite clear.<br />
<br />
"I see that you're mad,<br />
But I know you're no lush.<br />
You said just one hue<br />
So I brought Orange Crush."<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-24363013569580567382013-08-10T00:19:00.000-04:002013-08-10T00:19:05.405-04:00Friday Fiction: Child-Sized Armor<blockquote class="tr_bq"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://mybackdoorministry.blogspot.com/2013/08/friday-fiction.html"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhRYf9jYQbk4RcQhf_8e8Y1Golw_3p846Tkaq5a5VBt0njAu0vX1V3K2hvIE7qkkzfYk-3PjDwJV0ovBaZWz8tVZy80U8zVhr3Ye0Jejt9rSlmZreJzus5QidR4iLmt1ivEnzg_0zSSv1h/s1600/FFButtonSara2011.PNG" /></a><span id="goog_1820103892"></span><span id="goog_1820103893"></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Welcome back to <a href="http://mybackdoorministry.blogspot.com/2013/08/friday-fiction.html"><span style="color: black;">Friday Fiction!</span></a></span></b></i></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Today's hostess is Yvonne (Vonnie) Blake. I love her blog, <a href="http://mybackdoorministry.blogspot.com/2013/08/friday-fiction.html">My Back Door</a>, and I think you will too. Please pop by</i><i><div style="display: inline !important;"><i>, say hello</i></div></i><i><div style="display: inline !important;"><i>, and read some awesomely creative fiction! You can join the Friday Fiction Fun by posting a link to a piece you've written. Read, enjoy, and please leave some feedback for the writers! </i></div></i></div></i></span></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I got distracted by life again this week, and let Friday Fiction sneak up on me. I can't wait to get back into the routine! Anyway, I unearthed another golden oldie (from 2009) to share with you today at the last minute. I hope you enjoy it </span></div><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Love you all!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">God bless,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Cat</span><br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
<h3>Child-Sized Armor</h3>The new workers were as nervous as fresh-born foals: eyes wide and darting; steps timid and halting. The factory foreman chewed the cigar stub jutting from the corner of his mouth and estimated their worth as they filed in<br />
<br />
Jonas didn't completely dislike hiring kiddies. If they could do the job, they could make him money. And if not, they went back home to Mama. <br />
<br />
Most of the tykes could be trained to do the simple tasks required, and those who couldn't either weren't grown up enough for their age (Jonas picked off those weaklings easily); or their learning abilities fell below the standard required (their parents were encouraged to seek special education).<br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
<br />
Sylvia bowed over the small sacks. Each one held an egg-salad sandwich, an apple from the orchard, and a fresh-baked oatmeal-raisin cookie, and was marked "LUNCH" in either pink or blue crayon.<br />
<br />
<i>Lord, I'm glad I can do this simple thing. Please bless each boy and girl with nourishment to their bodies and their spirits. Amen</i><br />
<br />
Into each sack she slipped a scrap of paper. The sacks with pink crayon got the following words: "For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works." The sacks marked with blue got: "And whatsoever ye do, do heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men." <br />
<br />
Sylvia breathed one last prayer and rolled the tops down.<br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
<br />
Jonas looked up from his paperwork to eye the huge round clock on the factory wall. <i>Time to do a check. Gotta reinforce the rules while the brats are still green.<br />
<br />
Especially those Nielson brats.</i><br />
<br />
He couldn't decide if the girl would drag her brother down into her well of self pity, or if he would pull his sister up with his stubborn tenacity. The boy could be a good worker if he'd focus more on the line and less on the pathetic crybaby. <br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
<br />
Sylvia settled each sack lunch into her shopping bag then toted her burden to the 13th Street trolley stop.<br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
A scowl was Jonas' answer to Sylvia's timid knock on the frame of his open door.<br />
<br />
Sylvia lifted the bag. "You know the new children might not have lunch."<br />
<br />
"Bah. Spoiling the brats, you are."<br />
<br />
"We can't fault them for not knowing on their first day, can we? It's just this once, Jonas. And they'll work better fed than hungry." <br />
<br />
The noon whistle shrieked and the assembly line rumbled to a halt. Jonas lumbered to his office door and hollered out, "Lunch break. Twenty minutes."<br />
<br />
The conglomeration of ragamuffins staggered to their feet and stretched their cramped muscles. The new ones looked to each other with fear and uncertainty. Only a few had brought a crust of bread and some cheese, or a scrap left over from last night's meager supper, wrapped up in a handkerchief.<br />
<br />
