Scattered Seeds

Friday Fiction: It's For You

2012-01-13T15:07:00.000-05:00

Happy Friday the 13th! In honor of the date, Today's Friday Fiction is a repeat of a spooky story (well, kinda spooky. may eerie would be a better word).

Be blessed!
Cat

---------------

IT’S FOR YOU

http://www.sxc.hu/profile/jmattson

Oscar heard the payphone ringing as soon as he got out of his car. Huh. I didn’t even realize that antique still worked. Never seen anyone using it. It was still ringing as he strolled past it, and he snatched up the receiver on impulse. The dead silence that met his “Hello” was devoid of any normal background hums or clicks, and he was about to hang up when he heard, “Oscar.”

Oscar nearly dropped the phone. The voice had an eerie quality, reminiscent of 2001’s Hal.

“Oscar, you haven’t called your mother lately.”

“Huh? Who is this?”

“The last time was Mother’s Day. She’d really appreciate a call from her son.”

“How do you know…”

“Oscar, give her a ring. Here, it’s on me.”

The voice was gone, replaced by the incessant drone of a dial tone. Oscar furtively glanced left and right, then hung up. That was weird. I should call mom, though. I’ll do it this afternoon. Yeah, this afternoon will be better. I’ll have more time then. After a troubled look at the payphone and another scan of the wind-swept parking lot, Oscar hurried on.

**

“Dave, was it necessary to speak to Mrs. Jamison in that manner last night?”

“Excuse me?” Dave actually took the receiver from the side of his head and looked at it before putting it back to his ear.

“I think you heard me.”

“Look, I don’t know who this is, or where you got your information, but I said nothing out of place to that … woman.” Dave was tempted to hang up, but his curiosity wouldn’t let him. There was something about the voice on the other end. It didn’t sound quite…human.

“Maybe not, Dave, but the way you said it was less than kind. She only wanted a ride this morning. Is that the type of ministry the church can expect if you become a deacon?”

He didn’t know what to say. Thanks to his wife, it was no secret he coveted the position, but no one could have overheard his conversation with that batty old woman last night.

“Dave? You still have time to go pick her up. Why don’t you call her – I’ll even dial for you.”

Immediately a dial tone hummed in Dave’s ear, followed by the digital beeps of a number being dialed.

Dave slammed the payphone receiver back into its cradle when the connection was made and a phone started ringing on the other end. He stormed off muttering. “Must be someone’s idea of a sick joke. Don’t know why I answered that thing anyway. Someone probably took my seat while I was out here wasting my time.”

**

Gloria was running late. Nothing had gone right this morning, and now to top it off she had to park at the far end of the lot. I really wish I’d worn flats instead of heels. Oh, well, at least I’ll look good as I walk all the way to the front pew. Of course, my luck today I’ll fall. She about jumped out of her skin when the payphone shrilled just as she approached it. Years of working as a receptionist left her unable to let it ring, so she answered it out of habit.

“Gloria.”

She wheeled around to check behind her before realizing it was the phone. “Um. Yes?”

“Why did you lie to your boss yesterday?” The calm, clear voice was kind even as it rebuked.

“I didn’t! I would never!” Gloria sputtered protests.

“And now here you are lying to me. Tsk. You weren’t really sick yesterday.”

Gloria was stunned. How could anyone know she only wanted to read her new book instead of working on her Saturday off?

**

Reverend Nielson watched from the church steps as his flock fled the morning worship service. It seemed more than a few were going out of their way to avoid the old payphone at the edge of the parking lot. That’s strange; I watched those same people using that phone before church. Now they won’t even look at it. When the crowd had cleared, he made his way over to check out the object of his curiosity. Lifting the receiver, he noted that it was indeed dead. He replaced the receiver in the cradle, and as he tapped his temple with his fingertip, he noticed a piece of paper on the ground. He picked it up, and on the reverse side, he read, “In Need of Correction.”.

Strange. Usually they say “Out of Order”.

The sudden shrill ring of the phone started the reverend's heart pumping. With a shaking hand, he reached for the receiver.

© 2008

---------------

Rick "Hoomi" Higginson is hosting Fiction Friday today at his blog "Pod Tales and Ponderings". He's sharing a chapter from one of his "Pod" novels today. Click on over! Find the linky tool at the bottom of his post to read more fiction or add your own link.

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Assurance: He's Got You Covered

2012-01-11T21:25:00.001-05:00

Live with assurance of His covering.
Go forth under the armor of His promises.
God is faithful and true.

-----

I'm linking up with two memes today ---

a2z: Take 2 -- An open blog prompt. One letter a week, anything goes! Hosted by the adorable and multi-talented Patty Wysong at Patterings.

And the long-running and always inspiring Word-Filled Wednesday, whose home is at the Internet Cafe.

Be blessed,
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

2012-01-04T09:06:00.000-05:00

“He who restrains his words has knowledge,
And he who has a cool spirit is a man of understanding.”
Proverbs 17:27 NASB

Ponder that, and join me today at Jewels of Encouragement.

Be blessed,
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Scattered Seeds..

2012-01-01T08:00:00.003-05:00

Hello, my friends, old and new! I wish you greetings and blessings befitting the promises of the New Year ahead! I’m welcoming the new year with a blog make over, thanks to Mari LaVell and Free2Be blog designs.

A little about me, for those just tuning in.

By day, I’m a humble church secretary, Sunday School teacher, wife, and dog-mommy, striving to serve God with the gifts He’s given m

By night, I’m an undercover writer and aspiring graphic designer, striving to serve God with the gifts He’s given me.

The central theme of my life?

Striving to serve God. With the gift’s He’s given me.

One of the gifts I’ve found in my tool belt is writing. Although sometimes I wonder...Is anyone even reading what I write… and do they even care? And God faithfully reminds me--that’s not my concern.

I was praying over a seriously worrisome situation recently, and instead of telling me how to solve the problem and make everything better, God answered, “That’s not your job.”

Wait. What? I LOATHE that phrase/excuse. “Not my job.” Pshaw.

I heard it again: “That’s not your job. Worrying. Solving. Making it better. That’s MY job, and I’ll thank you kindly to let me take care of it. YOUR job, dear one: Feed yourself and feed others.”

God’s answer was extremely apropos for the moment. (But then, when is it not?) My worries were interfering with my attempts to study Sunday’s lesson for my 5th graders. When I accepted that He had a good point and breathed, “Ok, You’re right, God. That ISN’T my job, it’s yours,” I felt peace. Not closure, but assurance that closure would come…and it was not my job to bring it about. And I was more able to focus on what God wanted me to do—feed myself and feed others.
The order of those two commands wasn’t lost on me.

Feed myself. Pick up my Bible and spend some quality time with God. Drink from the well of Living Water, and feast on the Bread of Life. Commit to my spirit, bury in my heart, the truths God wants me to learn. “Man shall not live on bread alone, but on the very word of God.”
Feed others. Pick up my pen and record the revelations and wonders my spiritual eyes have seen and my soul has experienced. Be ready to testify of His Love, His Life, and His Eternal Gift.

I love Jesus’ parables in Mark about the farmer sowing seeds. I’m a farmer’s daughter, so these stories are very visual for me. I know from experience that if you tiny scatter seeds on a windy day, you stand to lose control of where they are planted.

Some seeds are blown to the rocky ground outside the fence line and settle into the weedy loam.

Some are carried away on an updraft and land on the hard-packed, untilled threshold of the garden.

Some land in the fertile soil that has been prepared and purposed for planting.

But you know what? Deciding where those seeds land isn’t my job either. My job is to “feed myself and feed others”—to be Jesus’ parabolic “farmer” and scatter them. God’s job is to direct the wind and sow those seeds where He wills.

So let the wind blow.

“I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow.” 1 Corinthians 3:6

“For we are God's fellow workers; you are God's field…” 1 Corinthians 3:9

Many many thanks to Marita Thelander (Mari LaVell) for her patience and blog-designing skills.

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Entertaining (Ideas of) Angels

2011-12-30T14:32:00.000-05:00

Karlene Jacobsen
is hosting Friday Fiction this week at
"Voices".

I meant to enter this story in the FaithWriters challenge for the topic "Hacker or Virus", but it didn't quite make it. I didn't think it was "finished" enough, but when I tried to add a beginning and and end, I got stonewalled. (Not to mention, being out of routine because the Christmas schedule, I lost track of what day it was and missed the deadline.)

So here it is, as is. I'd love to know what you think. (I keep changing the title, too. Titles and I don't get along, as you may have noticed.)

Blessings!
Cat

---------------

ENTERTAINING (IDEAS OF) ANGELS

Lissa? Hi, sweetie.

I’m good.

It’s going okay. I was going to work on that stubborn plot-transition chapter some more this morning, but…that’s why I called.

Lissa, did you maybe mess with my computer?

Well someone did.

Because I fell asleep while I was writing last night and ...

I know! Like mother like daughter right? Anyway, when I realized I was sleeping, I shut my laptop lid and went to bed. And then when I opened it this morning, there was a chapter written that I didn’t write. Or I don’t remember writing. I don’t know which is scarier.

I don’t know how you did it. You’re the computer whiz. I figured you hacked in somehow from your apartment …

Okay. Sorry. I just didn’t know who else to ask. I was actually hoping it was you, otherwise, some random person has access to my computer. And out of all of the malicious pranks he could pull, he chooses to add to my current work in progress?

Yeah, actually, it was—SO good. Even better than my writing, which is another reason I thought it might have been you.

Yes you are! I’ve always said that, because I’ve always known that. You inherited whatever talent I have and then some.

Oh, hush, admit it. Okay, so let me ask you an off-the-wall question. You know that TV show you liked so much, “Angels Among Us” or something like that?”

Yeah, that’s the one. So do you think that maybe it could have been … I mean could an angel have helped me with my novel? I was stuck, and this new chapter is the perfect transition to the next scene.

Who do you think it was then?

Yeah, right. Sleep-writing. If I could do that, I’d have a lot more time to spend with my grown-up baby girl.

No. I know you told me to watch it, but I just haven’t yet.

I said I know you did. And I’ve been meaning to, really.

So, listen, why don’t you bring an episode or two over now, and we can watch them together?

Because I gave you the entire series for Christmas, that’s how I know. Come on, I really want to see what these angels do. Plus I need some mommy-daughter time anyway.

Good. I’ll start the popcorn. See you in a few.

Love you too.

= =

Roseanne snugged her robe tighter around her. She was kind of spooked now. When Lissa had as much as laughed at the idea of hacking into her computer, Rosanne had thought she was at a loss for words.

So where did that question about angels come from?

------------------------

Friday Fiction: Christmas Fiction!

2011-12-23T00:57:00.001-05:00

Rick (Hoomi) Higgenson is hosting Friday Fiction this week, and he put out a call for Christmas stories. I knew I had plenty of those to pick from, and I rediscovered this diamond in the rough I started for the "Christmas" quarter at FaithWriters.com in 2008. I worked on it off and on then forgot about it. I like it so far, but I'm clueless on title. :)

Merry Christmas one and all!! Don't forget to visit Hoomi at Pod Tales and Ponderings for more Christmas fiction!

---------------

John peeked around the doorjamb and spied his young wife, Marcy, still asleep, and tiptoed across the rough plank floor to her bedside, the package hidden carefully behind his back.

His tender gaze caressed her face, and his eyes misted as love clenched his heart. A tiny noise escaped his throat.

Marcy stirred and squinted against the intrusion of the light streaming through the window. “What a fine sight I behold as I open my eyes to the world this morn. Good morrow, my love.” Marcy turned her face up for a kiss.

“And a good morrow to you, my wife.” John bent down to oblige her, and Marcy’s arms struggled out of the bedclothes and wrapped around him. Her hands found the package John secreted behind his back

“Well, now, what’s this?” Marcy sat up in bed, and tried to see what John was hiding.

John straightened, and brought forth a rather large object wrapped crudely in brown paper and tied with string. “For you,” he said, and placed it in her lap.

Marcy touched the package, and gazed up at him in wide-eyed wonder. ”Why?”

“Open it first.” John hoped he had gotten it right. She had described it on numerous occasions, and he had done his best to recreate her memories. He dearly wanted their first Christmas together, and their first away from their families, to be perfect for his bride. John knew that she grew lonely being isolated from the nearest neighbor by more than a mile and from the nearest town by five.

Marcy tucked a wayward tress behind her ear, and set to work undoing the wrappings. “Oh, John! It’s just like Mama’s.” Tears glistened in her eyes as they feasted on the boughs of pine, twisted and tied into a circle, then fastened to a large wooden plate. When she looked up to her husband, a few tears broke loose and wet her cheeks .

“It’s like having a piece of home.”

“You’ll have to show me how to use it – the rituals and whatnot.”

“Not just rituals, John. Worship. But alas, we need special candles for that.” Disappointment crept into her voice. “Oh, never mind, our plain candles will be fine.”

“Special? Like these?” He lifted the wreath, leaving the wrapping paper in Marcy’s lap, and revealed another, smaller package that had been hidden inside the first.

Marcy tore open the paper and squealed. “Yes, they’re perfect! How did you…when…”

John laughed and tucked the wayward curl behind his bride ear. “Mrs. Bowen at the store told me what I’d need, and ordered them for me.” He watched her pick up a candle and run her hands over the smooth purple surface. “So, can we light them now?”

“No, not till supper time. And not until the fourth Sunday before Christmas.”

“That would be today, wife. And you should rise from your bed or twill be suppertime before we have breakfast.”

It's coming! Are You Ready?

2011-12-22T06:00:00.000-05:00

Only a few days remain until the church bells start ringing in Christmas!!!

So....will you come sliding into Christmas on a a wing and a prayer, diving for home under the tag, or will you jog around third base and on into Christmas morning, smiling and waving your cap to the sold-out host of angels cheering you on from the bleachers?

Are you lying awake at night, dreading the beginning of the end, or are you jumping up and down like a kid on Christmas Eve, refusing to go to sleep in anticipation of what’s to come?

A few weeks ago, the holiday panic started rising up in me--until I remembered past Christmases, seasons when things were even more hectic and stressful. Specifically, I recalled the years I finally admitted I couldn’t do it all, and turned it over to God. I mean really let go of all of it.

I embraced the truth: If it absolutely MUST be done, God will make a way, and it WILL be done. (Can I get an Amen?)

Besides, Jesus may come back tomorrow! Then what would all the gifts and trimmings matter? Nada.

As a result of my letting go, nothing critical was ever left undone. My stress level, however, went way down, and my joy level went way up.

That was God.
And He doesn’t just work on major holidays.

Whenever I don’t worry about it, just do what I can (or what I chose to on occasion) and let God work out the details, the details start ‘mysteriously’ start falling into place ‘on their own’. [wink]

This week, Amazon emailed me twice to notify me of a status change on orders scheduled for post-Christmas delivery. Everything for Christmas will be here PRE-Christmas now, plus my sister, daughter, and I all got boxes a day early.

My husband was offered overtime for the first time in months, and he’s working late all week. I’ve been able to retrieve and hide the boxes from Amazon before he sees them.  Plus, the overtime will help TREMENDOUSLY to pay the January credit card bills.

God is Good, all the time!

"It just keeps getting better, doesn’t it??" ~Lisa Mikatarian

Yes, Lisa, it does, when you ‘let go and let God’, or as Carrie Underwood would woud say, when we let ‘Jesus take the wheel’.

“Unto you is born this day a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”*

“And you shall call his name JESUS, for He will save his people from their sins.”*

And this baby Jesus grew into a man who brought PEACE ON EARTH through his life, death, and resurrection!!

Until He steps foot on the new earth (and he will!), His Peace, in the person of the Holy Spirit, resides IN us, not AROUND us.

If you don’t know this kind of peace yet, God the Father offers it to you: Peace in your heart. Forgiveness for your mess-ups. Life abundant. Life never ending--in His presence.

Ah…the perfect Christmas present.

Will you accept it?

If you aren’t sure, will you attend a church service this Christmas and find out more?

And if you’ve received it, will you share the perfect present with someone else this Christmas?

Christmas LOVE and Blessings!
Cat

~~~

PS: Wouldn’t it be ironic if God chose the morning of Christmas Eve for His Son and our Savior Jesus to return? Would He find find us stressing over our preparations for the end of the Advent or joyfully anticipating the Return of the King?

*Luke, 2:11, Matthew 1:21

Photos:
http://shannonphilpott.com/2011/12/15/the-christmas-balancing-act/

Light of the World
http://whowillyouserve.blogspot.com/2010_12_01_archive.html

Gift
http://www.sxc.hu/profile/canna_w

We have a "Living Dead" Winner!

2011-12-19T18:53:00.000-05:00

~~THANK YOU~~

to all who read my review of "Night of the Living Dead Christian"!!
If you left a comment, you were automatically entered to win
your very own copy.

The drawing was held just few minutes ago in my den by my two assistants, neither of whom was a contestant.

The names of the entrants

were written out and cut apart:

My husband stirs them thoroughly
while my doxie Ralph supervies:

Ralph, picks out a name:

And the winner is:

LINDA C!!! Woo Hoo!! Congrats, Linda!!!

I know how to get in touch with you, and I look forward to handing you a certificate for a FREE copy of "Night of the Living Dead Christian", redeemable at your local bookstore or by mail from Tyndale.

Thank you to Tyndale and to Matt Mikalotos!!

Christmas Blessings,
Cat

God-Incidences: She will give birth to a son

2011-12-19T06:00:00.000-05:00

You may or may not know this about me, but in real life I work with the children at my church.

Please don't get me wrong -- by “work”, I in no way mean “toil.”

In addition to teaching these amazing children of God, I get to play and laugh, pray and feast, and listen to and learn with and from "my kids".

And I get to share Jesus with them.

I teach the 5th grade Sunday school class this year, and God blessed me with all girls - six of them – a perfect number.

Last Sunday, we made Christmas cards for our shut-ins and I had the radio on a popular Christian station to listen to carols while we talked about why Jesus came to earth.

A commercial came on for a ministry to help those whose marriages are in trouble for a list of reasons. I wasn't really paying attention to the radio, but when one girl asked, “Miss Cathy, what's an affair?” I realized what the commercial had been talking about.

Part of me was angry with the “family friendly” station for allowing, in my opinion, a questionably family-friendly word, another part of me was realizing that these kids all surely know a friend whose parents have split up because of marital infidelity, but the biggest part of me was praying for the right words while continuing the conversation without any awkward, embarrassing pauses.

God was faithful (of course), and I managed to explain what an affair was without mentioning anything to do with birds or bees. They all understood and were sad, and after some discussion (which included someone asking, “Miss Cathy, have you had an affair”), a unanimous conclusion was reached that affairs were bad and the conversation moved on naturally.

Whew. Thank you God!

However, the part of me that was miffed at the radio station lingered and stewed in her own righteousness.

After we'd finished the lesson, made a couple dozen cards, and prayed, we still had about 5 or 10 minutes to fill. (Unheard of. I'm usually scrambling at the end--we tend to be long-winded.) I asked the girls if anyone had any questions or had something they wanted to talk about.

Conversation moved back to the Christmas story, and the same girl who asked what about the word “affair” told the class that Joseph was going to stone Mary, and that he actually had a stone in his hand but changed his mind.

Hmmmmmmmm....... God?

I told her I didn't remember reading that part in the Bible, but I did see it in a movie once. Of course, all of the girls thought it was horrible that Joseph was going to stone her. I told them that he did have the RIGHT to put her to death – and then had to explain why. And we read the Joseph’s story in Matthew’s gospel.

And that part of me that was mad at the family-friendly radio station for allowing the word “affair” blushed.

Because my girls understood, REALLY "got", what an affair was, they grasped a bigger sense of why Mary being pregnant was such a big deal.

Wow! Joseph thought Mary had an affair! Until the angel appeared to Joseph and told him what was really going on.

And the angel's words to Joseph were our memory verse.

“She will have a Son,
and you are to name Him Jesus,
for he will save his people
from their sins.”
Matthew 1:21

And that, my friends, is what I call full circle.

Was it a coincidence that we heard that commercial as we started our lesson?

Or was it a GOD-incidence?

Merry Christmas! My gift to you.....
A chance to win one of the best books I've read this year. Get the 411 HERE!!!
Quick! Time is running out!

Night of the Living Dead Christian: Book Review and Give Away!

2011-12-15T06:00:00.000-05:00

Zombies and Werewolves and ... Jesus?

Oh my!!

I don't think any book has made me laugh out loud as much as Matt Mikalotos' ridiculously funny romp through theology, "Night of the Living Dead Christian". When I wasn't laughing, I was gasping in horror at the very real monsters he reveals.

Matt himself is the main character in his novel. He finds himself teamed up with a mad scientist, a werewolf, a vampire, and an android in a hunt for monsters in his own neighborhood. He finds more than he bargained for behind the closed doors and leaking hearts of people he thought he knew.

Interspersed among the chapters are narratives and confessions from the star of the novel, the werewolf Luther. Luther hates the ferocious and untamable side of himself that grows fangs and fur, and snarls, bites, and tears when his anger (and the full moon) takes control. Despite his loathing for himself and his striving to change, he finds it impossible to prevent his inner monster from emerging when he is provoked.

“One man’s ferociously funny quest to discover what it means to be truly transformed” is the subtitle of Matt’s novel, and it sums up the whole very nicely. He not only attempts to answer the age-old question the rich young ruler posed to Jesus, but in my opinion, succeeds. “What must I do to be saved?” The climax is startling, painful, and spiritually eye-opening. The Biblical words “die to self” become much more than oft-repeated Christianese and take on life through a very vivid scene of true transformation. The final chapters had me in tears.

From casual church goers to “born again” Christians, and everyone in between, surely all readers will recognize someone or some group they know shallowly hidden in Matt’s monstrous allegory. Seekers and nonbelievers might miss some of the “inside” humor, but I’m sure they, too, will be enthralled, and cannot miss the message Matt drives home.

If you think monsters only exist in fiction, you might change your mind after reading "Night of the Living Dead Christian". You might find that what you thought was fiction is actually a wolverine truth hidden in sheep’s clothing , and monsters are taking up residence much closer than you are comfortable with.

Leave a comment on this post for a chance to win your own copy of this book!!!

Find out more at http://www.tyndale.com, and be sure to visit Matt at his website http://mattmikalatos.com/.

Watch the trailer and hear what Matt has to say...

watch on tyndale.com

Tyndale House Publishers has provided me with a complimentary copy of this book.

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Holey Holidays

2011-12-04T07:46:00.000-05:00

Are you missing someone this Christmas?

Is there a hole in your holiday?

Me too.

I found some encouragement in God's Word - join me at Jewels of Encouragement today. I'd LOVE to share it with you.

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

2011-11-11T12:53:00.001-05:00

You'll find me today at "Living Water", Edmond Ng's wonderfully uplifting blog "all about living in Christ and the Christian faith".

I'm blessed to be Edmond's guest today. "God-incidences: The Lord is my Shepherd" was originally posted here in September 2009.

Thank you, Edmond!

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Jewels of Encouragement: Can't you SEE it??

2011-11-04T05:00:00.000-04:00

Jesus asked, "Will you never believe in me
unless you see miraculous signs and wonders?"
John 4:48 NLT

Ponder that, and join me today at Jewels of Encouragement.

Be blessed,
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

And the winner is........

2011-10-13T18:59:00.001-04:00

If you left a comment on my review of "Her Safari", a collection of unbelievably fabulous short stories by Lisa Mikitarian, you've probably been salivating with anticipation to find out who won the coffee! My apologies for the late announcement - I think I lost a day somewhere this week. Thank you, Dr. Rita, for the reminder today.

Seeing as how I forgot what day it was and neglected to ask my husband to pick a name, I selected a new innocent bystander to do the honors -- our church's youth pastor. (Thanks, Austin!)

Excitement was brewing in the church office as his fingers hovered over the pile of little folded papers, moving from one to another to another before finally plucking one out.

And the winner...

of a $5 Starbucks card...

which is good for pastries and teas as well as latte's...

at Starbucks...

is...

LAURY HUBRICH!!!

(and the crowd goes wild!!)

Congrats, Laury! Email or Facebook me your address and you'll you be on your way to visit your local barista lickity-split.

Thank you, readers, for tuning in.
And thanks to Dr. Rita for sponsoring the fabulous door prize.
And thanks again to Austin for being generally Awesome.
(ps: he wants to know how to pronounce "Laury". :-) )

The blog-tour bus stops tomorrow with Rachel Phelps at Par Excellence. I'll see you there, bright and early, with latte in hand.

Be blessed!
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

THIS LINK will take you to Demme House Publishers, where you can order "Her Safari." Lisa has partnered with Heart of God International Ministries, so that they’ll receive the proceeds from books bought on their behalf. If you wish to benefit HGIM with your purchase, there’s a special button on the publishers site at check out (HGIM).

"Her Safari"

2011-10-10T00:02:00.000-04:00

Hello!

Welcome!

You've reached the next stop on the safari!

Oops, I mean the BLOG TOUR for Her Safari.

If you're just hopping on the bus, our guest of honor is Lisa Mikitarian, author of "Her Safari: Snapshots Along the Way." I'm blessed that the tour bus made a detour mid-schedule to "speak to the mountain" with me.

So many bloggers and reviewers on this tour have already written such glowing praise for “Her Safari” that I’m not sure what more I can add. I can tell you how much I enjoyed it, though.

If you’ve been tagging along, you’ve heard more than one person use the phrase “just one more” when describing their own journey through Lisa Mikitarian's ensemble of short stories. There’s a reason that phrase came up over and over -- it’s entirely true.

I had intended to savor “Her Safari”, lingering over Lisa’s beautiful prose. Instead, I turned page after page after page, and finished the book in two days. Twice I Facebooked Lisa to let her know it was HER fault I was late for something. I literally couldn't put it down.

Though each mini-story is fiction, and each stars a different female main character at a different place in life, I recognized myself somewhere in each tale. Lisa writes with a comforting voice that beats in rhythm with my soul. I was disappointed when I turned the last page and realized there was no more “just one more.”

Any and every female reader on your shopping list would love this eclectic, cohesive collection of tiny masterpieces. It’s my pleasure and my privilege to recommend it to you.

For a closer look at "Her Safari", and a glimpse of the beautiful person behind the byline, watch this short trailer...

THIS LINK will take you to Demme House Publishers, where you can order "Her Safari."

Lisa has partnered with Heart of God International Ministries, so that they’ll receive the proceeds from books bought on their behalf. If you wish to benefit HGIM with your purchase, there’s a special button on the publishers site at check out (HGIM).

ADDED BONUS!! FREE COFFEE!!

If you leave a comment on this blog post,
you are automatically entered to win
a $5 Starbucks card
!!!!!!!!!!

The fine print:
No strings attached, no purchase necessary.
One commentor will be chosen at random by my husband (who doesn't know it yet, but will be thrilled, I'm sure. :) )
The winner will be notified by email, or blog post, or facebook, or text, or phone call -- whichever method I have at hand,
or you can check back her on October 13 when the winner will be announced.
You should check back here. Often.
Jesus Loves You.

Lisa and Dorian Gray

Be blessed!
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

"T" is for TEMPER!

2011-10-06T13:16:00.000-04:00

My puppy was in serious danger of snapping my last high-strung nerve. The serenity of my peaceful afternoon in the back yard was shattered by Lucy’s shrill ark-ark-ark-ark at the family trying to enjoy their stroll through the neighborhood.

Heat was rising in face and steam was about to burst out of my ears. "No," "Stop it," Hush" and "LUCY!" have only added to the cacophony so I've (almost) stopped hollering at her.

So I sat, silently fuming, and not enjoying my fall evening any more than the strolling family.

It occurred to me I had the perfect T word to write about for Patty Wysong's "a2z 4u and me" meme this week -- TEMPER. But it would only be a complaining rant so I put the thought aside, counted to 10, and went back to reading my email.

The next message was my "verse of the day" devotion, based on this scripture:

That is what some of you were. But you were washed, you weresanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christand by the Spirit of our God. - 1 Corinthians 6:11 -

There was a time, not too long ago, ok, to be honest, probably yesterday, that my temper controlled me. When something or someone sets me off…well, I’ll just say that my husband has a saying: “You don’t want to face the wrath of Cathy.” And, unfortunately, it doesn't take much to set me off some days.

But Paul’s words to the Corinthians reminded me -- that's what I USED to be. Now, with the Spirit of God living in me, I now have the choice to control my temper. I can swat it away like an annoying gnat.

Lucy

As I meditated on this verse and its promise, my anger melted away, I smiled, and I got up to cuddle my excitable, adorable puppy and put her inside. I pray that, the next time my temper threatens to get the best of me, I will remember how easy it was to rise above it when I stood on the Rock.

and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. - Philippians 4:7 -

If you're joining us for the a 2 z 4 u & me meme by posting on your blog this week about the letter T, be sure to add your name and the link to that particular post in the linky gadget at Patty Wysong's blog, Ordinary Lives.
Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Jewels of Encouragement: Sailing in a Box

2011-10-04T08:48:00.000-04:00

Get out of your rut and come sailing with me today at Jewels of Encouragement!!!

Be blessed,
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Not Guilty!

2011-10-01T13:14:00.000-04:00

How blessed I was by my last reading of Psalm 116!

It was quite random, actually, my reading that particular Psalm. I had read it just the week before as part of my daily read-through-the-Bible routine, but had paged back trying to find and revisit a particular wisdom, or revelation, or hope that had spoken to me. For the life of me I can't remember what I was even needing anymore. What I learned was much better anyway, I'm sure.

I picked up the ESV (English Standard Version) Bible from the magazine rack by my recliner (I have Bibles stashed everywhere so there's always one within reach) and started reading the middle Psalms. And praying the Psalms. And communing with David and our Lord.

And I got to Psalm 116:7... and I screeched to a halt.

The words stood out from the context of Psalm 116 like an apple on an orange tree.

7 Return, O my soul, to your rest,,for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.

I read on to the end, then re-read the Psalm, then re-read it again. I couldn't make it fit. So I stopped trying, and meditated on the stand-alone verse instead of it's context. Maybe the Holy Spirit was drawing my attention to it for a reason, and when I read this Psalm again, that verse will lie back down into the flow of David's poetry. (It's happened before.)

I read the verse a few times, slowly, and let the words soak in, praying for wisdom and application. A word rushed to the surface of my mind...

Guilt. I know I'm forgiven, but guilt continues to plague me. Guilt about sins committed long ago and confessed and forgiven many times over; guilt about a harsh word spoken in impatience that morning; guilt about good deeds I didn't do, and good deeds done from impure motives.

Sometimes guilt keeps sleep at bay. Sometimes it jolts me from the edge of sleep with a rush of adrenaline to my heart.

I'm so glad God pointed me to these reassuring words from the poet warrior. Mind you, this is NOT a theological commentary on the doctrinal interpretation of the original Hebrew or anything like that. It's simply how God spoke personally to my heart and my need through his Living Word.

7 Return, O my soul, to your rest,
Remember when you knew you were forgiven? You had peace in your soul. Why do you keep worrying about it now? That forgiveness, that peace, was given to you for keeps; it's not temporary. I will never leave you or forsake you. I love you.

for the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.
My child, I've taken care of your sins already. I don't even see them anymore. I've not only dealt with them, I've dealt you a bountiful hand. Have you forgotten My Grace? My Promise? My Gift? I have given you life, and life abundant. I have given you my Son and my Spirit.

My soul can be at peace. I can rest without fear or worry for my God has already dealt with my sins, and has REWARDED me with His Grace, His Mercy, freedom, and Salvation. Life. He in me and me in Him. Thank you, Lord.

***

Afterword

Sure enough, a few days after writing this blog post, I re-read Psalm 116, and verse 7 was once again just another beautiful line in one of David's songs. Amazing, my God is, and OH how I love His Word!

For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.
Hebrews 4:12

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Jewels of Encouragement - Power and Plans and Listening for the Lord

2011-08-04T08:52:00.000-04:00

I'm posting today at Jewels of Encouragement I'd love you to stop on over and see how God spoke out to me from a wasteland.of destruction.

Be blessed,
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Book Review: "3 Angels"

2011-07-10T00:12:00.004-04:00

3 Angels

by Rudi London

I don't what, exactly, I expected when I cracked the cover of 3 Angels, but what I found inside the gold-embossed, blood-red binding sure wasn't it. What I did was find that Rudi London has managed to combine the best of two literary worlds in one entertaining book.

I tire of overused, formulaic fiction plots, so I admire an author brave to enough attempt something new. I'm easily bored by biographies, unless the biographer's prose is as captivating as the plot of a well written novel.

By my own design, I knew nothing about the plot or purpose of 3 Angels before I started reading. I was, however, acquainted on-line with Mr. London, and I was familiar with the title. I had been waiting anxiously for the book's arrival for review.

I read 3 Angels with a notebook by my side, and on Page 15, I stopped to note these thoughts:

First impression: What the...? What did I agree to? What have I gotten myself into?

Second impression: Wow. This is BRAVE! And a little confusing.

Third impression: Huh. It's kinda growing on me. [reads another paragraph]Ooh! That was funny!

Fourth impression: I think I'm going to like this!

And I was right. I did like it.

Written as a vignette of sequential accounts, 3 Angels tells the tale of Mr. London's life from the moment of conception until the writing of his novel. However, not until I was a quarter way through the narrative did I realize it was his memoir.

I'm sure his family, friends, and mentors recognize themselves in the anecdotes cleverly reconstructed by the author, but the title characters are surely known only to Mr. London himself. Some probably doubt their very existence, while others may be offended by their quirks and worldliness. I found them originally created, hilarious, and--I confess--at times shocking.

These guardian angels are always watching, but instructed to act only when commanded, and extra "troops" are routinely summoned and deployed in response to a legion of prayers.

By the final chapters, one important truth was apparent: much of what comes down from Heaven is a direct result--virtually depends upon--what goes up from Earth: Prayers. Fragrant fruits. Love.

A final thought: My husband asked me who "N" in the subtitle was. At the time I didn't know, but now his question makes me grin--in a conspiratorial kind of way.

I recommend 3 Angels to anyone tired of the same-old-same-old that fills the bookstores. The editing isn't perfect, but I'm not letting that affect my review of the wonderful content.

I give this book 4 Stars.

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Jewels of Encouragment - Exposed!

2011-07-04T00:02:00.000-04:00

I'm posting today at Jewels of Encouragement! Had I realized when planned and wrote my blog post that it would be up on the 4th of July, I would have written something patriotic - maybe about all the wonderful 4th of July's I had as a kid, or a tribute to our military or the great country we live in. Instead, I invite you to come read about how and why I exposed myself. (You know you want to - come on!)

But I do want to wish my fellow country men and women a happy Independence Day. Take a minute to think about how blessed you are if you live in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. Enjoy your parades, carnivals, picnics and fireworks, and have a BLESSED day!!!

Be encouraged!!

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (The Message)

"You Said Go"

2011-06-13T22:44:00.002-04:00

For the past three years, I've run myself silly for a week each summer. A full day of work, immediately followed by the most anticipated, exhilarating, exhausting...and rewarding...five hours you can imagine. For five days straight. Yes, you've got it ....

When it all boils down to brass tacks, Vacation Bible School is not about the Serengeti heat outside or the air conditioning not cooling enough inside. It's not about the theme and decorations (tho they make it FUN and inviting for kids and workers.) It's all about introducing kids to Jesus on a personal level.

It's been three days since we said goodby to New York City and the Big Apple Adventure, and I'm almost recovered. And next year, I'll do it all over again. I'm already planning my room. :-) Yes, I will endure sore muscles and sleep loss; I will withstand sweating and bad hair; I will do whatever it takes. It's all about bringing Glory to His Name.

God, you have blessed me and I thank you. You said "Tell." I am telling.

Be blessed,
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Sparkling Creepy Crawly Things

2011-06-04T10:20:00.001-04:00

Are you scared of spiders? Skitter on over to Jewels of Encouragement and find some courage today!

Be blessed AND encouraged!!

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Sir Ebon and the Knights of the Night

2011-06-03T14:26:00.000-04:00

Hello friends!! Welcome to another exciting episode of Fiction Friday!! Our host today is Rick (Hoomi) Higginson at his blog, Pod Tales and Ponderings. Are you pondering what a Pod Tale is? The best way to find out is to wander on over and dive in!

My "Writings" folder on my computer is cluttered with abandoned story-starts going to waste, so I thought, Why not post one for Fiction Friday? This start is one I want to end some day. The idea of a gallant knight and his fair lady leading a secret band of night-riders who save a kingdom from collapse and capture still intrigues me.

**********

Sir Ebon and the Knights of the Night

The destiny of the kingdom weighed heavy upon Sir Ebon’s shoulders. The black stallion under him snorted and threw back its head, anxious to get on with the mission, but Ebon gave it no mind. His attention was riveted on his Destinee.

Princess Destinee, fair of face and delicate of countenance, but fierce and bold of spirit, was heir to the throne of Melidion. She spent her daylight hours at the feet of her father, the renowned King Alpheres, her nimble mind absorbing the knowledge and wisdom he imparted to his only child. Her nights were spent under the dark cloak of disguise, hastening to aid her lover and the future savior of the kingdom, Sir Ebon.

Fire flashed in Destinee’s emerald eyes as she quieted her own proud mount. “My love, how can I betray my father?”

“Tis not betrayal I ask of you, Precious. I ask you to side with right and let The One bring what justice is due.”

“But when siding with right would result in a knife in my father’s back, rendered by own his daughter’s hand, what then? How is that right?"

Ebon moved to reach out to her, but Destinee jerked the reigns and her mare obeyed by stepping a pace to the side. “Sorrow pierced Father’s soul and left a ragged hole in his heart when my mother was cut down by those marauders. I was just six years when Father made me his confidant. I filled the chasm in his heart and his life."

“Aye, King Alpheres groomed you to be Queen, there is no doubt.”

When Destinee was but six years old, King Alpheres witnessed, and was unable to stop, the murder of his love and lifemate, the mother of his child, Queen Raven of the Corbeau Valley.

© 2009

**********

Yep, that's all she wrote (for now, at least.) So, what do you think? Is this a novel (or long short story) you'd read?

Be blessed,

Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Fiction Friday is a weekly opportunity for writers to share their work and receive a smidgen of feedback. It's also a GREAT place for readers to peruse inspiring and encouraging fiction from up-and-coming new authors. If you're new, don't be shy! Visit Pod Tales and Ponderings and add a link or follow a link at the bottom Rick's story.

Friday Fiction: The Right Thing?

2011-05-20T14:24:00.002-04:00

Hello! And welcome to another exciting episode of FICTION FRIDAY!!! My dear friend
Karlene is our hostess today. Visit her blo g "Dancin' in the rain" to find the Linky Tool and lots of great reading!

I'm sharing my most recent Faithwriters Challenge entry, for the topic OUTGOING. I finished this story one minute before the deadline and entered with 30 seconds to spare. I even got up early that morning to write! (And I am NOT a morning person.) I am very pleased that the judges placed "The Right Thing?" 7th in Level Four, and 12th overall.

Enjoy, and BE BLESSED!
Cat

---------------

The Right Thing?

Zach shifted his numb rear-end on the metal folding chair and checked his program for the millionth time. The silly hat threatened to slip, but he was afraid one more adjustment might send it sliding off. He cast his eyes down his row and caught Collin staring at him. Zach swallowed the rising bile and gave him a single nod.

Zach agreed the plan was do-able, but actually doing it was raising more than butterflies in his stomach; it felt like the Radio City Rockettes were dancing it up down there.

I can't do this. Dad's going to kill me! Why did I say yes?

Then he remembered why. The intersection of No way! and Okay. Collin's closing argument.

"If we all go at the same time, he won't be able to stop us. Come on, who's in?"

Zack had wavered at the back of the group of boys as Collin issued the challenge, but when everyone else shouted their assent, he was carried along on the wave of camaraderie and common convictions.

The first pang of regret and the first panic attack collided in his gut when Collin turned the spotlight directly on Zach.

"But it all depends on you, Zach. Are you up to it?"

How was he supposed to say "no"? He'd look like a wimp and a chicken. Besides, he believed it was right. And if everyone else did it, what could happen? Zach didn't trust his voice not to crack, so he just nodded and tried not to vomit.

Three bottles of antacid and three days later, it was finally time.

Zach watched Chris Rheingold, class salutatorian, shake the principal's hand and exit the stage to a round of applause. Zach hadn't heard a word of his speech.

The principal took the podium and, before he'd finished introducing him, Zach was on his feet and fumbling in his pocket for the notecards he wouldn't be using for his valedictory address. He needed something to occupy his hands.

He managed to make it down the aisle and up the steps to the stage without stumbling, and when he took his place behind the podium and looked at his classmates, he was relieved and lifted. Each one had a finger on one eye--the sign--"I'm in."

"Class of 2011, family, and distinguished guests. I would like to take this opportunity to recognize someone who has helped this class through four years of high school. He made sure we all made it here today. In fact, 25 graduating classes flourished under his teaching and mentoring. Coach Jacobson." Zach took deep breaths as the applause and cheers rang through the auditorium.

"I'm going to steal the principal's thunder here--I know he was planning to make this announcement. The Class of 2011 will be the last group of kids to benefit from Coach Jacobson's tutelage." Zach ignored the shuffling and shifting of the faculty seated behind him and plowed on. "He has been asked to resign."

As shouts of dismay and murmurs of disapproval swept through the room, Zack geared up for the hardest part of his impromptu speech.

"It seems that Coach is too old to be a good teacher now. Well if that's true, then the education we received from him is worthless. And if our education is worthless, then so are the diplomas we're about to receive." Zach shook the principal's grasping hand off his arm and hurried on, raising his voice to be heard above the protests of the audience.

"Coach J, we love you, man, and if you're going, we're going with you." Zach was shaking as stepped away from the podium and walked back down the steps. The entire graduating class rose to their feet and, row by row, silently filed out of the auditorium to a growing chant from the crowd.

"Bring back Coach J! Bring back Coach J!"

When feet started stomping, the ruckus shook the building, and the pyramid of rolled diplomas stacked on the stage quaked. One by one, the diplomas slipped off the stack and tumbled to the floor.

© 2011

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: The Insurrection of Procastination Nation

2011-05-13T13:56:00.000-04:00

It's my pleasure and honor to host Fiction Friday today!! Please forgive my tardiness!! Add a link to your own fiction at the bottom of this post, or just follow the links and read along. Don't forget to leave an encouraging word to let the writers know you are reading! (We thrive on that, you know.)

This is one of my favorite stories - it was such fun to write, not to mention cathartic. For all the procastinators out there....

Be blessed,
Cat

The Insurrection of Procrastination Nation

ROYAL MISSIVE

From: Your Regent, Queen Kathryn, by authority of Our King

To: All Current and Prospective Occupants of Innerland

Let a decree be heard throughout the realm:

We have summoned soldiers to scour the provinces of Innerland. Armed with the prayers of your Regent, they have been instructed by Our King to take up an official census, and to seek out and record all rogue projects, personal or professional, that have joined the insurrection and defected to Procrastination Nation. Tasks that have crossed the border from their home province of To Do into hostile territory currently under the ruthless control of the Enemy will be reclaimed for the Kingdom and put back into circulation.

We hope you have taken notice of the example made of your “hero”, Index.

As you are likely aware, Index, the most notorious offender, has claimed citizenship on our fair isle of To Do for over a year. Although his defection was not rectified, it did not go unnoticed. We have known for some time of the ulterior motives behind his repeated reassurances. We were not amused.

Last night, we dispatched an advance war party who captured Index and returned him to the control of your Regent. He was relocated to In Progress this morning, and, within three hours, he achieved the status of Complete. He would have already sailed for his next intended assignment, Awaiting Final Product, if not for the unfortunate meddling of our nemesis Missing Paperwork. That minion of the Enemy was stopped post haste, and, tomorrow, Index’s promotion will be complete.

Do not underestimate the power Our King has bestowed upon these soldiers.

We have also requested extra security be stationed in Awaiting Final Product, another weak area in our defenses against the Enemy. He and we constantly wrestle for control of this territory, and soldiers are necessary to ensure fortification. Malingerers will be accounted for and dealt with on a priority basis. We plan to be in constant contact with Our King to assure no gaps form in the hedges of protection.

As individuals, you may not be aware of the consequences imposed by the spreading insurrection. The whole of Innerland has been affected to some degree, as have parts of Outerland and the lands beyond. The scourge known as Procrastination Nation must be stopped before it damages you further.

Occupants of Innerland, take heed and take heart: we are not against you. Our desire is the desire of Our King--to protect you from the Ultimate Enemy. To this end, we are requesting permanent placement of armed patrols among you. Their mission is to defend you from attack.

The swords they wield will never be used against you; nay, their sole purpose is to slay the minions of the Enemy. The shields they carry will extinguish the fiery darts of the evil one so no further projects are swayed to the dark side.

Only when you all follow the same path can we reach our destination. If we allow ourselves to be divided by the Enemy, we risk being dominated by him.

Stand firm, citizens, and be strong in Our King and in His mighty Power.

With highest regards,
Your Regent,
Queen Kathryn of Innerland

Written with our hand, in ink on paper, in the year of our King, Two Thousand Ten

**

Author’s Note: Inspired in part by Ephesians 6:10-18

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24

LINK UP HERE!

Friday Fiction: 'Tis Better to Give

2011-05-06T14:03:00.000-04:00

Hello, faithful readers and new friends! I pulled an old story out of the archives for today's Friday Fiction. I remember writing this in the car, shortly after I joined FaithWriters. The topic was "Volunteer", and I pulled a lot of memories from working in a nursing home. This story is fiction, but is based on true emotions.

Be blessed,

Cat

**********

'TIS BETTER TO GIVE

The frigid wind turned Carrie's cheeks into roses. A gust almost ripped the door from her hand as she opened it and ducked inside the nursing home.

"Hi Carrie, I didn't think you were working today." The head nurse looked puzzled.

"I'm not, but Jim and I have exchanged our gifts and had breakfast, so I decided to come spread some Christmas cheer this morning."

Carrie pulled off her mittens and stuffed them in her pockets as she walked past the front desk to the coatroom. She already knew which residents were expecting family today, and which ones would be alone. She decided to start with Mr. Griffin on Wing A. His wife had passed away this year, and they had no children.

Carrie went from room to room, spending time with each of the residents on her mental list. Besides talking with them, she helped a few use the restroom, rubbed lotion on some aching limbs, and helped look through drawers for misplaced belongings. It was rewarding to spend time with these dear people for a change. She loved being a nurse's aide, but she never had extra time for the residents.

She saved Ada Larson for last. Carrie knew she really shouldn't have favorites, but this lady was special. She had been widowed for many years, her friends were all gone, and her daughter and grandchildren rarely visited. She was confined to a wheelchair, her body riddled with arthritis. None of this dampened Ada's attitude toward life at all. She was always quick to point out the silver lining in every black cloud, never complaining. She could barely hold a spoon, but was determined to feed herself as long as she was able. She wanted do all she could for herself; she wasn't ready to give up.

Carrie tapped lightly on the frame of Ada's open door.

Ada lifted her eyes from her book. "Carrie! What brings you here today? You have Christmas off this year."

Carrie walked in and gave her a gentle hug. "I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas."

"Oh, you are such a dearheart."

Carrie moved aside a large box so she could sit on the bed. "Did you get a Christmas present?"

"Grace sent it. She's a good daughter to remember her old mother."

A "good" daughter would drive four hours to visit her mother for Christmas. "Can I see?" Carrie was careful to keep judgment from her voice.

Ada smiled "Yes, of course."

Carrie removed the lid, and pulled out a beautifully crocheted blanket. "Oh, this is nice. She must have worked hard on it." Carrie stroked the pale yellow stitches, then hugged the blanket to her. "So soft and warm. I bet you love it."

"Yes, it's very nice. I don't think Grace made it herself, though. She was never interested in learning needlework. I tried to teach her, but..." A note of melancholy crept into her voice.

"I'm sorry, Ada."

"Don't be, dear. Grace may not have liked needlework, but she has many other talents. She's a very smart girl. She owns her own business, you know." She started perking up again.

"I've always wanted to learn to crochet. Do you think you could teach me?"

Ada beamed. "I'd love to! You'll be able to make something like this in no time."

"So, how are your grandchildren doing?" Carrie looked at the new photos Grace had sent with the package, and listened to Ada's boasting about the children.

After chatting for a time, Carrie glanced at her watch and reluctantly stood. "Well, Ada, I really should be going. I wish I could stay longer, but Jim's home waiting for me. He should have the turkey in the oven by now, and I've got to get busy with the rest of our small feast. I'm glad we had a chance to talk today, and I can't wait to get started on our crochet lessons."

"Yes, by all means, go home to your husband. Merry Christmas dear. And thank you for coming to visit with me today." Her voice was cheery, but sadness tinged her eyes.

"Merry Christmas, Ada."

Carrie retrieved her coat, and was almost to the front door when she heard her name. She turned and saw Ada wheeling toward her, the big box balanced on her lap.

"Carrie, dear, I want you to have this."

"Oh, no! That's your gift from your daughter."

"I saw how much you liked it. And your love means more to me than this blanket. Merry Christmas, Dearheart."

© 2006
**********

Fiction Friday is a weekly opportunity for writers to share their work and receive a smidgen of feedback. It's also a GREAT place for readers to peruse inspiring and encouraging fiction from up-and-coming new authors. If you're new, don't be shy! Our host this week is Anna K. Jeffrey (Karls to us) at her refreshing blog "Dancin' in the Rain". Add a link or follow a link at the bottom her story.

Catrina Bradley "God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Jewels of Encourgement

2011-05-04T10:51:00.000-04:00

Are you hungry? Me too! Join me for a little spiritual snack at Jewels of Encouragement today!!!

Be blessed AND encouraged!!!

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Taste and See

2011-04-29T13:28:00.001-04:00

Taste and See

It weren't but about 10 feet from the door to the pretty lady's desk, but it seemed to take forever to cross it. My little brother 'n me toted' that big box between us and set it down. Starin' at my grimy toes, I said, "Our daddy says thank you, but we don't need no handouts. We're getting' along fine, thank you kindly."

Daddy'd tole us at least five times, "Be sure'n tell them church folk thank you. We don't want them thinkin' we ain't got no manners."

He sure was mad when he'd come home and saw that box sittin' on the table, bustin' with fancy food stuffs. He commenced to turnin' red, and he grabbed the back of the rickety chair so tight, I was waitin' for the wood to splinter.

He leaned over the box and stared me down. "What'd you boy's go an' do now?"

"Nothin' Daddy! Swear.'

"Don't you swear." Daddy stuck his face in mine, and his eyes got real dark. "You know the Good Book says just let yer yes's and no's be true."

"Sorry, Daddy. No, we didn't. Me 'n Mickey were doin' our homework here at the table when the doorbell rang."

"How many times I tole you not to open that door for no one." One of his hands let loose of the chair and I ducked under my arm.

"We didn't, Daddy, I sw.. PROMISE. We just peeked out the window--they didn't even see us. This man, he was holdin' this here box of food. And this lady, she rang the doorbell again. Then the man set that box down in front of the door, then they got in a car and drove off. When I was sure they was gone, me and Mickey drug it inside so's no one would steal it. It's ours now, right? They gave it to us?"

The box was overflowin' with cans and boxes and bags, but I was starin' at one big bag stuffed with cookies. My tummy was rumblin' and my mouth was waterin'. I jumped when Daddy spoke up.

"Did you boys eat anything?" He'd let loose of the chair, and his fists were balled up at his side.

"No! An' I didn't let Mickey, either, even though he cried." I was glad my tummy growled real loud right then. "But can we, maybe, have a cookie?"

"Tarnation, boy!" Daddy yanked off his sweaty cap and slammed it on the table. "If'n the Lorda meant for you to have cookies, He wouldn't of taken yer mamma. An' if'n he'd of meant for us to have this kinda food, He'd of provided it." He gave the box a shove, never minding the scratch it made on Mamma's table. He spied the card, and snatched it off'n the corner of the box, snappin' the pretty red ribbon it was fastened on with.

"'A gift to you from McClerran Community Church'. Figures. You boys, go wash up. You gonna take this here "gift" right back to those meddlin' church folk. They got no right assumin' we in need of charity. 'Gift.' Huh. Handout's what they mean, and the Anderson's don't need no handouts. Be sure 'n tell them thank you, now. We don't want them thinkin we ain't got no manners, ya hear me boy?"

"Did you hear me, little boy? It's a gift -- it's yours." I looked up at her then, that same lady from earlier at the house. Her smile was so nice and her eyes were so soft, I wanted to tell her everything, I wanted to take the gift, but then I thought about Daddy.

"Yes, ma'am. And Daddy says to tell you thank you, but we're fine." My tummy rumbled again and I hoped she didn't hear it and know I was lyin'. I grabbed Mickey and we scooted out the door. I wanted to get home quick. I didn't lie to Daddy?we didn't eat anything out of the box. What I took wasn't somethin' to eat.

Evelyn watched from the window as the two waifs ran across the parking lot and down the sidewalk. She wiped away a tear and turned back to the giftbox she'd prepared for the Anderson's. Not even her freshly-baked cookies had been touched. But then she noticed what WAS missing; her son's old Christian comic books she'd tucked under the cookies were gone.

"A child shall lead them, and Your word will not return void. Thank you, Lord."

--

Author's note: Scriptures referenced in closing prayer: Isaiah 11:6, 55:11

© 2011

**********

Fiction Friday is a weekly opportunity for writers to share their work and receive a smidgen of feedback. It's also a GREAT place for readers to peruse inspiring and encouraging fiction from up-and-coming new authors. If you're new, don't be shy! Our host this week is Debra Elliott at "Writing with Debra. Add a link or follow a link at the bottom her story.

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Have you met Patty Wysong?

2011-04-21T17:42:00.000-04:00

Do you need a blog spring-clean? A little tweaking and adjusting?

Are you craving a complete blog make-over, something fresh, new, and YOU?

Maybe you want to learn how to tweak and adjust your blog?

Or have you shied away from starting that blog because you have no idea where to start?

I know just the person to help you. Patty Wysong has a passion for HTML and CSS and all things bloggy. Her designs are beautiful! AND she's an all around awesome person. She even conducts workshops to share her knowledge, Check out her VERY reasonable and VERY professional blog design services at her own blog, Ordinary Lives.

Oh, yeah, to celebrate her faith-step into professional status, she's giving away a FREE premade blog layout - just leave a comment here for a chance to win! Double your chances by clicking the link to her blog, and leaving HER a comment, too! WOO HOO!

Happy and Blessed Blogging!
Cat

Happy and Blessed Blogging!
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: The Storm

2011-04-15T16:26:00.000-04:00

Welcome to Fiction Friday! Whenever the weather turns tornado-y, I flash back to one night stormy night when I was a tot. What KatieBelle experiences during "The Storm" is drawn from that vivid child-hood memory.

**********

The Storm

KatieBelle was having a nightmare. A giant was coming to get her. He was moaning, and every time he took a step toward her, his feet made a loud BOOM that shook her bed,

And the moans and BOOM's were getting closer together.

KatieBelle didn't like to be woken up, but this time was different. When her mama shook her awake, she was glad. But the BOOMing and moaning didn't stop. they got louder And now bright lights were flashing in the window and lighting up her whole bedroom.

KatieBelle flung herself into her mama's chest. "It's a giant, Mama! A giant's coming!"

Her mama wrapped KatieBelle in a hug. "No, KatieBelle. It's not a giant. It's a storm. A bad storm."

The nightmare was fading away, and another loud BOOM woke KatieBelle all the way up. Her daddy lifted her out of bed, and said, "We have to go now."

Before she knew what was happening, KatieBelle was in the back seat of the car. Her mama must have remembered to get her pillow and blanket off her bed, because they were nestled around her as she drifted in and out of sleep.

Thunder BOOM's turned into crackle-snap-POWs, and KatieBelle could feel the car being tossed around like a ship on a stormy sea.

The car stopped moving, and a cold wet wind rushed in. KatieBelle tried to pry her eyes open, but she was just too tired. Then she was in her daddy's arms again, until he set her on her feet was pushing her forward.

"Go!"

KatieBelle was frozen in place. Daddy wanted her to go, but go where? She was so glad when her mama picked her up.

Her daddy ran ahead and flung open a wood door in the ground. He hollered at them to hurry up, and mama carried her door.

The steps down into the cellar scared KatieBelle. It was dark, and there were cobwebs and spiders in the corners. She wished Mama hadn't put her down. The concrete steps were crooked and uneven. She couldn't see the bottom.

Her mama shone a flashlight down the stairs, and took hold of KatieBelle's hand, but she was still afraid she was going to fall.

Finally, she slumped on a rough bench up against a dirt wall, with a dirt floor under her feet. The air was damp and cold, and smelled of damp, cold earth. KatieBelle knew this smell; she knew this place.
She was in Aunt Hilda's root cellar. KatieBelle had been her before, with her mama, to put up boxes of potatoes and turnips and apples.

Her daddy lit his camping lantern, and the hissing, bright light made KatieBelle feel safer. She was so cold, though! She was shivering, and she started to cry.

KatieBelle didn't hear her mama ask for Daddy's coat, but when Mama wrapped it around KatieBelle, it She breathed in her daddy's smell and felt like she was under blanket of peace.

KatieBelle lay her head down on her mama's lap, and the thunder, the wind, and the hiss of the lantern rocked her to sleep.

© 2007

**********

Fiction Friday is a weekly opportunity for writers to share their work and receive a smidgen of feedback. It's also a GREAT place for readers to peruse inspiring and encouraging fiction from up-and-coming new authors.

Our hostess this week is is the bubbly, vivacious, and multi-talented Sara Harricharian. Dash on over to her fiction blog, Fiction Fusion for more ... yes you guessed it, FICTION! :-)

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Book Review: Promises to Keep

2011-04-12T21:58:00.001-04:00

Promises to Keep
by Ann Tatlock

When a family wakes one morning to find a strange old woman reading the newspaper on the front porch of their new home, they have no idea how their lives are about to change. Although Tillie Monroe is the catalyst of the changes to come, she isn't the main character.

Promises to Keep is told from the first-person perspective of 11 year-old Roz Andrews, whose family has been broken by alcohol and abuse. Her mother has taken her, her teenaged brother, and her baby sister to live close to her grandparents. What Roz wants more than anything is to have her daddy back.

Roz' voice has a youthful, yearning quality that made me want to keep listening to her. Add to that an odd and intriguing opening, and I quickly became enamored with this book. Within two or three chapters, I felt a connection with Roz. Her simple but deep narrative made me want to befriend her. Her experiences and emotions brought memories of my own pre-adolescent confusion and pain, hopes and dreams, and best-friends-forever pinkie-promises.

This was my first book by Ann Tatlock, and I'm sorry I didn't discover her earlier. My thanks to Bethany House for providing a review copy of Promises to Keep in exchange for my honest review.

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Party with a Purpose!!!

2011-04-05T19:15:00.003-04:00

I am hosting an online e-party benefit for Haley's Place...a playground in honor of Haley Eason. Haley is a young member of my church who has been fighting cancer for 9 years - since she was 13. Her faith, bolstered by the prayers of many, has healed her time and again, but it appears her fight may soon be over. We are installing a new playground in her honor, and all proceeds from this E-Benefit will be donated to Haley's Place by my gracious and loving Mary Kay consultant, Kathy Wylder. Would you shop with her between the days of Wed. April 6th until April 10th?!?!?! This is what you do… Get comfortable!! You can even shop in your jammies!! Visit my consultant, Kathy Wylder’s web page at www.marykay.com/kathywylder Kathy Wylder will confirm your order and arrange payment and free delivery/shipping. Thanks in advance, I hope I can count on you!!!
Host:	Me
When:	Wednesday, April 06, 2011 8:00 AM ET - Sunday, April 10, 2011 12:00 AM ET
Where:	http://www.marykay.com/kathywylder

Kathy Wylder

Independent Beauty Consultant

If you don't want to shop, but feel led to make a small donation, you may do so through my church's website! Just click that button to the left.
<---

Be a blessing, and Be blessed!!

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Does your attitude sparkle?

2011-04-04T12:30:00.000-04:00

We can't always choose our circumstances, but one choice we do have is our attitude. Join me today at Jewels of Encouragement to hear more!

Be blessed AND encouraged!!!

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Fiction Friday: Just Desserts

2011-04-01T13:59:00.000-04:00

Fiction Friday is a weekly opportunity for writers to share their work and receive a smidgen of feedback. It's also a GREAT place for readers to peruse inspiring and encouraging fiction from up-and-coming new authors. Our hostess this week is is the queen of multi-tasking, Julie Arduini. Pay her a visit at The Surrendered Scribe. After reading her intriguing flash fiction. add a link of your own, and then follow the other links for some good reading. Be sure to scatter comments along your way.