Sylvia sought out the hungry and distributed her offering, along with a soft word and a stroke to matted hair or a gentle hug to a tiny unwashed body.<br />
<br />
Jonas watched her until the last sack was handed out and she was on her way. He then retreated to his office to spy on the brats through the door and eat his roast beef and freshly baked bread. <br />
<br />
He didn't exactly approve of his wife's charity, but he found malicious satisfaction watching the newbies open their gifts. Most tore into the food, leaving the silly scrap of paper with the rest of the rubbish. A few took their time, seemingly in wonderment of what they held.<br />
<br />
The Nielson brats were different. First out of the sacks came the scraps of paper, and before they even looked at the sandwiches or sniffed the apples, they read the words Sylvia had printed, traded papers to read each other's, and then traded back read their own again. <br />
<br />
"Bah. Blabber-jabber is all that is." Jonas redirected his attention to the food in front of him and his thoughts to putting his feet up tonight. <br />
<br />
Out on the factory floor, the Nielson children joined hands in prayer.<br />
<br />
Outside the factory door, Sylvia paused to pray.<br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
<br />
Another shrill whistle signaled the end of the break, and Jonas scanned the floor to make sure the brats all hurried back to work.<br />
<br />
Especially the Nielson brats.<br />
<br />
His eyes widened, then narrowed as he watched the tiny girl square her shoulders and set to task with new determination and confidence, and the boy actually grin and work faster.<br />
<br />
What in the world did that woman put in the egg salad today?<br />
<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
<br />
Scripture KJV<br />
Eph 2:10<br />
Col 3:23<br />
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Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-21769052567888379952013-08-02T19:52:00.000-04:002013-08-02T19:52:29.404-04:00Friday Fiction: Choose Wisely<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://fictionfusion.blogspot.com/2013/08/enchanted-friday-fiction.html" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGpr6KPEy_DuEDwLzkw2zUJOJmvkmjxv2o1TpgMipKwHlhnYefTWAZYm9v6KGy6da5PS4-2Pn1T_-211SATOXkdGNatDJtVwE4QzJ2UAG-0jxN7VYIc_30P1ukA_NzTTyfS-VvxbCW5xCe/s200/FFButtonSara2011.PNG" width="200" /></a></h3>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">Sara is our host for Friday Fiction today - you'll find links to some awesome (quick) reading on her <a href="http://fictionfusion.blogspot.com/2013/08/enchanted-friday-fiction.html" target="_blank">Fiction Fusion </a>blog. </span></i></blockquote>
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Friday Fiction is BACK! I'm so excited! I don't have anything new to share, but I wanted to take part. This is an old (2009!) FaithWriters challenge entry I brushed off for today. A allegory, I guess you would call it. Thanks for reading! Comments of critique (or praise :) ) are welcome.<br />
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Love<br />
Cat<br />
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<h3>
Chose Wisely</h3>
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The dark squeezed Katie like a vice. Behind her, somewhere, an orchestra of wails and screeches created a symphony of terror that chased her onward. She didn’t know what horror was concealed in the inky murk, what could be making those sounds, but she knew she had to escape. Tethers of fear constricted her lungs, but her feet propelled her. Her arms scrabbled into the black air as she careened forward over the cobbled surface.<br />
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Her outstretched hands met a wall, and her frantic fingers traced the outline of a door.<br />
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The icy doorknob burned Katie’s clammy palm, but she gripped it like a life preserver nonetheless. Her sweaty hand slipped on the metal knob as twisted it, and she yanked the door open. Blinding light flooded the passageway, and she threw her forearm across her eyes before lurching through the doorway. Her lungs were freed from their tethers, and she sucked in sweet, fresh air, then released it with a groan and a whimper. In and out. Again and again she filled, and emptied, her aching lungs. Behind her was blessed silence, her unseen tormenters banished by the light. <br />
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The door swung closed behind her.<br />
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When her eyes grew accustomed to the light and she was able to take in her surroundings, she sank to her knees and wailed. <br />
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This was where her nightmare flight through the dark had begun. She was back where she had started.<br />
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The room was circular and empty, save for the gleaming, throne-like structure in the center, and its occupant. The light permeated every corner leaving nary a shadow. She could see no source for the brilliance illuminating the burnished floor and opalescent walls; instead, it seemed to be emanating from the one seated on the throne. The one who had sent her on her trek through that hellish tunnel. <br />
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<i>No, I sent you not. You chose your own way.</i> <br />
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Katie gasped at the intrusion into her thoughts. She sprang to her feet and thrust a finger toward him. “You tricked me!”<br />
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<i>How so? I simply gave you a choice.</i> His kind eyes were clouded with sorrow.<br />
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“Some choice. Who wouldn’t have picked Door Number One?” she said, turning and gestured toward the shimmering door she had just stumbled through. Light prismed off its bejeweled surface like a beacon, beguiling her, seducing her again to seek out what treasures it might conceal. <br />
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Before Katie could take a step in answer to its siren call, His hand embraced her arm, filling her body with warmth and her mind with sudden clarity.<br />
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<i>Do you truly want to return there? I say to you again, choose wisely. Take heed: things are not always as they outwardly appear.</i><br />
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Her chin fell to her chest and her eyes squinched closed. <br />
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<i>Look at me, Katie, and listen closely. How many times have you chosen that way?</i><br />
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She jerked her head up to look at Him, finally. “How many times? What’re you…?”<br />
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<i>This is not your first test.</i><br />
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“I don’t…” Her indignance was choked off by a surge of visions. Visions that didn’t make sense, but evoked familiar emotions...familiar fears. Evil chasing her through sunny, wide-open gateways and into darkness beyond, talons clawing into her, infecting her, with guilt, despair, melancholy. Hideous laughter echoing in her ears and her heart. And of herself, never stopping, never giving in, never giving up. And always returning for more.<br />
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“I don’t remember…”<br />
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<i>No, you remember those trials differently. You did not have my eyes, but now you see what I remember.</i><br />
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Katie pressed her palms to her eyes and fell to the floor. “Make it stop!”<br />
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<i>I am able to stop your visions for you, but only <i>you</i> can stop <i>me</i> from seeing them. Only you can.</i><br />
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Katie’s mind was next flooded with minutiae of her past: shunning the stuttering new girl in 7th grade in order to be popular; not stopping her 12th grade boyfriend when he said, “If you love me you will;” accepting the corporate position with a fancy-schmancy hotel because it came with a tidy salary and her own office, instead of following her dream to open a homeless shelter and soup kitchen. <br />
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Deep in her consciousness, Katie heard His words echo, like an unremembered memory tickling her mind.<br />
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<i>I offer you a choice. Two doors. Choose wisely.</i><br />
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She turned and cast a longing gaze at the bejeweled door, then circled around to view its counterpart on the opposite side of the circle. This door’s frame was narrow, and peeling paint adorned its weathered boards. Its doorknob and hinges were rusted from disuse. Katie was sure she saw light flickering through the keyhole.<br />
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She turned to look again at her new friend. “You said you’ll go with me?”<br />
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<i>I’ll never leave you.</i><br />
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Katie took a faltering step toward the creaky old door…then another. When she looked back, for the first time, the Man was not seated on His throne. He was standing at her side, smiling.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(c) 2012</span></i><br />