I'm still under the curse of writer's block, so I pulled out something old but fun for today. While the following is not a true story, it is based on several events conglomerated together and fictionalized for the FaithWriters "Cooking or Baking" challenge. Enjoy!!!

**********

Just Deserts

How in the world do I ‘grate’ an onion? Felicity grimaced and puffed the hair off her face. She reluctantly dialed her mother-in-law’s number. “Mom, it’s me again. Sorry to be such a bother, but I want this to be perfect, you know?”

“Sweetheart, I never think you’re a bother. How can I help?”

“Well, your squash recipe says to add a grated onion. How do you do that? I’ve never grated an onion.”

“I use my food processor. Cut the onion into quarters, then just process it until it’s juicy.”

“Oh, I can do that. Thanks, Mom. I’ll try not to bother you again."

“Felicity, dear, you are NOT a bother! Call me as often as you want to. I’m happy to be here for you today.”

***

Felicity grabbed a bottle of water and plopped into her favorite chair with a contented sigh. Her chocolate Labrador retriever laid her head in Felicity’s lap. Felicity snuggled her and rubbed the rich brown coat that inspired the dog’s name. “I’m sorry I haven’t had time to play with you today, Coco. You’re such a good dog. Yes you are.”

The house filled with the mouth-watering aroma of roast pork, the squash casserole was in the oven, and the salad was tossed and waiting in the refrigerator next to the shrimp cocktail appetizers. She had even made the disgusting bread sauce her husband loved.

Their one-year anniversary dinner was going to be such a surprise for Will, especially since she was serving it the day before their anniversary. She suspected that he might have a romantic night out planned for tomorrow. Well ... she hoped, anyway. Her mother-in-law had supplied recipes and instructions for all of Will’s favorite dishes, including the piece de resistance – chocolate milkshake cake for desert. His mom said it he’d always requested it for his birthday.

A glance at the clock had Felicity up and moving again. She had just enough time to shower off the cooking grunge and make herself beautiful before Will got home from work. It wouldn’t do to have the atmosphere for this great dinner spoiled by looking (and smelling) like she had been slaving in the kitchen all day. She gave her dog a hug and a pat. “Be, good, Coco. I’ll be right back.”

***

Will pushed his chair back from the candle-lit table and rubbed his bulging stomach. “Mmmm, Felicity, wow, everything was so good, especially the squash casserole. And I can't believe you made me bread sauce. Thank you.”

“Was it as good as your mom’s?”

“Better. I didn’t think that was possible, but it really was.” He let out a loud belch. “Excuse me!”

Felicity giggled. “I guess that means you really did like it. So, do you have room for desert now?”

“Wait ... just a minute.” Another belch rumbled from his belly. “Ok, I think I’m ready now. So tell, me, master chef, what masterpiece did you prepare to top off this perfect dinner?”

“What’s your favorite desert?” Felicity held her breath. Please let his mom be right.

“Milkshake cake?” Will’s raised eyebrows and wide eyes made him look like a little boy.

“Hmm. Well, let’s just see, shall we?” Felicity rose and sauntered out of the dining room.

“Oh, no! Coco!”

“Felicity? What’s wrong?” When she didn’t answer, Will followed her to the kitchen and found her crouched on the floor weeping. “What? What is it, hon?”

She merely pointed. On the counter she indicated, Will saw an empty cake tin surrounded by crumbs and frosting. His eyes narrowed as they followed the trail of crumbs and spied Coco cowering in the corner, licking chocolate frosting from her furry jaws.

“Stupid dog! BAD dog!” Felicity wailed. “She ruined everything!”

Will lifted Felicity off the floor and into his arms. “Honey, shhh, it’s ok. Everything’s not ruined. Believe me, that dinner was awesome. I’ll tell you what. I’ll take Coco for a long walk. She probably needs it after eating an entire cake. And while I’m gone, you can just whip me up another one. How’s that sound?” Will grinned, and winked at her.

She pummeled his chest in mock anger, and laughed. “Yes, please take her for a walk. Get her out of my sight. Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll make you another milkshake cake for your birthday. And that dog will be at your Mom’s house.”

© 2007

**********

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: The Corpse (Part 3)

2011-03-24T23:55:00.038-04:00

Fiction Friday is a weekly opportunity for writers to share their work and receive a smidgen of feedback. It's also a GREAT place for readers to peruse inspiring and encouraging fiction from up-and-coming new authors. If you're new, don't be shy! Add a link or follow a link (at the bottom of this post), and be sure to scatter comments along your way. Enjoy!!!

I'm SO excited!! I'm hosting Fiction Friday again! My thanks to the lovely and most gracious "owner" of this meme, Anna K(arlene) Jeffrey, for including me on her itinerary of guest homes.

At the request of my daughter, I've written a few more paragraphs of my WIP, still in it's conception stages. (It has not yet reached infancy.) I answered a personal challenge set forth by the MikChiks to write 250 words a day in an effort to become more disciplined. They even put a ticker up for me on their advice blog Connecting Now. (Don't you just love the MikChiks?) This snippet put me over that goal for today (yay!), but I'm still behind over all.

(Here are links to Part 1 and Part 2 if you missed them!)

Please remember, this is a draft. :)

Be blessed,
Cat

**********

The Corpse
Part 3

The cafeteria didn’t serve mocha cappuccino, but when Callie needed a fix she could make do with ridiculous amounts of sugar and cream stirred into the bitter brew they called coffee. And she definitely needed a fix right now. She grimaced at the first sip, but the second and third went down much smoother.

Callie eyed Alfie over the rim of her cup, searching for words. Giving up, she wrapped her hands around the heated stoneware, closed her eyes, and breathed in the steamy aroma. Now would be a good time to pray, I guess.

But for what?

She breathed a whisper into her steaming coffee. “God, I’m confused.”

“I know you are.” Alfie leaned over the table, speaking softly.

Callie’s eyes flew open, and hot, sticky coffee sloshed over her clenched hands and onto the Formica. She put the cup down and grabbed a handful of napkins.

“I am too,” he said. “I didn’t want for you to… I mean, I didn’t want for it to happen this way. I wanted to see you before you got there, to tell you. I planned to meet you at the coffee shop.“

Alfie grabbed his own napkin and mopped his sweaty brown. “But I got a call…turned out to be nothing…but it made me late.”

The flimsy paper stuck to Callie’s hands and soon turned to shreds. She swabbed at the sticky mess on the table, smearing mocha-colored swirls and figure eights into the tabletop as questions and doubts tumbled and twisted in her mind.

“Then I thought maybe I could catch you in the parking lot, or the lobby, but I was way too late.”

Before Callie could snap at Alife to get on with it already, Kevin appeared like a vision, bearing the trademark red and brown to-go cup from her favorite coffee shop. A whisper of white whipped foam oozed from the sippy-spout.

“You said to find something to do. I thought you could use this.” The young, but obviously insightful intern set the cup before her with a flourish before breaking into off-key song. “'HERE I come to save the DAY!’ No offense to the man in blue, or anything, of course.” He bowed toward Alife. “Not trying to take your job.”

Callie welcomed the interruption and the heavenly libation. “Kevin, thanks, but could you…”

“I know, private conversation. I’ll go burn a cd or something.”

“No! Don't burn anything. I was going to ask you to get me a wet towel." She held up her sticky hands. "And, really… Thanks.”

© 2011
Photo credit www.sxc.hu

**********

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

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Friday Fiction: The Corpse (Part 2)

2011-03-18T15:20:00.001-04:00

Hello, loyal readers, and welcome newcomers!! You may remember (or you may not know) that, many moons ago (somewhere around three), I embarked on a journey to write a novel (yikes!). But, because I declared my intentions (publicly, even!), I've found it "impossible" to persevere. Weird, I know, but true. I've experienced it over and over again. I've learned that if I really set my mind to do something, I CAN'T tell anyone about it or it will never come to pass.

I'd like to break that trend, but I need your prayers!! As motivation for myself, I'm posting PART 2 (YAY!) of my future novel (yes, I said it), tentatively titled "The Corpse".

To refresh your memories, or to read it for the first time, here is a link to Part One, and how it came to be written.

To God be the Glory,
Cat

The Corpse
Part 2

Ripping off her mask with one hand, Callie grabbed up her cell from the desk behind her and thumbed in speed-dial #3 with the other. Alfie picked up after a half ring.

“Alfie. Where are you?”

“Right outside the morgue. I thought you might need me.”

“So, you know?” Callie nibbled at the cuticle on her thumb, worrying the already tortured skin until she drew blood.

“I don’t know what you think I know…but I do know…the dead guy I called you about this morning? He looks just looks like….”

The door to the morgue wooshed open, and Callie spun around.

Alfie’s one word echoed both in the room and over her cell.

“Chuck.”

Chapter 2

Callie closed her phone and slid it into her pocket, never taking her fiery eyes off of Alfie. “You knew. You knew when you called me.”

Alfie held his hands up in self-defense, the left one still gripping his cell phone. “Whoa, Callie. Yes, I knew what you would think when you saw him. And I tried to warn you on the phone but you didn’t want to listen.”

“You should have made me listen.”

“Cal, believe me, a swat team with tear gas and Tasers couldn’t have made you listen to me this morning.”

Callie brushed off his condescending remark, but a twinge of guilt gnawed at her. “Alfie, can we go somewhere and talk? Somewhere where the dead ringer for my dead husband isn’t laying on a slab laying in front of me, waiting for me to cut him open? I’m ready to listen now.”

Alfie pocketed his own phone and moved to put a protective arm around her. He pretended not to be hurt when Callie pretended not to notice as she ducked and turned around.

She spied Kevin, frozen in place and gawking at them.

“Kevin, I thought you were going to go do something. Crimenently.” Callie threw up her hands and stormed towards the door. “I need some air.” She tore off her gown and hat and tossed them in the barrel. The automatic door slid open as she approached it, sucking the pressure from the room with a silent whisper. Callie swiveled her head to eyeball Alfie.

“Are you coming?” she asked, and stormed from the room.

Alfie looked at Kevin, hoping for a little moral support, but Kevin just shrugged his shoulders, mouthed, “Sorry.” Alfie sighed, slid his phone into his hip holster, and followed in Callie’s wake.

© 2011
Photo credit: tuonela (www.sxc.hu)

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Our Hostess with the Mostest for Fiction Friday is the Queen of Encourgement, the lovely and talented, Joanne Sher. Click here to pay her a visit at An Open Book, and spend some time reading a great selection of short fiction.

Friday Fiction: When the Wind Blows

2011-03-11T15:24:00.000-05:00

Friday Fiction is home today with Anna K(arlene) Jacobson
at her awesome new blog, "Dancin in the rain".

Today, I'm posting a repeat of my 2nd Faithwriters "Editor's Choice" award, or EC. This story will be published in an upcoming anthology.

To God be the Glory,
Cat

When the Wind Blows

All of the Christians have gone home. The church sits empty, save for dust motes floating in multicolored shafts of moonlight, spiders weaving new webs to replace those cleared away by the custodian, and the silent Spirit Who hovers majestically, lingering long after the bodies of the Church have departed.

He ponders the season of His confinement to the Holy of Holies. And when He only spoke to the Father’s chosen. The people had craved Him, but their time had not yet come.

He laughs with delight at His freedom in this age of Grace. To be able to be present with all of His children. To be summoned by a prayer. To be heralded and wrought to a frenzy by the voices of His worshippers raised in praise of His Name. To fill His children with Himself, and then go with them into the world.

He had flown with abandon this morning, floating, swirling, from one believer to another, being lifted to the rafters on a joyful noise, then descending in an invisible cloud to envelop His children in His presence. He filled the surrendered mind and heart of Pastor Beck as he stood surrounded by a Heavenly host called forth by the army of prayer warriors he shepherded.

The pastor’s words were pure Word; the Son was preached today. And worshipped, and loved, and lifted up. The Name of Jesus Christ was exalted, and the Father was well pleased. The Spirit sprang into abundance, and the Church’s faith came full circle.

The Trinity was in motion.

The prayers of the righteous touched His Heart, and He bestowed blessings upon His children. Some were discouraged by seemingly unanswered prayers. The blessings He bestowed were not always what was wished for, or what His children deemed best, but instead what was needed for the Father’s plan to unfold.

Smiling, cheerful Mrs. Granger cried out from a heart buried beneath a façade of contentment for the restoration of her failed marriage.

The Spirit was bereaved, and grieved with her, but instead of granting her plea, He calmed His child and spoke to the hearts of three of her Sunday School classmates, urging them to reach out in love, comfort, and support.

Young Natalie knelt at the altar to pray as she had every Sunday since her baptism. She wanted to make sure everyone saw how serious she was about her decision to follow Christ. But all the Spirit heard was a clanging gong.

He hovered about her, and almost breached the wall of self separating them. He simultaneously nudged and inspired five of her friends to think of her and lift her to the Father. She was being convicted, and one day soon would see, hear, and finally surrender to the Truth.

He inhabited the music and spoke through the words of “Just as I am” to the Baileys as they communed with their Savior through worship. They had spent the past nine months church hopping, unable or unwilling make a commitment. As Gabrielle sang “I come..” and turned to her husband, he echoed, “I come.” They joined hands and hastened to the pastor, who stood smiling at the altar.

The Spirit thrilled to hear the Name spoken, and their confession of faith in the Lordship of Jesus Christ sent Him soaring. When Gabrielle and Dan stood before their new family, His Spirit of love bloomed as the congregation welcomed their new brother and sister.

Now, hours later, here in the stillness of the shadowy church and along the tendrils of Love snaking from heart to heart through the Body, the Spirit continues His work.

Natalie’s phone rings, and she accepts an invitation to go with a few girls to the soup kitchen tomorrow night. The Women’s Sunday School teacher takes out her best stationary and pens a welcoming and encouraging note to the Baileys. The aroma of baking fills more than one kitchen and text messages fly as His daughters finalize plans for a single ladies’ tea, making sure to include the newly single Mrs. Granger on the invitation list. Intercessory prayers pour through Him to the Father in the name of the Son.

The Church is stronger today than yesterday, and will be stronger still tomorrow as the Spirit prepares them for the return of the Son.

© 2007

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Jewels, Princesses, Shoes, and more!

2011-03-04T06:00:00.001-05:00

I'm double-dipping in bloggy land today! In addition to Fiction Friday, which is a silly children's story about a princess and shoes written for my niece Stephanie, I'm posting at Jewels of Encouragement today!! Pssst: You won't believe what I heard at the bowling alley! Come on over and read all about it.

Be blessed!!

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: The Undercover Princess and the Kindgom of Shoes

2011-03-04T00:22:00.001-05:00

Friday Fiction is at home today with Karlene Jacobson at Homespun Expressions.

The Undercover Princess and the Kingdom of the Shoes

Princess Stephanie didn’t know she was a princess. She thought she was just an ordinary, 7-year old girl whose ordinary mommy and daddy called her by an ordinary name. She was just Annie.

Annie and her ordinary family lived in an ordinary house in an ordinary town. The only thing that wasn’t ordinary about Annie was how much she liked shoes.

Annie really liked shoes. She liked them so much that she would rather get shoes for Christmas than toys.

Annie didn’t know why she liked shoes so much, until one night her mommy and daddy told her a new bed-time story about an ordinary girl named Annie.

When Annie was a little girl, a very, very little girl, before she started talking and remembering her memories, Annie didn’t live in an ordinary house. She lived in a big castle in a beautiful, rich land.

Her family wasn’t ordinary, either. Her mother and father were the queen and king of the land. Annie was a princess. And her name was Stephanie.

Stephanie’s mother, the queen, had the prettiest, daintiest feet of all the women in the kingdom. She knew how pretty her feet were, and she spent a lot of time admiring them. The queen was very proud of her feet.

The king loved the queen and would do anything to please her. He sent soldiers throughout the kingdom to bring back the best shoemaker from each town and every village to make shoes for the queen.

The king had a big workshop built in the royal village for the shoemakers. The workshop was bigger than the king’s castle! He filled the workshop with all of the tools and materials the shoemakers would need. When the soldiers brought the shoemakers back, he then he put them to work.

The shoemakers made hundreds of different shoes of all different colors and styles for the queen to choose from, but she only picked shoes that made her feet look the prettiest and daintiest. And she always had a matching pair made for their baby girl, Princess Stephanie. She had a whole room just for their shoes.

The shoemakers were allowed to sell or trade the many fine shoes she didn’t choose. They were glad the king had brought them to the royal village to work for, because they soon became rich, too. They built fine houses and beautiful churches and for their families, and large schools for their children.

The king and queen became even richer and more famous. The queen became even prouder of her pretty, dainty feet, now that she had shoes that made them look even prettier and daintier.

The shoemakers became even richer as traders bought their fine shoes by the hundreds to sell kingdom wide, and the kingdom became known throughout the world for the wonderful shoes they made. It became known as the Kingdom of the Shoes.

Not everyone was happy for the king and queen. Other kings from other kingdoms were jealous. They wanted to be more rich and more famous. They wanted their people to live in fine houses, worship at beautiful churches, and send their children to large schools.

But they didn’t want to work for it.

So they decided to take it from the king and queen.

The other kings invaded the Kingdom of the Shoes, and the king and queen had to run away and hide, taking their baby girl, Princess Stephanie, with them.

They only had room to take three pair of shoes, and it made the queen sad to leave all of her pretty, dainty shoes behind.

The king’s armies fought the evil neighbors for six years, until they gave up and went back home to their own kingdoms.

Now, as soon as the soldiers make sure the kingdom is safe, the king and queen and Princess Stephanie can come home to the Kingdom of the Shoes, and live happily ever after.

When Annie’s mommy and daddy finished telling her the story, she was almost asleep. They each gave her a butterfly kiss on the forehead and whispered, “Good night.”

Annie was sure she heard her mommy say, “Soon, my Princess Stephanie. Soon we can go home.”

Annie fell asleep with a smile on her face, and she dreamed of a room filled with beautiful, dainty shoes.

*******

Written for and dedicated to my shoe-loving niece Stephanie, who overcame the temptation to blow her entire tax return on shoes. I'm so proud of you, Steph!!

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Are You in Harmony?

2011-02-27T13:50:00.000-05:00

It’s a given: People aren’t always going to get along. Even within a church family--or especially within a church family--arguments and spats are going to occur. People won’t always agree with each other. They’ll hurt each other’s feelings, whether on purpose or by accident. They will take innocent comments or constructive criticism the wrong way; friendships and relationships will be broken over imagined slights. And ripples of dissension will spread throughout the church body, much like the rings created from one small pebble disturb the peaceful surface of an entire pond.

The reason I say “especially” in a church family is that we somehow expect Christians to be perfect. We forget to forgive, and we hold grudges. The church is, after all, Christ’s body, so we find it unreasonable and unforgivable when its members aren’t perfect like Him.

But Christ joined us imperfect people together in this body to lift each other up, not tear each other down. To help each other, not hurt each other. To hold each other accountable--without judging or gossiping.

What does your community see when they look to your church a spiritual leader? Does your congregation sound to them like an orchestra pit warming up, each member playing its own discordant tune, or do they hear an angelic choir of instruments playing in perfect harmony, bringing Glory and honor to God?

How wonderful it is, how pleasant, when brothers live together in harmony! For harmony is as precious as the fragrant anointing oil that was poured over Aaron's head, that ran down his beard and onto the border of his robe. Harmony is as refreshing as the dew from Mount Hermon that falls on the mountains of Zion. And the LORD has pronounced his blessing, even life forevermore.
Psalm 133

Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples.
John 13:35

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg

Friday Fiction: So Much More

2011-02-24T23:45:00.024-05:00

Fiction Friday is a weekly opportunity for writers to share their work and receive a smidgen of feedback. It's also a GREAT place for readers to peruse inspiring and encouraging fiction from up-and-coming new authors. If you're new, don't be shy! Add a link or follow a link (at the bottom of this post), and be sure to scatter comments along your way. Enjoy!!!

I'm SO excited!! I'm hosting Fiction Friday this week! My thanks to the lovely and most gracious "owner" of this meme, Anna K(arlene) Jeffrey, for including me on her itinerary of guest homes.

I've been been up against a close cousin the demon "Writer's Block" for a while now - I've had idea after idea, many of them good ones, but any attempt to write them out hit a wall after a few paragraphs.

I knew I had to break through, even if it was by force, so, after an involuntary three-month hiatus from the FaithWriters challenge, I forced out a reasonably competitive entry. It didn't come naturally or easily, but I made myself type words on the screen and vowed to enter for the topic "Week(s)". The following is the (not too shabby) result.

Be blessed,
Cat

p.s.: Possible tissue [slash] mascara alert

**********

So Much More

Maria slipped into her chair at the kitchen table and, with a trembling hand, spooned scrambled eggs onto her plate. “Where’s Dad?” She lifted her eyes to peek at her mom.

“In his office.” Loreene turned from the stove and set down a plate of bacon before taking her own seat. “His boss called and needed something right now, never mind breakfast.”

“Oh. Ok. Um…” She shot a furtive glance down the hall, then looked down at her plate.

Loreene eyed her daughter. “Something on your mind?”

“It’s just…it’s been a week.” Tears pooled in Maria’s eyes and she tried unsuccessfully to blink them away. “And he hasn’t called.”

“Justin?”

She nodded and forced a swallow of juice past the lump in her throat.

“Maybe he’s been sick.”

“No, see…” Maria peeked down the hall again. “Last week, he told me he loved me.” She chanced a look at her mom, but couldn’t meet her eyes.

“Hmmm. Do you love him too?” Loreene grabbed a slice of bacon and began nibbling.

“Yes, Mama, I do. And I told him. I know you think we’re too young, but we really ARE in love.” She had stirred her eggs into oblivion by then and dropped her fork in disgust. Fresh tears fell into the yellow mess on her plate.

Loreene ached to throw her arms around her “baby” girl and smother her in hugs. She opted to play it cool instead. “So, why do you think he hasn’t called?”

Maria buried her face in her hands and mumbled, “I think I made a mistake.”

“By telling him you love him?”

“No. By showing him.”

Maria’s sob echoed through the kitchen, and Loreene grasped her hand. Lord, give me words. Give me wisdom and patience. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak, having no idea what she was going to say.

“Ok. You showed him. And that means…?” She was careful to maintain a gentle tone despite the raging emotions threatening to make her shriek.

“Mom. I’m sorry. I know you said I should wait, but it seemed right. I thought it was for real. But it’s been a week, now, and he hasn’t called, and I…I’m…”

“Scared? Angry? Confused? You should be. I would be. I AM.”

“No. Well, yes, those things, but I’m…late.”

Loreene’s racing heart kicked into afterburner, and she clenched her daughter’s hand in a vice-grip.

“Ow, Mama!”

“Sorry.” Loreene let go of Maria’s hand and combed her fingers through her hair. Lord? An extra helping of patience would be nice right now. And words? Please? “Late, huh? Ok, let’s look at this. It happened a week ago. And you’re how late?”

“A day.”

Loreene felt a measure of relief; chances were extremely slim her daughter’s mistake had resulted in conception, but she still wanted to rant and rave about the stupid thing she’d done.

Maria interrupted her thoughts. “I took a test. Before I came downstairs. It should be done now.”

“And if it’s positive?” She drummed her fingernails on the tabletop and cocked an eyebrow.

“We’ll get married!”

The drumming ceased, and Loreene laid both sweaty palm on the table. “Before we go check the results, can I say something?”

Maria shrugged, but wouldn’t look at her. Loreene plunged ahead.

“Love is more than emotion. It’s also action. You do things for someone because you love them.

“If he hasn’t called you in the week since he “showed” you how much he loves you, how much love do you think he’ll show in a marriage? Or to a baby? There are worse things than being a single mom—like having an abusive or neglectful husband. You’ve already made one bad decision; don’t top it off with a worse one.”

Maria’s face drooped with shame, and panic crept into her voice. “But I don’t want to raise a baby alone!”

“You’ll never be alone. Even when we’re disappointed in you and wish you’d done things differently, we’ll never desert you or disown you.” This time Loreene didn’t hold back. She grabbed Maria across the corner of the table and held her tight, ignoring the scattered remnants of eggs and bacon. “We’ll always love you.”

She broke the hug and took her daughter’s hand. “The next time you’re faced with the same decision, I want you to think of how you feel right now. And remember you are worth so much more.” She stood and pulled Maria up with her. “Are you ready?”

© 2008

**********

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

LINK UP HERE!!!!!!

Jewels of Encouragement: Debut Tomorrow!

2011-02-17T22:36:00.003-05:00

Do you ever have one of those days when you just need someone to reassure you that everything will be ok? I have a lot of them. A brand new blog debuts tomorrow, and its very purpose is to provide that reassurance, a little pick-me-up, and maybe a new outlook on an old problem.

Jewels of Encouragement is a collaboration of bloggers who's goal is ... well ... to encourage you. If you'd like to see who we are (yes, I was blessed to be invited to be a part of the Jewels Team!), the blog is LIVE, and we have all introduced ourselves. Follow us, or subscribe, and receive a daily dose of encouragement. And be sure to come back tomorrow for the grand opening!!

Be Blessed (and encouraged!)
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Usher Sunday

2011-02-11T13:31:00.000-05:00

Friday Fiction is at home today on Karlene Jacobson's blog "Homespun Expressions". Click Here to read some good, original, clean writing!!

I'm repeating a Friday Fiction today - and hope you enjoy this true story. (Yeah, I know, it's supposed to be Friday FICTION, so sue me. But hey, my husband's name isn't really Ralph; does that make it fiction? :) )

***

USHER SUNDAY

My Ralph, God bless him.

I was so proud that first Sunday worship service he served as usher at our new church. And I haven't grown any less proud of him as the Sundays have passed.

His southern charm and natural charisma, coupled with that killer smile, draws everyone in. I love to watch him stride up the left-hand aisle to the front of the church, his head forward but his eyes cutting to the usher in the right-hand aisle to make sure they are in unison.

My Ralph prefers comfort over class, but he also has the proper respect for the Lord to dress it up for worship on Sunday morning. Come Sunday morning, you'll usually see him sporting a sharp Polo shirt or a lightweight button down instead of his customary baggy t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops, but on his usher Sundays, he pulls out the big guns - a suit and tie.

Mmmm, how handsome my Ralph looks all decked out in his midnight blue suit with a just hint of a pinstripe. Your eyes are drawn to his face by his boisterous laugh, and held captive by his warm eyes. Oh, but I digress.

This past Sunday was one of Ralph's usher Sundays, and it also happened to be the first real day of winter - the first snowfall of the season. It rarely even gets cold enough to snow here in our neck of the south, let alone actually bring forth flakes, so you can imagine the ruckus snow makes.

Ah, yes, snow in south Georgia! Simply the forecast of flurries is enough to jam the grocery aisles with panicked shoppers who deplete the stores of the requisite bread and milk. After the panic is over, those of us who didn't rush out to stock our shelves now find ourselves in need of bread and milk, and alas, none can be found.

I'm still searching for the moral of that particular story.

But again, I digress.

So back to Ralph.

And the first "real" day of winter.

That day, the midnight blue suit was left on the hangar, and Ralph reached instead for his brand new, never before worn, silk lined wool tweed suit. That particular shade of charcoal gray was as becoming on him as was midnight blue. Twenty-one years of marriage and my Ralph still throbs my heart. Mmmm.

I wouldn't have been surprised if the people around me were blinded the shine in my eyes. I watched Ralph stride up the left-hand aisle and stand shoulder to shoulder with the less handsome ushers as a prayer was said. Then he picked up a gold offering plate and made his way back down the aisle, pew by pew, walking tall and proud in his new clothes.

What is it about new clothes that lifts you up and makes you stand straighter, smile more, and have more confidence? What a grand feeling.

I could see by Ralph's face that he was riding that new-clothes high. The smiles he gave the little old ladies were more confident; his back was just a tad straighter. He walked like a man worthy of respect.

His return trip to the altar to deposit the filled collection plates and his final walk to the back of the sanctuary were just as confident. Ah, my Ralph. How can I help but be proud of him?

I made sure to tell him that too, after we got home and were ditching our fancy clothes for sweats and heavy socks.

He laughed.

"No," I said, "I'm serious. You were so handsome in your new suit, and I couldn't quit smiling at you. You made me all warm inside despite the cold."

"That's not why I'm laughing."

"What then? Tell me. I want to laugh too."

Ralph laughed again. "So there I was, greeting people, walking up and down the aisle, standing beside the seated little old ladies and teenagers, handing them the plate..."

I butted in to reassure him. "I know! You were awesome."

"No, wait! Listen...so I go back to my seat, look down to adjust my jacket..." laughter interrupts and he can't go on.

"What!"

"Honey, my fly was open the whole time."

© 2009

***

Don't forget to visit Karlene's blog and read more fiction! You can play along, too if you'd like. Simply post your fiction story, and add your link to the Linky tool on her Friday Fiction post.

God Bless,
Cat

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Monday Manna: Trust Me (Exodus14:13-14)

2011-02-07T22:41:00.000-05:00

The purpose of Monday Manna to get together and get to know Christ more through His Word. Monday Manna is hosted by Joanne Sher at her blog "An Open Book". You are welcome to add own thoughts and link up on her blog.

I’ve said it before: when the Lord has a word he wants me to hear, he drives it home, over and over and over, from sources varied and wide. Joanne’s Monday Manna passage this week is no exception. These verses, like so many passages of Scripture can be summed up in the two-word message God has been broadcasting to me lately:

“Trust Me.”

Moses answered the people,
“Do not be afraid. Stand firm
and you will see the deliverance
the LORD will bring you today.
The Egyptians you see today you will never see again.
The LORD will fight for you;
you need only to be still.”

Exodus 14:13-14

The Israelites, faced with a literal dead end in their flight from Pharaoh’s army, were rightfully frightened. But they rebuked God instead of asking for His favor. They moaned and whined and worried and complained.

In all honesty, I’m afraid I would have been right there among the whiners.

This is what I hear God saying to me through this passage: "Trust Me. No matter what I ask you to do, no matter what happens, I’ve got your back. You say you trust me, so why are you stagnating? You’re not helpless; you’re flailing around in a quagmire of your own imagining. Dig your heels into that solid rock and stand on my promises. Come on, get up. It’s time for you to move.”

God has been preparing me for surrender this year, and I regret not better recording my journey so far, as was my intent when I changed my blog. I hope one of the results is that I’ll be able to abandon all fear (and whining, moaning, complaining, etc.) and march straight toward whatever raging river He wants me to cross next. And if I stay silent, stand firm, let Him fight FOR me, my faith will be enough to part seas...and move mountains.

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: First Advent

2011-01-28T22:35:00.002-05:00

I have a bucket load of unfinished fiction stories, and I had planned to share two of my recent (failed) attempts at a FaithWriters challenge entry. Instead, when I went to write this post, I found myself drawn (again) to a story I started long ago for the topic "Advent". When I read it again today, I saw that maybe I had actually ended it last time I tweaked on it.

It's not half-bad, if I can say that about my own writing. The bad half is the part that needs overhauling, of course. :) Keeping that in mind, I present to you, out of season and not perfect, .....

FIRST ADVENT

John peeked around the doorjamb and spied his young wife, Marcy, still asleep. He padded across the rough plank floor to her bedside, the precious package held carefully behind his back.

His tender gaze caressed her face, and his eyes misted as love clenched his heart. A tiny noise escaped his throat.

Marcy’s eyes opened a slit. “What a fine sight I behold as I open my eyes to the world this morn. Good morrow, my love.” Marcy angled her sleepy face to receive a kiss.

“And a good morrow to you, my wife.” John bent down to oblige her, and Marcy’s arms struggled out of the bedclothes and quilts and wrapped around him.

“Well, now, what’s this?” Marcy sat up in bed, and tried to see what John was obviously hiding behind his back.

John stood up straight, and brought around a rather large object, crudely wrapped in brown paper and tied with rough twine. “For you,” he said, and placed it delicately in her lap.

Marcy touched the package, and gazed up at him in wide-eyed wonder. ”Why?”

“Open it first.”

John hoped he had gotten it right. She had described it on numerous occasions and he had done his best to recreate her memories. He dearly wanted their first Christmas together, and their first away from their families, to be perfect. It would be just the two of them—the nearest neighbor was near a mile distant and the closest town over five. Marcy did well at masking her melancholy, but the toll that loneliness and isolation had taken on his effervescent young bride was evident to John.

Marcy tucked a wayward tress behind her ear, and set to work undoing the wrappings. The paper and string fell away, and she was overcome by the treasure underneath.

”Oh, John! An advent wreath? And it’s just like Mama always had.” Tears glistened in her eyes as they feasted on the fragrant boughs of pine, twisted into a garland and tied into a ring, then fastened to a large wooden plate. Four circular gaps were trimmed into the greenery around the wreath

She raised a shaky hand and put her palm to her husband cheek. “It’s like having a piece of home.”

“You’ll have to show me how to use it – the rituals and whatnot.”

“Not just rituals, John. Celebrating advent is worship. But … , we need special candles….” Disappointment crept into her voice. “Oh, never mind, our plain candles will be fine.”

“Special candles? Do you mean like these?” He lifted the wreath, leaving the wrapping paper in Marcy’s lap, and revealed a smaller package hidden under the wreath.

Marcy squealed and tore open the paper. “Yes.. they’re perfect.” She lifted her shining eyes to meet his loving gaze. “How did you…? When…?”

John laughed. “Mrs. Bowen, at the store, she told me what we’d need.”

“Ah, good old Mrs. Bowen. I’ve always liked her.”

“She special ordered them for me.” John watched Marcy lift a candle to the morning sun streaming through the window and admire its silky lavender surface.

“So, can we light them now, my love?”

Marcy looked at him and giggled. “Not yet. We must wait until the fourth Sunday before Christmas. And even then not until supper time.”

“And that would be today, wife.” John swooped down and nuzzled her neck, still fragrant with sleep. “And if you don’t rise from your bed soon, twill be suppertime before we break our fast.”

© 2008-2010

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Our host for Friday Fiction today is Lynn Squire at her blog Faith, Fiction, Fun and Fanciful. (Doesn't the name alone make you want to see what's there?) Click on over and find links to the other Fiction Friday Fanatics--some great reading awaits you! You can post a link your own fiction and join the fun!

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: The Lost Seinfeld

2011-01-21T15:10:00.002-05:00

Thanks for reading my offering for Fiction Friday today!! My husband was a big fan of this story I wrote for the FaithWriters challenge topic, "Charade", as were other fans of the TV show "Seinfeld". I hope you enjoy!

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THE LOST SEINFELD

George had control of the remote, and the scanned through programs faster than a 100-meter sprinter ran the stretch of the track. The revolving door of channels happened upon a black and white show of days gone by.

“Stop.” Jerry leaned forward on the couch. “It’s Superman.”

“Why do you like this show so much?”

“George, you don’t understand. It’s not the show I like; it’s Superman. Watch, and learn. Bask in the glory of his Super-ness”

“Excuse me, Lois, I’ll be right back.”Clark Kent went into the small bathroom and closed the door. Lois Lane, engrossed in the movie they were watching on TV, hardly noticed his exit, let alone his absence. A charge in the atmosphere drew her focus from the flickering images on the television; she jerked her head around.

“Superman, what are YOU doing here?”

“Lois, my arch-nemesis, Lex Luther, is holding the manager of the bank down the block hostage. We must go now; I, to save the day, and you, to report the events for tomorrow’s front page.”

‘But Clark is...”

“Clark is already on his way. We will meet him there.”

“What a farce. They have perpetuated the biggest charade in the history of television.”

Jerry’s eyes ballooned, and his jaw dropped. “What?”

“Superman’s entire disguise consists of putting on a pair glasses and moving the part in his hair. Ridiculous.” George removed his own glasses and rubbed his eyes in disgust.

“Who are you? And where’s my friend George?”

“Very funny.” George put his glasses back on. “ I mean, take Batman for example. At least he wore a mask. I can almost believe that people might not know he’s really Bruce Wayne. But, how could anyone, especially the girl who loves him, possibly not recognize Superman?”

“George, you simply don’t get it, do you? Because he’s Superman!”

©2008

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Our host for Friday Fiction today is Yvonne Blake at her marvelous blog, My Back Door. Click on over and add a link to your own fiction (after reading her story, of course), or just follow the links and read along. Don't forget to leave an encouraging word to let the writers know you are reading!

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Second Thoughts

2011-01-14T22:25:00.002-05:00

Thanks for reading my offering for Fiction Friday today! I only just remembered it was Friday - I'm blaming it on my snowcation messing up my routine. :) So, her I am, with an hour and a half left of Friday, scrambling. Needless to say, this is a rerun, but unless you've been following me since I first posted this story, it's new to you! Yay! And even if you have, its been over two years, so I'm hoping it will be fresh again. :)

Enjoy!

SECOND THOUGHTS

I don’t know how to tell this, or even where to start really. I guess I should start with Tessa, seeing as how it this is mostly her fault.

She’s so much different. Most girls are all about their make up and their hair and dressing like a hottie, but Tessa – she is what she is and she’s happy with that. She’s the only girl I know who is happy looking like herself, that being the girl next door. And I mean girl. She could probly pass for 10 even though she’ll be 14 on her birthday come December. Besides her cute little nose that turns up at the end, she’s got gorgeous eyes – big and brown and shiny. Hair just as brown and shiny all the way down her back.

Anyway, back to the story. I wasn’t real happy about the plan but I didn’t want to be a wimp. It’s a guy thing, ya know? See, I never was one to back down from a dare, so I went along with it, and Tessa, she followed me like always. She must watch outta her window for me to walk past cuz she came out her front door right when I crossed her driveway.

She looked up at me all expectant like and asked me, “Where ya going? What’s going on tonight?”

I had tear myself away from those eyes of hers, and I told her, “Nothing you need know about. Whyn’t you stay home tonight?” I stuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans and shuffled around a bit.

Just like her, she said, “Pah. I’m going.”

I rolled my eyes, shrugged, and started walking again. Tessa was glued to my side like my shadow. One thing about Tessa, she don’t babble on like most girls. She’s all right to talk to if she’s all I got. Mostly she likes to talk about Jesus and Bible stuff. I don’t mind – Jesus was a pretty cool dude and she knows a lot about him. I wasn’t sure I bought it all, but her eyes get even shinier when she’s talking bout him so I’d been wondering lately if it might all be true. She didn’t even pester me bout where we were headin that night, just told me how Jesus dying made her feel.

When we crossed Main and hung a left on Turner, and we saw Charlie and Rick hanging out in front of First Pres, she asked me, “We going to church?”

Her eyes lit up the night, and that’s when I had my first second thought about this plan and specially bout letting her tag along. I told her, “Sorta, but not really. Just come on if you’re coming.”

“They know you been going here?” She sounded shocked, and I reckon she had reason. That’s when I had my second second thought.

“Nah, I haven’t told no one. An you don’t need to neither,” I said.

Charlie held out his fist as we came up and I gave it a bump. He flicked his eyes at Tessa and asked me, “What’s SHE doin here?”

“Chill, Dude. She’s cool.” I told him, and asked, ‘You check it out?”

He grinned at Rick then at me. “Yah, Dude. Wide open.”

“Then let’s doooo it.” Rick started baying like a banshee and we had to hush him up and hustle around back before anyone saw us.

Sure nuff, the back door to the kitchen was unlocked and we all snuck in. Tessa I had to grab by the hand and tug on, but she came too. We started with the big blackboard in the fellowship hall, erasing the announcements. Charlie grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote in big letters, “Jesus…” He only got the first two letters of the next word down when Tessa grabbed my hand and drug me away.

“Come on, I want to do something.”

Well that got Charlie snickering and Rick hootin and a hollerin. “Go on you two – and have fuu-uun.” I turned my head to give them a look, and seeing those words so big…well I gotta say I wanted to throw up. My third second thought. I was happy to go on with Tessa.

She didn’t let go of my hand, or say a word, just drug me all the way to the sanctuary, then right up to the altar and dropped to her knees. She looked up at me with those big shiny eyes, cept now they were shiny with tears. “Pray with me?”

I figured, what the hay, I wasn’t too much into the dare anymore anyway. She still had hold of my hand, and I got on my knees beside her. I wasn’t sure what to do next so I just bowed my head and thought I’d wait till she was done, then we could go. I didn’t know she was planning on praying out loud.

I don’t remember much of what she said, but it was how she said it. I’ll tell ya, I never heard no one pray like that before. It was like she was really talking to someone. She said “Father” like God was really her daddy. She’d even stop ever once in a while like she was waiting for Him to answer. I started getting more comfortable, and that was weird to me.

Then she told Him she wanted to pray for Charlie and Rick and me, and I remember this part. She asked Him to open our hearts to His truth. And it hit me like a hammer. All those things we talked about, bout Jesus, and Him dying and why, and how He was really alive and He was really God. I felt like my heart was ripped open and real tears ran down my face. Before I knew it, I was praying. Me! And it wasn’t weird at all; matter of fact if felt real right.

That’s when the cops busted in and hauled us off. I’m thankful to the preacher for getting out of bed to come get us. My folks wouldn’t have believed my story, but he did. Course, Tessa was there to back me up. Us two tried to get Charlie and Rick to see the truth while we waited at the station for the preacher, but they just laughed. And for once I didn’t care, neither.

So, anyway, I guess that’s my testimony. That’s why I’m standing here in front of ya’ll in this big bathtub in a white nightgown today. Jesus is my Lord now.

Besides, Tessa dared me.

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© 2010

"Our host for Friday Fiction today is Sherri Ward at her blog, A Candid Thought. Click on over and follow the links after her story to read even MORE fiction!. Don't be shy about adding a link to your own writing if you want to join the fun!

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: The Corpse

2011-01-07T12:47:00.001-05:00

Happy New Year! Welcome to the first Fiction Friday of 2011.

Drum roll please.....

I'm introducing a new story for the new year!

I was prompted to write a 400 word "flash fiction" story for a contest at "Wake Up Your Muse", a very cool website owned by Jan Christiansen. Each week, you get a new "prompt" to jump start your imagination - the first sentence of your story.

This is the expanded version of my 400 word entry - still starting with the prompt sentence. The first title of this story was "The Corpse" - it was what popped into my head when I saved it. I hope to have a much more clever title by the time I'm finished with the book. Wait, what? Yes you heard me - this is the idea I've been waiting for - one that I can build something out of. My first novel.

Pray for me. :)

Love

Cat

ps: I'll explain what prompted the blog make over soon - It actually came before the story, that's a story for another day.

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THE CORPSE

She dropped the children off at daycare, picked up a cappuccino at the coffee shop and headed for the morgue.

Another day, another dead body.

If Callie’s phone rings at 4:37 a.m., she’s pretty sure it’s not Ed McMahon calling to award her a cool million. Nope, 99.7% of the time, it’s Alfie. Oh, sorry, that’s Officer Alfred Lundquist now. And when the town cop calls the county coroner at 4:37 am, there’d better be only one reason.

A dead body.

Callie’s childhood sweetheart was loyal about keeping her in the loop, dead-body and other-wise. And she appreciated that, really. But Alfie sometimes forgot she was also a frenzied single mom juggling the candle at both ends.

Since Chuck’s murder, Alfie’d been especially attentive to her and the kids. Sometimes too attentive. Times like two hours before the alarm on Monday morning in a nonemergency situation.

4:37 a.m. isn’t the most convenient time to loop her in.

Callie had to keep reminding herself Alfie lost a best friend, too. The same best friend.

Seems they were both guilty of forgetting things.

**

“Hey, Doc. I’m diggin’ that mocha cappuccino foam mustache today. One of your best.” Kevin grinned as he pointed at her and used his thumb to cock an imaginary pistol.

Callie savored her once weekly extravagance--cash, calorie, and caffeine wise--a triple-shot venti mocha-caramel cappuccino. Her inability to savor and navigate without growing a thick, sticky mustache was legendary at the morgue.

“So’s the cappuccino, Kev. Ah, heaven in a Styrofoam to-go cup.” Callie slurped the last syrupy dregs of delight through the sippy-lid and tossed the cup in the recycle tub.

**

“Ready?” Callie looked across the corpse at her intern.

“Ready.”

She picked up the edge of the cotton shroud. “Okay, let’s have a look you, shall we?” Her greeting died when she saw the man's face.

Closing her eyes burned the image behind her eyelids, and she snapped them open.

No. It’s not him. This guy’s nose is longer, and look at those big ears. How could I mistake him for Chuck?

“Doc? You okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little caffeine-sugar rush. You ready?”

“Yep.” He squinted at her before looking down. “Male, 34 years old,” Kevin read from the file. “Tobias Matthison, Lincoln, Nebraska.”

Tobias Matthison. Matthison like Chuck’s Nana Em.

“Tobias, what are you doing so far from home.” Callie peeled the sheet further down and uncovered his scarred, muscular chest. An apple-shaped birthmark rode his ribcage just under his left arm.

Tobias… Toby? No, it can’t be. Can it? ‘Matching birthmarks, the apples of their mama’s eye, Toby and Chuck.’

Callie stepped back and peeled off her gloves. Chuck had only talked about his twin once, but Callie remembered every word.

But Toby was…

“Doc?”

Callie grabbed a tissue. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think. Kevin I need to make a call. I think I know who this “

“Wait, what? We know who he is. We’ve got his driver’s license, a fist full of credit cards. A library card even. He’s Tobias Matthison.”