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_______________</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeE3YqBx_gkVI-iYdJMw_LAFsfAadh8MAV7A_wiMeta1AgjMwZ-ONlmtAEHsBuDogKwJnHxHDTk6-YpDMtYSJPnU8uh_FAgTU6SKZKsPHtpOA7PRnOL8GLbsJkT3nr-Crd-yiJoxsJxaF/s1600/SignaturePlain.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeE3YqBx_gkVI-iYdJMw_LAFsfAadh8MAV7A_wiMeta1AgjMwZ-ONlmtAEHsBuDogKwJnHxHDTk6-YpDMtYSJPnU8uh_FAgTU6SKZKsPHtpOA7PRnOL8GLbsJkT3nr-Crd-yiJoxsJxaF/s320/SignaturePlain.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: rage italic; font-size: 200%;">Catrina Bradley</span> <br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)</span></i>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-68045506887142296772013-07-21T22:54:00.001-04:002013-07-21T22:54:52.858-04:00The Antique Photo Challenge<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I stumbled across a fun new writing challenge,and I'm so excited! <a href="http://rittywritingchallenges.blogspot.com/">Ritty's Writing Challenges</a> seems to be just the thing to spark my writing fuse and light a fire under my muse.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This challenge is called "Antique Photo". </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>(Okay, the title alone was enough to get my interest. <br />I love old photos.)</i> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8kei4NZLX3giLB3botn0C0vQ9q6lSDPa47CR7oxveingVk57IL6pIq89f7PiySKaGcn4v4Uahoil_5CEF_F81ZTQwVMuHrlRx6xsnhsP8I-I_1YY3sLEIBG0iZY1JaqxnqMPntRxmj4/s1600/PicMonkey+Collage8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8kei4NZLX3giLB3botn0C0vQ9q6lSDPa47CR7oxveingVk57IL6pIq89f7PiySKaGcn4v4Uahoil_5CEF_F81ZTQwVMuHrlRx6xsnhsP8I-I_1YY3sLEIBG0iZY1JaqxnqMPntRxmj4/s320/PicMonkey+Collage8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><b>The challenge: Write an</b></span><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>"excerpt from a story. This can be from a current work in progress or one you have not yet created." </b></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><b>Imagine,</b> the photo above is representing a moment, frozen in time, from the life of your characters.<b> </b></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"><b><u>Ask yourself:</u> </b><i>What might my characters dialogue sound like, if I were to reach in the middle of my story, and pull it out? What intriguing excerpt would draw the reader in and cause them to<b> </b>read more?</i></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My imagination took off, and this was the result. Thanks for reading!</span><br />
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*****</div>
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Millie pushed past the clump of sawgrass and caught up with her energetic youngest child. <br />
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"Mummy, what are they doing?"<br />
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"Hmpf." Millie quickly grabbed the boy's shoulders and turned him around. "Come Samuel, let's take the other path."<br />
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"But, Mummy! Why? It's so much longer. I'm hungry."<br />
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A swat to the rear silenced Samuel and got him moving. "Never you mind," she said. "You just mind me." <br />
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As he trotted off, Millie looked back and scowled. "Hmpf."<br />
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<i>Discraceful. In broad daylight! I would never kiss my Arthur anywhere but behind our closed bedroom door. With the lights off. And I would never kiss him like that. And if he ever kissed me like that, why, land's sake, I'd… I'd… Oh! Well…</i><br />
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A flush rose from Millie's neck to her cheeks, and she swiveled on her sturdy heels. <i>Never mind. Where's that boy got off to now?</i><br />
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"Samuel!"<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>© 2013</i></span><br />
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*****</div>
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You read more excerpts or if your imagination is jumpstarted - enter one of your own at <a href="http://www.rittywritingchallenges.blogspot.com/">Ritty's Writing Challenges. H</a>hope to see you there!<br />
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Blessings,<br />
Cat<br />
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<br />Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5769847762677367441.post-62318697011274222132013-07-04T11:49:00.000-04:002013-07-04T11:49:36.372-04:00Jewels of Encouragment: FREEDOM!Happy Independence Day, America!! <br />
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Come join me at <a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2013/07/war-and-prince-of-peace.html" target="_blank">Jewels of Encouragement</a>, where I'm talking about the 4th of July, fireworks, and what freedom really means.<br />
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<a href="http://www.jewelsofencouragement.com/2013/07/war-and-prince-of-peace.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnxG2n2zdU_IZj0ToDaJ5ixSjohfiVGuIjAkoRixiEvnStBOV08hQK0lXjeiFlI5xiylEs-WNEdobv57BE5ZTyH1h9GS1PV67BwO3lB9mmeWulmNngx1sAcR9_pFreheQESNfkRqiCsqa1/s1600/JewelsOfEncouragementPost.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: rage italic; font-size: 200%;">Catrina Bradley</span> <br />
<i><span style="font-family: lucida grande; font-size: 85%;">"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)</span></i>Catrina Bradleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04759918426263780732noreply@blogger.com