“No, before. Just…never mind. I need to make a call. Please, Kevin, just give me a minute. Go...I don’t know, go download some I-Pods or something.”

“Doc, you don’t download an IPod; you download to an IPod. Seriously, I’ve explained this before...”

“Kevin – stop. Not now.” Callie held up her hand, palm out, cutting off Kevin’s juvenile meanderings. “Just...give me a few minutes. Please.”

If anyone would know, it would be Alfie.

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Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Home for Christmas

2010-12-23T19:57:00.002-05:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

Welcome to an unofficial, spur of the moment Friday Fiction, hosted by Mari LaVell on her awesome blog, A Mari Heart. This is old one from the "Christmas" quarter at FaithWriters. I don't know why the judges didn't like it; it's one of my favorites. Maybe I connect more with the snarky MC than they did. [smile]

Enjoy your holiday, and remember to thank God for the best gift ever given, and the reason we celebrate Christmas - JESUS!! (And if you forget, it's right there in the name of the holiday.)

***************

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Irving was at it again. Frankly, I was over his whining. One more word about missing his precious Aunt Betty's sweet potato soufflé tomorrow and I was going to drop kick him to the curb. Besides, just the thought of sweet potato soufflé makes me want to gag.

I shot him a look that could melt diamonds and put my nose back into Grisham's "Skipping Christmas." Boy could I relate to Mr. Krank; I was ready to skip the rest of December and move straight into January.

Irving was acting like it was my fault I had to work on Christmas this year. Maybe I could tell the patients they'd need to care for themselves tomorrow because the nurses had to go home to mommy. Wait, I've got it - we could just shut down the hospital tomorrow. I should ask Irving if he'd call the director and suggest it.

I gave up reading and closed my book none too quietly. "Let's go. You're taking me shopping. Bring the credit cards."

Macy's jewelry counter sparkled like Christmas morning. Rubies, emeralds, and diamonds reflected fluorescent light into shopper's eyes, luring them like sheep to slaughter, blinding them to exorbitant price tags. I marched straight to the display where I had eyeballed a tennis bracelet last week.

The sales clerk wore so much mascara I wondered how she was able to lift her eyelids. "Happy holidays," she crooned. "Is there something I can show you?" I wasn't fooled by her faux festivity. Under all that mascara, her eyes brimmed with boredom.

"Merry CHRISTMAS." I raised my nose a bit higher. "This bracelet, please ...if it's not too much trouble." I tapped a red fingernail on the glass over my greed's desire. Irving shuffled closer, and I glowered at him from the corner of narrowed eyes. He was squinting; I knew he was trying to peek at the tiny price tag dangling from the clasp.

"An exquisite choice. Perfect for your dainty wrist." Luckily the clerk missed my unchecked eye-roll as she unlocked the case. With exaggerated flourish, she presented the glittering band of diamonds.

I stuck out my hand, and she fastened the bracelet around my wrist. "Stunning! And a perfect fit. You could take this home with you today. Shall I wrap it for you?"

"No, thank you. I shall wear it." I left Irving to finalize the purchase while I had a look at a sale in the shoe department.

A dazzling sunrise on Christmas morning heralded promises of a splendid day. I emerged from the bedroom bathed and refreshed - body and soul. I had prayed away the hateful spite from the days before and pledged to make peace with Irving before I started my shift.

Wrapped in my trusty old bathrobe, I headed off to start coffee. The worn and frayed robe hugged me like an old friend. If we'd "gone home" for Christmas instead of staying home, I'd have worn the homely robe his Aunt Betty gave me last year, still stiff and scratchy from unuse.

Rounding the corner into the den, I got a surprise: my beloved Irving met me with a kiss and a steaming cup. The Christmas tree lights flickered, and a fire crackled in the hearth. Irving had taken advantage of the homefield, too, and had donned his favorite faded sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants. We looked each other up and down and shared a laugh.

"Merry Christmas, Irving. I'm sorry for being a little... grumpy lately."

"No, I'm sorry. I made too much of going home for Christmas, when this IS my home. Right now, I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be. Got time to open a present before you get ready for work?"

"Are you kidding? At least one!" I reached for the biggest box under the tree, but Irving caught my arm. He pulled a long, blue velvet box from his pocket.

"This one."

My trembling hands threatened to drop the box as I fumbled the lid open. I gasped at the diamond necklace glittering in the satin lining. It was perfect match to my new bracelet. The tears on my cheeks told Irving of my joy; I was speechless.

"The clerk with all the eye makeup said you'd like it."

"Um...I'll be home late this afternoon. I need to stop at the grocers," I stammered.

"But we got everything for Christmas dinner yesterday. What else..."

"Sweet potatoes," I blurted. "Sweet potatoes and marshmallows."

And I didn't even want to gag.

© 2008

***************

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Nothing to Wear

2010-12-16T23:00:00.002-05:00

Our host for Friday Fiction today is....ME! Thank you Karlene, for giving me this honor! If you'd like to join the fun, scroll down and add your link to the linky tool at the bottom of this post. Then be sure to come back and follow the links to our other participants. And don't forget to leave an encouraging word to let the writers know you are reading! (We thrive on that, you know.)

I started this story over a year ago for the "Black" challenge at FaithWriters.com, and I finished it up today so I would have something new for Friday Fiction. It's based on a true story, but a lot of the facts have been changed for the sake of creative writing.

Happy reading and MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!

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NOTHING TO WEAR

Stacy rifled through her clothes for the third time, toppling stacks of sweaters and yanking clothes off hangers, hoping something suitable would magically appear. She had a classy black sleeveless sheath that still fit, but it was December and she was going to the frozen tundra of Iowa. Her two black suits and countless black skirts, sweaters, and dresses were all too small. In a fit of rage, Stacy screamed at the ceiling, then crumpled to the floor. The dam holding back her tears exploded and she curled up in a ball and wept.

That’s where Kevin found her. The arm she had flung over her face to block the light didn’t hide her tear stained cheeks. Her lips whispered prayers that stopped when Kevin turned off the closet light. He knelt down beside her and combed the hair away from her face with his fingers, and Stacy breathed a sigh.

“Bad day, huh?”

Her giggle hiccupped into fresh sobs, and Stacy flung herself into Kevin’s arms. He stroked her hair and murmured love into her ear as she cried.

“Oh, honey,” she finally said, “I don’t have…I don’t know…What am I going to wear to the funeral? Everything’s too small, and I’m too fat, and I don’t know what to do.” She broke into sobs again.

“Hmm, well, you’ve got that black sweatsuit. You know, the velvety one I like so much? You look mighty fine in that with your new curves. You’ve got a little junk in your trunk now, baby. And it’s nice.” Kevin nuzzled her neck, then tackled her to her back with the intent to prove he liked her new physique.

“Stop, stop!” Stacy’s laugh was truer this time, and she shoved Kevin away. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I look better. I like my junk too, but I HATE not having anything to wear! Mama wasn’t supposed to die before Christmas.”

Kevin heard the warble threaten her voice, and he jumped to his feet. With a tug on Stacy’s hands, he said, “Come on, I want to show you something.”

She stubbornly refused to budge from the closet floor. “What?”

“It’s a surprise. Just come on.”

“I still need to pack and I still have nothing to pack! I’ve got to figure out…”

Kevin cut her off by bending down and scooping her up in his arms. “I said come on.” He turned and carried a giggling, weeping Stacy to the attic stairs.

“Put me down, I’ll walk up the steps.”

“What? Don’t trust me?”

“Nope. Especially now that I’m fat.” She winked and pecked Kevin on the lips.

Inside the attic, Kevin turned the light on and motioned toward an old door they had replaced and stored up there last summer. “Would you like what’s behind door number one, or door number one? I apologize about the limited options, but what with the economy and all, we’ve had to make some cutbacks.”

Stacy rolled her eyes in mockery, but still grinned. “Gee, I guess I’ll take door number one, Monte.”

With a flourish, Kevin swung the door open in its frame to reveal a stack of boxes wrapped and festooned in Christmas colors.

“What…?”

“I found the catalog you had all marked up, and your list. This was going to be your Christmas surprise.”

Stacy often window-shopped through catalogs when Christmas neared, dog-earing pages and circling sizes and colors, preparing her wish-list for “Santa”. Only a fraction of the clothing she selected made it under the tree each year, but it was fun to dream.

Kevin reached into the stack and extracted a gaily wrapped and beribboned large box. “I think this is what you’re looking for. Oh! And wait…” he pulled out a couple of slightly smaller packages. “These too.”

Plopping down on the planked floor, Stacy tore into the big present, opened the box, and burst into sobs anew as she gazed upon the black wool suit she had circled and then decided against.

“What? It’s not right?” Kevin’s smile turned into a worried frown.

“No. I mean yes. It’s perfect.” More tears followed as she opened two new silk blouses and looked up at her fidgeting husband. “And maybe someday you’ll learn to tell the difference between happy tears and sad ones. I love you.”

© 2009-2010

Dedicated to my mom,who is dancing with the angels. Eva Mae Bancroft, 08-01-1932- 12-08-2003.

My mother, her parents, and me, circa 1967

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Enter your link here!!

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Can you hear Him now?

2010-12-02T23:10:00.006-05:00

I came of age in the dark ages of communication. The first personal computers made their appearance when I was in high school, pagers were a Godsend in my twenties, and shortly after I married Brad, the portable cellular phone was birthed.

Brad worked for a paging company back in the 90’s, and because he needed to be reachable 24/7, his employer issued him one of those newfangled portable phones. It measured about 10” x 3” x 2”, weighed more than my new puppy, and rode on the floorboard of our car.

When we got our first “modern”, 21st cell phones, their purpose was “for emergencies”. We stored them in our glove compartments and tried to remember to check the batteries’ charge every couple weeks.

Gradually, our definition of “emergency” morphed from “I have a flat tire," or “I’m broken down on the shoulder”, into “I’m running late,” and “We’re out of milk.”

Now, me forgetting my cellphone is cause to turn around and go back home. I feel lost without it. I haven't reached the extreme of the smart-phone junkie, but the thought of not being able to reach someone IMMEDIATELY brings on a panic attack.

In the same way (and, coincidentally, over the same period of time) my prayers to God have grown from an “in case of emergency” tool, to my daily, constant companion. If ever I realize I’ve neglected to pray, I do an immediate U-turn to retrieve my Lifeline.

Constantly accessible communication with your creator is available to you 24/7. And He wants you to pick up the phone.

Please don’t stash your prayers in hidey-hole, only to be retrieved for emergencies. Instead, form a habit of keeping them in your pocket, always at hand and constantly accessed. Conversations with God are free – no monthly free: unlimited talk and text!

Go ahead, pick up the phone. God is waiting for your call.

"Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything.

Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done."

Philippians 4:6

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Connecting Now: The Great Movie coNUNdrum

2010-11-26T12:05:00.001-05:00

I'm sharing what my friends the MikChiks are passionate about. They stir me to conviction and action. Please read!

Connecting Now: The Great Movie coNUNdrum:
"Greetings Readers, With December so close, I thought we could make one final push for the December movie boycott. The plan is to stay away ..."

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: The Video

2010-11-19T14:40:00.001-05:00

Thanks for reading my offering for Fiction Friday today!! The fact that this story was unveiled at FaithWriters on Veteran's Day was entirely coincidental. This is a moment in time - a part of a much longer story that may just be that novel idea I've been waiting for.

Enjoy!!

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THE VIDEO

The young soldier was ready. Just one more thing to do.

He tilted his laptop so the webcam centered his face on the screen. The worry lines and sad eyes had to go, so he took a breath and composed a smile. One more quick adjustment to his uniform, and he started recording.

***

“Hi Dylan. I hope that’s what your mom ended up naming you, cuz that’s the name we had picked out when I had to tell you goodbye, and that’s who you’ll always be to me.

I wish I could've stayed around to find out if you ended up bein' a girl Dylan or a boy Dylan, but that don’t really matter.

What matters is that you know who I am.

I’m your dad, Dylan, and you’re my kid.

I hate that I’m gonna miss your birthday, an’ that’s why I’m makin' this. Since I can’t be there in person, I figured this was the next best thing.

So happy birthday, kiddo.

If you’re a girl I'd have thrown you the best party and danced you around the room, laughin' at the ribbons bouncin' in your hair. I’d plant a kiss on your forehead and wish you happy birthday under a spotlight.

If you’re a boy, I’d have taken you to the ballgame and we’d pig out on hotdogs and peanuts and drink too much Coke. An’ I’d have them spell out “Happy Birthday, Dylan” on the big screen.

Since I can’t do those things, I want you to at least be able to see me an' hear me tell you. I promise I’m thinkin' 'bout you right now, whether I'm still fightin' this war somewhere, or I'm in Heaven with Jesus.

I wanna tell you why I had to go, an’ I hope you understand.

See, Dylan, sometimes a person’s got to make a choice. You gotta choose what’s most important for everyone, and you gotta trust that God’ll see you through.

To me, fightin' to keep our country free is really important.

Fightin' to keep other people free is just as important.

We got it good here, kiddo. At least we do now. I joined the service to help make sure it stays that way for you. An’ I know that over there there’s a daddy who loves his kids too.

If it means layin' down my life to save someone else's...well, I wouldn’t be the first one to do it. I figure yer mom’s raisin’ you to know the Lord, so that’s all I’ll say about that.

Dylan, I love you so much it hurts, even though I've never met you. It’s a good hurt, though. A love hurt.

If you’re a girl, I know you’ll feel that kind of hurt someday. And if you are a boy, I hope you do. I really hope you do, son.

I love you, Dylan. Happy birthday.”

***

The Soldier pressed STOP and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. After logging onto his web mail, he composed a last love letter to his wife.

***

“My Sweet Dumplin,

You know I hope with all my heart that I’ll be back home with you for good in two years. I’ll be praying for that as long as I’m gone, and I know you will too.

But you also know there’s a chance I won’t come back.

This war won’t be over anytime soon, no matter what the media says. There’s real fighting still going on, and people are still dying.

I made a video, just in case I don’t make it home. It’s for Dylan. I want you to play it for him or her on the day he or she gets here, so my voice will be one of the first ones the kiddo hears. I probably won't be there for birthday number two, so play it for the kiddo then. And on every birthday after that if I’m not there for whatever reason.

I don’t want Dylan to grow up not knowing me.

I love you my Sweet Apple Dumplin. And I’ll never stop. I hope to see you real soon.”

***

He attached the video and scheduled delivery for six months from today. After another swipe at his eyes, the young soldier shut down his computer, and stood to go.

The transport was waiting.

© 2010

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Our host for Friday Fiction today is Joanne Sher!! (Hi Jo!) Click on over to her blog, "An Open Book" and add a link to your own fiction (after reading her story, of course), or just follow the links and read along. Don't forget to leave an encouraging word to let the writers know you are reading! (We thrive on that, you know.)

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
- Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Truth Endures

2010-11-05T15:29:00.001-04:00

Welcome to Fiction Friday! I wrote this story way back in May of 2007 for the Sci-Fi challenge at FaithWriters.com. Wow! I've been doing this for a while! I think my writing has improved, but I really liked this story. I hope you do too.

I think everyone might be busy with NaNoWriMo - I don't know if we have a host or hostess today or not! Let me know If I missed it. :-)

Be blessed,
Cat

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TRUTH ENDURES

Eight-year-old Cody Brandon sat at the smooth, rock table, pouring over his schoolbook. His feet swung a foot from the dining room floor. Teacher had started his class in History, and today she told them about the days of their ancestors, the Above-The-Waters.

Five pages of Cody’s schoolbook were devoted to the Above-The-Waters. A few washed-out, grainy photos showed what was supposed to be the Above-The-Waters’ home. Cody’s imagination made the pictures come to life. The blue of Mama’s Sunday dress painted the sky, and herbs in Papa’s kitchen garden provided the green of the grasses and trees. The ever-present flow of air from the wall vents was the wind, and the grass swayed and the trees danced as it blew.

“Cody, my boy, are you reading or wool gathering?”

“Grandad!” Cody leapt from his chair and flew into the old man’s open arms.

“Whoa, whoa! You’re getting big enough to bowl me over, boy.” Earnest Brandon’s deep chuckle shook his belly. No one in Farlow had weight to spare, but Grandad Earnest was well loved. The Aunts and Cousins and Meeting ladies made sure Grandad didn’t go hungry.

“Grandad, what’s wool gathering?”

“Always wanting to learn, you are. Speaking of that, what are you pretending to be studying there?”

“The Above-The-Waters. Look at these pictures. And here, on the next page, pictures of the first tunnels.” Before Cody could turn the page, his Grandad reached down and stopped him.

“Cody, I’m old. I’ve seen those pictures and lots more.”

Cody’s eyes grew wide. “Were you there? When they dug the tunnels under the waters and carved our homes?”

Another chuckle rumbled from deep within his Grandad. “No, boy, I’m not that old. I did hear from my own Grandad the ancient tales of the escape through the waters after the destruction. It’s our tradition to pass down history through the generations.” He tread softly to the bookcase beside the fireplace. After a lifetime of pulling it from the shelf, his hand found the worn, leather volume by instinct.

“Grandad, that’s the Meeting Book. Today’s only Tuesday.” Cody’s face was scrunched in confusion. “And what about the Above-The-Waters?”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve heard about the Above-The-Waters. You’ve been hearing stories about them all your life,” his Grandad said, and gently tapped the Meeting Book.

“The people in the Meeting Book? And Israel was … Wow!” Cody’s wheels were turning. “But, Teacher said they didn’t know much about the Above-The-Waters. That most of the History was lost. If the Meeting Book is about the Above-The-Waters, why would she say everything they knew was in my schoolbook?”

“Because, sadly, not everyone believes that the Meeting Book is true history. Some think it’s full of made up stories, and think us foolish for calling it truth.” Grandad Earnest’s creased face was filled with sorrow, but his voice grew angry as he went on. “Because of those children whose parents don’t believe, the School isn’t allowed to speak about God or the Meeting Book.”

“That’s not fair! How will those kids know then?” Cody was catching his Grandad’s irritation.

“Nothing is stopping you from telling them, Cody. That’s what Jesus meant when He said to spread the good news about Him. But only after School, or on weekends.”

Carefully, he opened the big book. “You have a gift for memorizing Scripture – the best in your group at Meeting. Come, read to me from Genesis about the Creation. I want you to memorize it, so you can tell your school friends about some REAL ancient history.”

© 2007

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Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Come Harvest Time

2010-10-29T14:05:00.000-04:00

It FINALLY feels like fall today! Not that I mind summer weather lasting until the end of October, but wearing short and flip-flops on Halloween just doesn't seem right.

This poem was my entry for the "Fall" challenge at Faitwriters.com last September, and I thought I'd share it in honor of the changing weather.

Be blessed,
Cat

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COME HARVEST TIME

Ava wakes to sparrow’s song
heralding dawn
and the balm of fall
fluttering in on dawn’s wing:
a harbinger
of harvest time.

Rising from her slumber,
she welcomes another day’s breaking,
but Ava is not mistaking
the herald’s proclamation of fall
riding in on dawn’s wing
with the hope
of harvest time.

Twas twelve months past
she last awakened
heart breaking open
and taking wing at dawn
to welcome fall,
recalling once more
his promise to come home
come harvest time.

The words he whispered
before he closed the door
behind him,
sealing off before from the morrow,
echo in her heart the year round.
“I’ll be back, you’ll see.
Pray for me.
And look for me this fall
come harvest time.”

Holed up in their shanty
Ava waited, marking time
by moon’s phases
and lines scratched on the door
that sealed off tomorrow from before
his promise to return
come harvest time.

Far too many
years
of months
of empty days
and lonely nights
have passed
for Ava to grasp
how long she’s been biding time
marking days
and seasons
waiting for
another
harvest time.

On this morning Ava rises
answering the sparrow’s call
with psalms of praise
and promise
of hope restored,
of bounties
stocked up for the morrow
that could be waiting now today
just outside the door.
It’s harvest time

She bathes and powders,
dresses in her Sunday best
dons jewelry, bracelets, rings,
adorns herself in finery,
and perches on the front porch swing
to watch, and listen, for signs
of his return
riding in on fall’s wing.
It’s harvest time.

There Ava passes
from today
into the harvest
of evermore.

© 2009

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Christina Banks is hosting Fiction Friday today at

her blog, With Pen in Hand. Please come join us!!

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Sunday School Sendoff

2010-10-22T15:08:00.001-04:00

A light piece of fluff today for Fiction Friday. (and a shout out to my Canookian friend, Timmy Boyle.) Have fun! And don't forget to follow the link below to more fiction!

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SUNDAY SCHOOL SENDOFF

Macy lifted a 6-foot long, L-shaped package from the top of the pile of presents. "Gee, I wonder this one is?" She caught the card dangling from the end. "From John and Debbie. Seriously, guys. A hockey stick?

"Everyone plays hockey in Canada, eh hoser?" John snickered, and poked Dianna with his elbow.

"John's right. I think it's a law there. 'All Canadians will participate in the game of ice hockey.'"

"And what kind of impression would that make on your new church, the pastor's wife breaking the law right off the bat? They might send you back."

Macy tore the last of the bright red wrapping from the blade. "Ha ha. Watch it or I'll find another use for my new hockey stick." She waved it toward them and scowled before bursting into laughter and grabbing another present from the stack.

"From Jerry and Linda." Macy ripped the paper off the box and opened the lid. "Oooh!! Did you make this?"

Jerry piped up, "Yeah, I slaved for hours knitting under a hot lamp. Killed my arthritis."

"Riiiight." Macy extracted the end of scarf created from the softest, deepest blue yarn and brushed it across her cheek. "Mmmm, nice. So, seriously. Did you make this, LINDA?" She continued unwinding the scarf out of the box and wrapped it around her neck, and wrapped it, and wrapped it. "And did you make it long enough?"

"We know how cold it is up there in the Great White North. We wanted to make sure you were covered."

"Thanks, guys, I love it. And I love you. I love all of you." Tears started shining in her eyes. "I can't believe you did this for me."

"You've been the best Sunday School teacher we've had, and we're going to miss you. We wanted to do something special for you, as a class." Linda had to grab a tissue and dab her own eyes.

"Don't worry, the church will have another party for you and Pastor Stephen," Jerry said. "You know us. Any reason to get together and eat." As if to prove his point, he plucked another donut off the plate in the center of the table bit off a mouthful.

Laughter danced around the room, and Macy was grateful the somber moment was over. She dreaded breaking down in front of her class, her family, and she had come precariously close. The day was nearing when she would have to say goodbye to them, but until then she wanted to fill every minute with joy.

She opened another brightly wrapped box. "Electric socks? They make electric socks? Oh, I forgot, this one's from Deb and Ernie. Very cool, guys. Thanks!"

"Oh, you betcha," Ernie said. "Can't have you getting frostbite, now can we, eh? Mighty cold up there like Linda says."

"You guys crack me up. Ok, this one is from Amelia. Thanks for missing your youth class to come to my party today, Amelia." She removed the delicate pink tissue paper from the box. "Oh, a book light! Thanks, sweetie."

The girl seemed transfixed by the button on her jacket she was fidgeting with. "I wasn't sure if they had electricity up there yet, and I think it's like completely dark for like 10 or 11 months out of the year, and I knew you wouldn't want to go that long without reading your Bible, so I figured it would come in handy, you know?" She finally lifted her baby blues to look at Macy.

"Beauty."

"Ernie, hush."

"Sorry, Deb."

Macy wasn't sure which part of Amelia's answer to tackle first. "You're right - I sure wouldn't want to go that long without reading my Bible, but I'm almost positive they have electricity where we're going. It will be great for reading in bed, tho! I'm going to love it." She opted to let the rest of it go.

"See, Mrs. Macy, that's why I'm going to miss you so much. You're always so nice even when you're correcting me. What am I gonna do without you?"

"Oh, Amelia, you'll be just fine. See, I've been teaching Mrs. Deb and Mrs. Diane and Mrs. Linda for a whole lot of years now. They're just as nice as I am, I promise. Give them a chance to show you."

"And the rest of you, the bell's about to ring. So, take off hosers! Wait! Just kidding. I need you to help me clean up this mess."

© 2009

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Karlene is hosting Fiction Friday today at

Homespun Expressions. Please come join us!!

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Book Review: Cardan's Pod

2010-10-18T23:16:00.000-04:00

Cardan's Pod
by Rick Higginson

I was intrigued by the premise of a book about mermaids, and being familiar with Mr. Higginson's work, I've been especially looking forward to reading "Cardan's Pod."

It exceeded all my expectations.

I didn't expect the "mythical" creatures to be so human - complete with emotions, needs and desires. Mr. Higginson makes the unbelievable easy to believe.

But this isn't just a sci-fi story about mermaids - also it's a murder mystery, love story, adventure novel, and medical thriller, where mermaids happen to play central roles in the unfolding drama.

I only wish the ending hadn't come so soon. The last few months covered in the book were skimmed over, and I wanted more details! That is a compliment to the author - he drew me so into the life of the Pod, I felt let down when I was shut out of their lives.

Cardan's Pod is a quick read, but is by no means shallow. You will not regret reading this book.

My rating: 4.5 out of 5

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Genesis: Morning Has Broken Me

2010-10-01T12:47:00.000-04:00

The stunning rainbow God painted this week made me think of this story I wrote for the "Wow" challenge topic at FaithWriters. I've done a little tweaking - hopefully I helped it instead of hurting it. Enjoy!

GENESIS: MORNING HAS BROKEN ME

"Mommy, come look!" Bounce. "You gotta come see." Bounce bounce. "Come on Mommy, get up!" bounce, "get up!" bounce, "get up!"

Grrr. Seriously, God? My grand plan to sleep in on my Saturday off has been thwarted. My exuberant five-year old is causing a small earthquake in the region of Ma Bedville.

I yank the covers over my head and growl for real. "What little Bear is bouncing on Mamma Bear's bed?" My attempt at a ferocious roar is cut short by a squealing, 24-pound Beatrice plopping on top of me.

"Momm-MMY! Come ON!" She yanks at the covers, starting a wrestling match that, of course, I let my Beatle-Bear win. How can I not? Losing means I get to harvest joy from looking at those big brown eyes swimming inside her swarming halo of golden tresses.

"Whyyyy?" I whine, "I don't wanna get up. Come on, snuggle with me, Beatle-Bear." I try to pull her into a spoon, but she won't have it.

"No, Mommy, you gotta come see. It’s a wow!"

She bounces off of me and out of the bed and tugs on my hand. I tumble after her with a flop and let her drag me to her room. She prances to the window and jabs her finger at the glass. "See? See the wow?"

I stand beside her and gaze out at the new morning. The sun has just peeped over the trees, painting a pastel backdrop on the sky, and dew sparkles like a web of diamonds spun over creation. God had, indeed, painted a wow.

I rnn my hand over her tousled hair. "Thank you for showing me the sunrise, Beatrice. That's a pretty good wow." I bend down and kiss on top of her head, stifling a yawn.

"NO, Mommy, over there. See?" She’s jumping up and down and pointing across me, to the right.

I sidle over to stand behind her so I can see what her pudgy little finger is pointing at.

"See the wow?"

"Oh, wow! Yeah, Bea-Bea, now I do."

I pull her warm little body into my arms and stand hypnotized by the sight. A dancing prism of color spans the dew-bejeweled trees at the side of the yard, creating a glittering rainbow across windbreak.

My little Beatle-Bear spins around and turns her face up to mine. "You always show me the wows, Mommy. An' I wanted to show you this time, kay?"

She grabs my hand again, spins around, and points out the window. "Wow! It's the raimbow of God's promise." She turns back and looks up at me. "Now, I'm gonna pray just like you do, 'kay? Bow your head, Mommy." She takes my other hand and watches to make sure I obey.

Tears drip onto the front of my rumpled sleepshirt as my little one leads me in prayer.

"Dear God, Thank you for wows. Thank you for raimbows and for promises and for loving us. Thank you for Mommy. Please tell Daddy I love him. And thank you for Jesus. Amen."

Wow, God. I snuffle in and swallow. That's my girl. That's Your girl. Thank you.

I squeeze her hands. "Dear God, Thank you painting beautiful sunrises and rainbows for us, because sometimes we need a wow to remind us how very much you love us. Thank you for Beatrice, God, my precious little Beatle-Bear. Please take care of Daddy. And thank you for Jesus and for our home with You in Heaven, the forever treasure at the end of your rainbow. Amen."

***

"Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth." Genesis 9:16 (NIV)

Our host for Friday Fiction today is Rick Higginson (Hoomi) at Pod Tales and Ponderings. Add a link to your own fiction (after reading his story, of course), or just follow the links and read along. Don't forget to leave an encouraging word to let the writers know you are reading!

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24

Friday Fiction: The Insurrection of Procrastination Nation

2010-09-24T13:17:00.000-04:00

Welcome to Fiction Friday!! My story is a little off the chain today, but please bear with me. The Lord is at work in me, and when "Our King" gives an order, this is a little of what goes on inside of my head - embellished for fictional entertainment purposes and your enjoyment.

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THE INSURRECTION OF PROCRASTINATION NATION

ROYAL MISSIVE

From: Your Regent, Queen Kathryn,
by authority of Our King

To: All Current and Prospective Occupants of Innerland

Let a decree be heard throughout the realm:

We have summoned soldiers to scour the provinces of Innerland. Armed with the prayers of your Regent, they have been instructed by Our King to take up an official census, and to seek out and record all rogue projects, personal or professional, that have joined the insurrection and defected to Procrastination Nation. Tasks that have crossed the border from their home province of To Do into hostile territory currently under the ruthless control of the Enemy will be reclaimed for the Kingdom and put back into circulation.

We hope you have taken notice of the example made of your “hero”, Index.

As you are likely aware, Index, the most notorious offender, has claimed citizenship on our fair isle of To Do for over a year. Although his defection was not rectified, it did not go unnoticed. We have known for some time of the ulterior motives behind his repeated reassurances. We were not amused.

Last night, we dispatched an advance war party who captured Index and returned him to the control of your Regent. He was relocated to In Progress this morning, and, within three hours, he achieved the status of Complete. He would have already sailed for his next intended assignment, Awaiting Final Product, if not for the unfortunate meddling of our nemesis Missing Paperwork. That minion of the Enemy was stopped post haste, and, tomorrow, Index’s promotion will be complete.

Do not underestimate the power Our King has bestowed upon these soldiers.

We have also requested extra security be stationed in Awaiting Final Product, another weak area in our defenses against the Enemy. He and we constantly wrestle for control of this territory, and soldiers are necessary to ensure fortification. Malingerers will be accounted for and dealt with on a priority basis. We plan to be in constant contact with Our King to assure no gaps form in the hedges of protection.

As individuals, you may not be aware of the consequences imposed by the spreading insurrection. The whole of Innerland has been affected to some degree, as have parts of Outerland and the lands beyond. The scourge known as Procrastination Nation must be stopped before it damages you further.

Occupants of Innerland, take heed and take heart: we are not against you. Our desire is the desire of Our King--to protect you from the Ultimate Enemy. To this end, we are requesting permanent placement of armed patrols among you. Their mission is to defend you from attack.

The swords they wield will never be used against you; nay, their sole purpose is to slay the minions of the Enemy. The shields they carry will extinguish the fiery darts of the evil one so no further projects are swayed to the dark side.

Only when you all follow the same path can we reach our destination. If we allow ourselves to be divided by the Enemy, we risk being dominated by him.

Stand firm, citizens, and be strong in Our King and in His mighty Power. He will never leave us or forsake us.

With highest regards,
Your Regent,
Queen Kathryn of Innerland

Written with our hand, in ink on paper, in the year of our King, Two Thousand Ten

Author’s Note: Inspired in part by Ephesians 6:10-18

© 2010

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Our host for Friday Fiction today Is Yvonne at her blog, My Back Door. Click on over and add a link to your own fiction (after reading her story, of course), or just follow the links and read along. Don't forget to leave an encouraging word to let the writers know you are reading!

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Outside In

2010-09-17T13:09:00.001-04:00

Thanks for reading my offering for Fiction Friday today!!

Call me a rebel if you will, but I'm not posting fiction. The following is a non-fiction essay I entered in the FaithWriters "Think" challenge. As a rule, non-fiction does not do well in the competition, but I didn't enter this one to win. I entered it because God wouldn't let me write anything else. ;)

I hope you enjoy, and I hope it makes you think a little bit.

Cat

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OUTSIDE IN

I hate getting caught outside the stadium when the national anthem starts playing.

When I'm inside, in my seat, I spring to my feet, place my cap over my heart, and add my voice to those of the proud fans surrounding me, at times becoming teary-eyed in gratitude for my freedom.

But outside in the stadium breezeway, among the hotdog vendors, t-shirt hawkers, and souvenir stands, pride in country all but disappears.

You see, whenever I hear those first beloved notes, my ingrained military training rises again, and, no matter where I am or what I'm doing, the command comes unbidden ... "THINK".

Out amongst the crowded masses, however, I can't concentrate on the brave soldiers who carried our banner into battle through the years; I'm too disgusted at the army of my countrymen scurrying to and fro in front of me, ignoring the musical symbol of our nation's freedom.

I can't conjure up an image of six valiant men raising a tattered flag over Iwo Jima, because the spectacle of a mom and dad herding four screaming young boys waving over-sized foam fingers makes me wonder what happened to teaching children respect for their country.

When I try to picture my brothers and sisters in service who made the ultimate sacrifice, all I see are the hundreds of citizens too busy getting where they're going to stop for just a moment in respect of the men and women who secured the freedoms they seem oblivious to.

I should be thinking about the mere children leaving their families and growing up too fast in a foreign land, unselfishly defending the rights of their fellow humans to simply live like humans, but my attention is focused instead on the children in front of me who feel entitled to clamor for more, different, better, and the parents who cater to them.

Oh, yes. Better I stand safely in my assigned place in the stadium thinking my righteous thoughts, oblivious to what remains unseen outside.

Or is it?

© 2010

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Our host for Friday Fiction today Christina Banks at her blog, With Pen in Hand. Click on over and add a link to your own fiction (after reading her story, of course), or just follow the links and read along. Don't forget to leave an encouraging word to let the writers know you are reading! (We thrive on that, you know.)

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Psycho Semantics

2010-09-10T14:15:00.001-04:00

Thanks for reading my offering for Fiction Friday today!!
I'm posting my FaithWriters challenge entry for the topic "Touch". I hope you enjoy.

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PSYCHO SEMANTICS

Zoe didn’t know which hurt worse – the desperate need to be touched, or being touched itself. Dr. Madison was helping her work it out. Trying to convince her that the pain was mental, not physical. All he’d managed to convince Zoe of so far was that SHE was mental. Not that THAT took much convincing.

Ever since the fire and losing her daddy, the horrendously painful skin grafts, and year-long healing process, she’d been waiting for the old Zoe to make a reappearance. It had been one l-o-n-g year. She knew she wasn’t ‘right,’ and Dr. M’s suggestion of “mental” sounded right on.

He never came out and SAID that she was mental, of course. Just a bunch of mumbo-jumbo head-shrinker talk about psycho semantics, but she knew what he was getting at.
She was mental.

So when Tristan walked into her life, you can understand why she was a bit paranoid. First off, he was gorgeous, and Zoe felt that “need” to be touched again – but different this time. It was more than physical. Second off, the first thing he did was reach out to touch her.

Yikes!

Her mom had invited him to dinner. Zoe knew it was a hook-up--even though her mom had told her it was so “the new neighbor boy could ‘meet kids his own age.’”

‘Kids.’ Whatever. I think with all I’ve been through, I hardly qualify as a kid anymore. So when the doorbell rang at 6:00, and her mom and little brothers were (conveniently) nowhere to be found, she was on her guard.

The vision that greeted her was nothing like the pimply-faced geek Zoe had been expecting. He offered his hand, and she hated the hurt she saw in his big green eyes when she gasped and shrank back--and she hated herself for her automatic reaction. But she couldn’t help it – it was automatic.

Zoe mentally (ha ha) rehearsed and practiced the exercises Dr. M had been helping her with. For the first time, she actually had the desire to. A deep breath; pull out a memory of a time when being touched used to didn’t hurt and was connected with good feelings; focus on that and not her fear; another deep breath. Relax.

Zoe opened her eyes, and was embarrassed to realize she had shut them. Tristan was still standing there, gaping at her, more confused-looking now than hurt, and she wanted to die. She pushed her hair behind her ear, and mincingly offered her shaking hand.

Obviously Tristan was no dummy. He didn’t grab her hand, but met her halfway, matching her speed, waiting for her make first contact.

This was an approach Zoe was definitely NOT familiar with, and she didn’t know what to do. So she did Dr. M’s exercise again (quickly), and added an exercise of her own (actually one of her Grammy’s) and said a prayer.

Then she slid her palm under his, wincing involuntarily but not pulling back.

The lack of burning pain startled her and she almost collapsed. A dream. This must be a dream.

Again, Tristan held back and let Zoe make the next move.

Zoe dropped her hand and stepped aside. “Come on in. Everyone’s in the kitchen.”

Lord, what IS this? And I’m not just SAYING the word “lord” this time. I’m really talking to you. And, WOW, I think you’re really listening.

© 2010

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Our host for Friday Fiction today is my bffJoanne Sher at An Open Book. Click on over and add a link to your own fiction (after reading her story, of course), or just follow the links and read along. Don't forget to leave an encouraging word to let the writers know you are reading! (We thrive on that, you know.)

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

A Barren Mother

2010-09-05T18:29:00.000-04:00

"He settles the barren woman in her home
as a happy mother of children.
Praise the Lord."
- Psa 113:9 -

For many years I read this verse as a promise to be taken literally, and I waited on the Lord to fill my home with more children. My daughter wanted a little half-brother or -sister, too! However, over the last 10 years or so, this Word has served to alternatively confuse, anger, and depress me. I've even (to my shame) scorned the Lord. "Yeah right."

I've been drawn to this section of the Psalms lately, and the Lord has given me a new revelation.

While I got settled in my new home, God was preparing my church home for me, and me for my new church home.

As I reluctantly gave up on the promise of giving birth again and prayed to understand His will, the Lord was preparing a place for me in the midst of his children, and preparing me to recognize and accept that place.

Today, I read Psalm 113 again, and did praise the Lord. He has fulfilled his promise, but not in the way I thought I wanted, or even expected. Me? Teach children? NO WAY! Or so I thought four years ago.

But He has settled this barren woman in her home at FBC as the happy "mother" (teacher, leader, friend) of many children.

And I couldn't be happier.

Praise the Lord. He is always faithful - lots of time in unexpected and delightful ways.

Here are a few of " my"" many children:

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Someone Had to Write It

2010-08-06T08:00:00.001-04:00

Thanks for coming to my blog today to read my offering for Fiction Friday!

Just a short intro today: Every time you look at something with words on it, remember....

SOMEONE HAD TO WRITE IT

They say the first bite is the best. Gerald knew from experience that, when correctly prepared, each bite of a French Bread pizza is equally exquisite. Through trial and error over the years, he had tweaked and twisted the instructions on the box until the crust was crispy but not crunchy, and the cheese was hot and gooey but not chewy.

When precisely five minutes had elapsed, he gingerly took a bite. "Mm. Perfect. Now I can concentrate."

He put his pen to his writing pad, and ink flowed and ebbed across the page.

He labored over the perfect verb. Struggled to seek out the precise adjective. Does this sentence sound too commanding? Will the reader understand what I mean here?

More time was spent on this short piece of prose than was probably necessary, yet the hours put into it didn't matter. The quality of the finished work was more important than the quantity of time spent.

When the words had turned to blurry scribbles on the paper, the author laid the pen to rest on top of the pad and stumbled to bed, only to toss and turn, and mull over each word as sleep cowered behind his unfinished work.

---

Morning broke with the sweet lullaby of birdsong, rousing the Gerald from his slumber. Aside from a necessary stop at the lavatory, the half-filled page was the first, and possibly only, destination on his itinerary. His eyes were already scanning the words he'd written the previous night when he when plopped into the wooden desk chair and picked up his pen once again.

Only the fourth and final act of the drama was left to be created. Pen was put to paper and, after a moment's hesitation, began moving, creating something out of nothing with the words it formed.

Sleep had been good for the author. Verbs and adjectives and the occasional adverb were precisely inserted amongst the nouns and modifiers, all punctuated with ease, creating a harmony of language heretofore undiscovered.

He slipped the pen into the menagerie of writing utensils inhabiting the silver cup on the desk. With a satisfied sigh, he sat back and flexed his wrist and fingers, cramped and aching from gripping the implement of creation. Maybe this piece is the one. The one that will crack open the door to success.

---

"Mother! MOTHER!"

Mrs. McDaniel waddled around the corner, drying her arthritic hands. "Gracious. Such a ruckus. What is it, Gerald?"

"It's here! The letter! A FAT one too!"

"What on earth... Oh!" She flung the dishtowel over her shoulder and scurried across the den to where Gerald jumped up and down. "From the company? Open it!"

Gerald's shaking hands managed to tear open the flap on the cumbersome envelope without destroying its contents. The pages trembled in his hands, then fell to the floor as, one after another, they were scanned and absorbed.

Mrs. McDaniel searched her child's face, soaking in his joy and rejoicing as wonder, astonishment, and exaltation flooded his features. Before the last page touched down, Gerald began dancing again, and she whooped with glee, wishing she could waltz with her baby cradled in her arms again.

---

"Gerald! I'm home!"

Clomping footsteps echoing in the stairwell assured Mrs. McDaniel her son, her special gift, was on his way.

"There's a box in the trunk, Gerald. Can you get it for me?" She followed Gerald to the garage, barely keeping her feet on the ground. It was all she could do not to spoil the surprise.

"Mama?" Gerald stared into the opened trunk, "A whole case of French bread pizzas?"

"I thought you might want to give a copy of your first published work to all your friends."

Gerald froze, then his hands grazed the frozen cardboard, caressing the carton like a long-lost lover.

"Is this..." He looked from the case of pizzas to his dear mother and back again. "This is it?"

"Child, you did it." No longer could the woman contain the joy bursting inside of her. She broke into an awkward jig and let out a squeal.

Gerald grasped one edge of a flap and tore it loose. It's neighbors quickly followed, and soon Gerald was holding an icy box, his eyes devouring the backside.

There, in orange and white, were the words he'd so carefully crafted--the new and improved instructions he'd painstakingly prescribed--his first published work.

Perfect French Bread Pizza in Four Easy Steps.

© 2010

Our host for Friday Fiction today is Sharlyn Guthrie. She is literally Dancing on Rainbows over at her blog. (Fox)trot on over and add a link to your own fiction at the bottom of her story, or just follow the links and read along. Don't forget to leave an ecouraging word to let the writers know you are reading! (We thrive on that, you know.)

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: I'll Have What She's Having

2010-07-30T13:39:00.000-04:00

TGIF!!! I hope everyone is having a great start to a fabulous weekend. I'm on pins and needles waiting for my daughter to arrive from Florida. She's coming up for a friend's wedding and only staying a day and a half, but I'm ever so grateful for the chance to see her.

So, on to the Fiction part of Fiction Friday. I've had a very full week (well, month, actually) so please forgive this "repeat" of an FF from May of 2009. It's one of my favorites.My thanks to "When Harry Met Sally" for the title. :-)

Giving glory, praise, and honor to God,
Cat

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I'LL HAVE WHAT SHE'S HAVING

This is Ed, leave a message after the beep.

Hi, Ed, it's me. I finally figured it out.

You and me, we’re like coffee and ice cream. Yep, that’s exactly what we are -- coffee and ice cream.

It hit me today at the café. See, this stranger lady comes in, all poshy poshy poo poo with her hair done up and wearing this fancy schmancy outfit, and she orders coffee and ice cream. I’ve never had anyone to order that particular combination before, but I smile even though I think she’s coo-coo for coconuts and I go off to get her order. I’m wondering about it though. (You know me, always wondering about stuff.) I guessed that maybe when the coffee burns your tongue, the ice cream freezes the burn, and then the hot coffee thaws out your frozen mouth, and then…well, you get the picture.

That kinda reminded me of us, Ed. I’m like the coffee and you’re like the ice cream. (Wait - hear me out!) See, I get all het up and on fire about something, but it’s just too hot for you to handle and it starts burning you up. So you dowse the flame with your cold, clinical logic. (You’re sweet, Ed, but you tend to be as cold as … well … as ice cream.) Then my spirit ends up all frozen and numb with discouragement.

All this is going on in my head as I pour a cuppa for the poshy poshy poo poo lady and set her ice cream in front of her, and as I top off the other java drinkers, and as I snag the empty plates from the table of four. With each bundle of silverware I wrap, I count off another example of a burning bright idea that you’ve iced down.

I look over to check on Ms. Poshy Poo, and I watch how she savors the oppositeness of the two treats. She doesn’t let the coffee burn her mouth, or wait for the ice cream to freeze her tongue; she puts a spoon of ice cream in her mouth and then right away takes a sip of coffee. Then she smiles a blissful smile.

By now it’s time for my break, so I decide I just have to try this coffee and ice cream combination. (It was the blissful smile that convinced me.) I follow Ms. Poshy Poo’s lead, sampling a bite and a sip, and inside my mouth an amazing thing happens. The coffee melts the ice cream while the ice cream cools the coffee, and the two become one blissfully warm, ushy gooshy, sweet and pungent concoction.

Of course you know all this time I’m still thinking about us, Ed, about me being coffee and you being ice cream. But now I’m seeing a different take on the combination.

Ed, I’m so sorry that I only ever saw why we weren’t working out, and never even thought to look for how we could. I'm hoping you'll forgive me. After today, I’m thinking we might make this marriage work after all.

Can we try again?

I’d like to come home and melt you, Ed -- but just a little.

Call me?

© 2009


The "Ice Cream" to my "Coffee"

Our host for Fiction Friday today is Rick Higginson at Pod Tales and Ponderings. Are you pondering what Pod Tales are? Well pop on over and find out! Add a link to your own fiction at the bottom of his post, or just follow the links to some awesome fiction.

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Off Season

2010-07-23T14:23:00.003-04:00

TGIF!

And welcome to Fiction Friday! Please join the fiction frenzy! Post a short piece of your writing on your blog - a short story or an expert from a work in progress. Then follow THIS LINK to Christina Banks' Blog, With Pen in Hand. Add your link to the Linky Tool at the bottom of this post. Be sure to follow the links to the other fiction posts, and don't forget to leave a comment. Writers LOVE feedback.

By request, I'm posting my husbands favorite story. I hope you enjoy.

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OFF SEASON

I should be able to relive it in my imagination, to recount what it was like to be on the field the day Central won their first state championship. Unfortunately, all I can relive is watching The Game.

Pride definitely goeth before a fall, and I fell hard. I didn't scrape my knee or bruise my elbow, but my ego sure enough got sacked.

Just the year before, I'd led my team onto the field every Friday night as the starting quarterback for the Central High Lions. (My record 32 touchdown passes from that season still stands.) I reigned as Sophomore Class King with my Queen (on and off the field), Alissa Avery. I had it made. I was invincible.

Or so I thought.

It seems Coach doesn't play favorites, even with his star -- his prodigy player. Even when school's not in session.

When the rarely-used back door of the school opened that afternoon, and Coach witnessed that cigarette falling behind me to the ground and smoke escaping my mouth, I swear tears came to his eyes.

"Jackson."

I covered the butt with my heel. "Coach..." I strangled on the word, on smoke still caught in my throat, on fear.

"My office. Now." The heavy grey door banged shut behind him, leaving a gust of rage in its wake.

I loathed what was surely to come next.

***

"The first four weeks? You want me to miss all of pre-season practice?" My careening spirits were sideswiped by a surge of hope. I'd still be starting opening night.

"Oh, no. You won't miss one day of practice, pre-season or regular. In fact, you'll be attending an extra, one-on-one, tutoring session every day." Coach took his feet off his desk and looked me dead in the eye.

"You're benched for the first four games."

My surging hope turned to a flood of anger. "You're kidding."

"I kid you not. You know the rules. No cigs, no sauce, no sex. No exceptions."

"But it's summer, and I was just..."

"You were on school property. End of argument." He leaned back in his chair, and rubbed the side of his face. "Sorry, Jackson, but you brought this on yourself. I'll see you next month at practice."

I got to my feet and stuck out my chest. "No, you won't. You think you can play without me? Then let's see how you play without me all year. I quit." I stared him down, daring him to call my bluff.

At least I thought I was bluffing.

Coach stood and offered his hand. "Sorry you feel that way, Jackson. I had hopes of the scouts getting an early look at you this season, maybe already having you staked out for your senior year."

I wanted to take it back. I wanted to cry out, 'I didn't mean it!' But pride silenced my heart and held my tongue captive. I shook Coach's hand and, through gritted teeth, said goodbye. My stubborn pride then turned me on my heel and walked me out of his office.

***

That's how I ended up cheering from the bleachers instead of celebrating on the 50-yard line the night of The Game. Like many of the macho players dancing on the field, I shed a few tears, but mine were tears of sorrow over yesterdays that would never be.

Central High's new quarterback, a senior transfer from Middlebrook, didn't touch my passing record, but he did lead the Lions to an undefeated season and the Two-A State Championship, The Game of which I was only an observer, one fan among hundreds.

***

So I sit here now, in the lingering emotional aftermath of The Victory, holding my wounded heart in my hands. I tear my eyes away from its weeping redness and look up at Coach. "So, I was hoping you'd let me .. if I could ... come to practice next season. Maybe start over." The lump I swallow is surely my pride, on its way to being digested and purged.

"If I let you come back, it's the same deal. Double practices, and you spend the first four games on the sidelines."

The lump churned in my gut, threatening to come back up. Before Pride could make an encore, I said, "Ok, deal. You know, I've been watching that sophomore second stringer, Willis. He should get the team off to a good start. Then I can take us the rest of the way to our second state championship."

*

Author's Note: The line "Pride definitely goeth before a fall" was inspired by Proverbs 16:18 - "Pride [goeth] before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall." (KJV), and is misquoted herein for effect."

© 2008

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Book Review: An Army of Ordinary People

2010-07-20T18:15:00.000-04:00

AN ARMY OF ORDINARY PEOPLE
Stories of real-life men and women
simply being the church
by Felicity Dale.
Forward by George Barna
Non-fiction, Tyndale House Publishers

I had never considered what would happen to our world if all 21st century, American Christians literally followed in the faith-steps of Christ's first followers--the central characters of the Biblical book of Acts. Now that I've read Felicity Dale's An Army of Ordinary People, I can't stop thinking about what the next decade could be like if they did.

This collection of twenty anecdotes shows what happens when a handful of ordinary believers dare to step out of their comfort zones and put their faith, and the example set for us by the early Church, into action. Each individual highlighted in Army does something I long for the confidence to do: they obey the urgent call to share Christ with their world, whether boardroom or bowling alley, with their all their heart, soul, mind, and strength--not with force and might and pulpit pounding, but with love and concern and kindness.

You've likely heard stories of missionaries venturing into the wilderness and bringing record numbers of third-world and/or openly anti-Christian natives to a saving relationship with Jesus Christ.

Army is nothing of the sort.

Instead, this volume is filled with well-told, engaging tales of, as the title states, ordinary people from all walks of life living out their ordinary lives--with one exception. Each chooses to consciously BE Jesus--in word and deed--to those in their personal circle: co-workers, family, friends, and acquaintances.

Without even realizing it, these simple people become church planters. The churches they plant, however, resemble in no way the church I (or likely you) attend each Sunday morning.

Their "simple" or "house" churches spring up from such seeds as one couple inviting another over for dinner and saying grace before the meal, or a mother giving her daughter permission to invite a friends over for the family's Sunday breakfast and devotion time, or a cubicle-dweller offering to pray for his co-workers when they tell him their troubles. Things you and I can easily do.

Each chapter is followed by an insightful commentary from the author citing and expounding on Biblical examples and references, and reinforcing Jesus' command in Acts 1:8--"Go and make disciples of all nations." This "Great Commission," as Christians refer to it, instructs us to start our mission in our own back yard.

Army is an inspiring look at an arm of Christ's Body I knew existed but didn't realize was actively vibrant and multiplying all around me. Even if the particular flavor of "church" Felicity Dale savors in Army sours you, you will be motivated to take a deeper look at what you thought "church"--the gathering of His followers--was meant to be. It will send believers scurrying to the scriptures to find that 2000 year-old teaching is still relevant.

My rating: 4 out of 5

My thanks to Tyndale House Publishers for providing me with a complimentary copy of “An Army of Ordinary People”.

Catrina Bradley
"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Better than a Hallelujah

2010-07-18T16:13:00.000-04:00

Sunday Song of Celebration
Better Than a Hallelujah, by Amy Grant

Brian Russell, also known as the Old Man, hosts a handful of blogs all dedicated to the Glory of God. Today on Oldman's Inspirational Thoughts, he has posted a Sunday Song of Celebration and issued an open invitation to join him. He took my favorite song this week [wink], so I'm posting my second favorite, Amy Grant's "Better than a Hallelujah".

Her lyrics remind me that God not only wants me to share my innermost thoughts and worries with Him, my cries from the pit of despair are better than praises. Half-hearted praise can be offered with false joy, but groanings and desperate pleas for mercy and grace come from a humbled and surrendered heart.

Visit the Old Man and join the Sunday Celebration!

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Second Thoughts

2010-07-16T07:00:00.001-04:00

Today's Friday Fiction is a repeat from 2008. This version of Second Thoughts is elongated edit of my FaithWriters.com challenge entry for the "Truth or Dare" topic. This is what I WANTED it to be, before hacking 350 words from it to meet the word count limit. Enjoy!

---------------

SECOND THOUGHTS

I don’t know how to tell this, or even where to start really. I guess I should start with Tessa, seeing as how it this is mostly her fault.

She’s so much different. Most girls my age are all about their make up and their hair and dressing like a hottie, but Tessa – she is what she is and she’s happy with that. She’s the only girl I know who is happy looking like herself, that being the girl next door. And I mean girl. She could probly pass for 10 even though she’ll be 14 on her birthday come December. Besides her cute little nose that turns up at the end, she’s got gorgeous eyes – big and brown and shiny. Hair just as brown and shiny all the way down her back.

Anyway, back to the story. I wasn’t real happy about the plan but I didn’t want to be a wimp. It’s a guy thing, ya know? See, I never was one to back down from a dare, so I went along with it, and Tessa, she followed me like always. She must watch outta her window for me to walk past cuz she came out her front door right when I crossed her driveway.

She looked up at me all expectant like and asked me, “Where ya going? What’s going on tonight?”

I had tear myself away from those eyes of hers, and I told her, “Nothing you need know about. Whyn’t you stay home tonight?” I stuck my hands in the pockets of my jeans and shuffled around a bit.

Just like her, she said, “Pah. I’m going.”

I rolled my eyes, shrugged, and started walking again. Tessa was glued to my side like my shadow. One thing about Tessa, she don’t babble on like most girls. She’s all right to talk to if she’s all I got. Mostly she likes to talk about Jesus and Bible stuff. I don’t mind – Jesus was a pretty cool dude and she knows a lot about him. I wasn’t sure I bought it all, but her eyes get even shinier when she’s talking bout him so I’d been wondering lately if it might all be true. She didn’t even pester me bout where we were headin that night, just told me how Jesus dying made her feel.

When we crossed Main and hung a left on Turner, and we saw Charlie and Rick hanging out in front of First Pres, she asked me, “We going to church?”

Her eyes lit up the night, and that’s when I had my first second thought about this plan and specially bout letting her tag along. I told her, “Sorta, but not really. Just come on if you’re coming.”

“They know you been going here?” She sounded shocked, and I reckon she had reason. That’s when I had my second second thought.

“Nah, I haven’t told no one. An you don’t need to neither,” I said.

Charlie held out his fist as we came up and I gave it a bump. He flicked his eyes at Tessa and asked me, “What’s SHE doin here?”

“Chill, Dude. She’s cool.” I told him, and asked, ‘You check it out?”

He grinned at Rick then at me. “Yah, Dude. Wide open.”

“Then let’s doooo it.” Rick started baying like a banshee and we had to hush him up and hustle around back before anyone saw us.

Sure nuff, the back door to the kitchen was unlocked and we all snuck in. Tessa I had to grab by the hand and tug on, but she came too. We started with the big blackboard in the fellowship hall, erasing the announcements. Charlie grabbed a piece of chalk and wrote in big letters, “Jesus…” He only got the first two letters of the next word down when Tessa grabbed my hand and drug me away.

“Come on, I want to do something.”

Well that got Charlie snickering and Rick hootin and a hollerin. “Go on you two – and have fuu-uun.” I turned my head to give them a look, and seeing those words so big…well I gotta say I wanted to throw up. My third second thought. I was happy to go on with Tessa.

She didn’t let go of my hand, or say a word, just drug me all the way to the sanctuary, then right up to the altar and dropped to her knees. She looked up at me with those big shiny eyes, cept now they were shiny with tears. “Pray with me?”

I figured, what the hay, I wasn’t too much into the dare anymore anyway. She still had hold of my hand, and I got on my knees beside her. I wasn’t sure what to do next so I just bowed my head and thought I’d wait till she was done, then we could go. I didn’t know she was planning on praying out loud.

I don’t remember much of what she said, but it was how she said it. I’ll tell ya, I never heard no one pray like that before. It was like she was really talking to someone. She said “Father” like God was really her daddy. She’d even stop ever once in a while like she was waiting for Him to answer. I started getting more comfortable, and that was weird to me.

Then she told Him she wanted to pray for Charlie and Rick and me, and I remember this part. She asked Him to open our hearts to His truth. And it hit me like a hammer. All those things we talked about, bout Jesus, and Him dying and why, and how He was really alive and He was really God. I felt like my heart was ripped open and real tears ran down my face. Before I knew it, I was praying. Me! And it wasn’t weird at all; matter of fact if felt real right.

That’s when the cops busted in and hauled us off. I’m thankful to the preacher for getting out of bed to come get us. My folks wouldn’t have believed my story, but he did. Course, Tessa was there to back me up. Us two tried to get Charlie and Rick to see the truth while we waited at the station for the preacher, but they just laughed. And for once I didn’t care, neither.

So, anyway, I guess that’s my testimony. That’s why I’m standing here in front of ya’ll in this big bathtub in a white nightgown today. Jesus is my Lord now.

Besides, Tessa dared me.

© 2008

Please visit my BFF Joanne Sher at An Open Book.. She is our hostess with the mostest today. Pop on over and follow the links to more fab fiction. Feel free to join the Fiction Friday Fun by adding a link to your writing..

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Turnabout

2010-07-09T14:30:00.001-04:00

Thanks for stopping by on Fiction Friday! My offering today is one of my early pieces. It earned me 3rd place in Level 1 of the Faithwriters Writing Challenge back in 2006, bumping me from Beginners to Intermediates. I hope you enjoy!

Turnabout

"Strike! Oh yah!" Anna danced in jubilance when her neon orange bowling ball hit the sweet spot and sent all ten pins tumbling down. She returned high fives and grins from her cheering friends. Friday night out with "the girls" was just what Anna needed after the week she'd been through.

The shrill interruption of her beeper caused her spirit to nosedive. For the first time since being named attending at Mercy General, the sound of pager on her hip depressed Dr. Anna Cowart. She had lost three patients this week Three! And now her "services" were needed again. She reluctantly picked up her cell phone and dialed the hospital's number.

Anna pocketed her keys. Usually, the sight of her trusty Camry parked in the hospital lot behind the sign reading: RESERVED FOR DR. ANNA COWART would be enough for pride and fulfillment to swell Anna, reinforcing her decision to sacrifice family, sleep, and nutrition in order to follow this path. Today, though, even the comforting sight of her hard-earned car in her well-deserved spot couldn't lift her out of this pit she had fallen into.

"I wonder whose life is depending on me?" After losing Mr. Nichols yesterday, Anna had all but decided to hang it up. Self-deprecation was triumphing over her desire to save lives, change lives. After the week she'd had, Mr. Nichols had been the last straw. She was ready to quit. "What good am I doing? I've made a huge mistake."

"Ma'am, my name is Dr. Cowart."

"You call me Miss Beth, now, ever'one does."

Anna melted at the warmth in her patient's quavering voice. Miss Elizabeth Murphy had had the misfortune of stepping out of the market just as a local boy whizzed by on his new skateboard. In addition to countless broken bones in her frail, aged, body, "Miss Beth's" skull had fractured when her head thumped the concrete sidewalk.

Anna's heart's burden wrestled with Miss Beth's infectious joy. She kept one ear tuned to the constant stream of jargon flowing from the nurses and interns as she examined Miss Beth.

" Do you know where you are?"

"Why I reckon I'm in a hospital. Least ways it shore sounds like one. Glad to know they put a female doctor in charge of me, I am.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"Ain't bin called nothin' but Miss Beth for years now. But I'us christened Elizabeth Margaret Murphy, if'n that's what you mean." Miss Beth's green eyes twinkled with merriment, but Anna didn't like the unfocused stare and the dilated pupils.

This lady could have passed for Anna's own sweet grandmother, five years gone now. Concern seeped into her professional doctor voice. "You've been hurt badly. Is there anyone we should call?"

"Oh, no. Never did marry. I bin by myself for many a year, an' I done alright, upta now." She chuckled even as her voice wavered.

I can't do this any more. What good is it when death is the result? Why again? Why can't I save her? Anna life's dream lay shattered. Today she would turn in her resignation. Miss Beth would the last person to die at her hands.

"Dr. Cowart!"

Yanked back from her journey into herself, Anna focused on her team in the trauma room again. "One cc epi." Her eyes blazed with fervor; she resolved to make a difference somehow.

Miss Beth warbled, "Doc, forgive me, but you seem a might down an' distracted 'bout sumpthin'.

At death's door she senses that? How can she be worry about me right now? Anna administered the injection but still Miss Beth's vital signs continued to faltered..

Miss Beth's trembling voice began to fade. "I ain't got long, now. No, don't try an' patronize me. I kin tell. Listen up, this is important. There's sumpthin' I need ta tell you afore I leave this wrinkled ole body

"I bin blessed with a gift for readin' people. I kin tell when sumpthin's botherin' a person, an' if'n the Good Lord sees fit I kin figger out what. Now, I'm pretty shore you bothered at the idea a my passin' on yore watch."

Miss Beth could barely produce a hoarse whisper at this point. Anna leaned closer.

"Ever' day, circumstances is throwed at us. Sometimes you kin see 'em commin' atcha from a ways off. Those is things you kin try'n head off. But comes times when sumpthin' jus' jumps atcha unexpected like, an' all the good deeds an' good intentions in the world ain't gonna stave it off. Those things is God's will, and it ain't no use fightin' Him.

"I know you doin' yore best ta try an' save me, that's yore callin'. I'm shore you a fine doctor, but you gotta realize sumpthin'--you ain't God. If'n He's decided ta call me home, why then, I'm ready ta go."

Miss Beth wheezed one last contented breath, and as the monitor's beeping became a solid whine, Anna began to rethink her decision.

© 2006

We'd love you to join us for Friday Fiction!
Our host today is Patty Wysong, aka Peej, aka Peejers, at her wonderfully encouraging blog, Patterings. Pop on over and add a link to your own fiction, or just spend some quality reading time.

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Word Filled Wednesday: Let My Teaching Fall Like Rain

2010-07-08T01:00:00.000-04:00

Teaching 1st and 2nd grade Sunday School has been an unexpected blessing, like a German Chocolate Cake on my birthday when I thought no one remembered. And Vacation Bible School during the summer is the cold glass of milk to wash it down.

Halfway through my joyous, challenging week of Vacation Bible School this year, I turned my calendar to July and was brought to my knees by these words: "Let my teachings fall like rain and my words descend like dew, like showers on new grass, like abundant rain on tender plants."

How perfect!

It's too easy to get caught up in the theme, the decorations, the hype, the numbers, and the inevitable snags along the chaotic way. It's too easy to lose focus on what Bible School is all about.

I may frame this calendar page and hang it in the children's area at church so, long after I turn the calendar page to August and the next Scripture, I'll still be reminded to pray it each Sunday before I enter my classroom.

Be blessed,
Cat

Catrina Bradley
"

Monday Manna: Freedom!

2010-07-05T20:43:00.001-04:00

The purpose of Monday Manna is to get together and get to know Christ more through His Word.

I will walk about in freedom,
for I have sought out your precepts.
I will speak of your statutes before kings
and will not be put to shame.
Psalm 119:45-46

So sayeth the psalmist.

I would love to be able to say it myself, but I can't. So instead, I make these verses my prayer.

I WANT to walk about in freedom. I know I am free in Christ, not condemned or criticized. But, instead, I walk about burdened by guilt, constantly having to remind myself that I've been redeemed and declared righteous because of my faith. Christ has loosed the sin chains that held me prisonor, but I'm still pulled down by their weight.

I WANT to feel no shame when I speak of God's love, whether to the lowly and humble or to kings and rulers. But I do feel shame. Anxiety. Fear.

Knowing that Jesus will be ashamed of me before our Father because of this breaks my heart.

By contrast, I am ever so bold when declaring the glory of the United States, the freedom offered here, and the righteous laws and statutes upon which it was founded.

I pray that I can become just as bold in declaring the glory of the King of Kings, and the abunant life and eternal freedom He promises to all who will receive.

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes." Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: Expunging Muck

2010-06-25T07:00:00.001-04:00

After many weeks of failed attempts, I managed to finish a story and enter the FaithWriters weekly writing challenge again. And once again, the talent was fierce. (That's my excuse for losing, and I'm sticking with it!)
Actually, if I'm honest with myself, maybe the muddled thoughts of my Main Character weren't as clear to the readers as they were to me. ;)

Be blessed,
Cat

---------------

EXPUNGING MUCK

A pebble of ink quivers under my trembling pen.

Blaire screams at me, and Peter curses. My hand jerks, smearing ink across the pure white page.

I grab my hair and pull. My shout rattles the windows. "I can't!"

Blaire's screams morph into a banshee's wail, and Peter demands I set him free.

My growled command for silence does no good.

The morass burying me in this miry pit has entrapped with me the two lives I birthed.

I tear a page from the back of my notebook and slash the blankness with angry blue strokes. Maybe if I can expunge some muck from my mood, the would-be lovers can be set free to embrace their fate. And maybe I'll be set free with them.

words Words WORDS!
Words all around me
Words surround me

Yet

my search for words
to articulate the thoughts
swirling like a cyclone
touching down for a moment
to deposit a modifier
or dangle a participle
in the peripheral vision
of my mind's eye
comes up dry

"GARBAGE." Peter's commanding voice shook me from my vain scribblings.

Blaire was no longer wailing, but her words warble with sobs. "That's not it."

"I'm just warming up...getting a flow going." I take a deep breath. It's just for me. No one has to see.

A shuddering line slowly carves out cursive letters, spilling my guts onto the paper.

Where am I?
I can't find me.
All I see
is a smiling visage
masquerading
as me.

The mirror says
that I am me
but mirrors lie;
they don't reveal
what lies beneath
the mortal seal.

Ebon sea and endless night
play hide and seek
with me and I
waste endless days
and sleepless nights
mulling over life
and why

and when

the sunshine went away

and where I might be hiding

and why.

A groan escapes my lungs and I'm torn between flinging my pen across the room and snapping it in two. Hideous excuse for poetry.

"Poetry schmoetry. You're avoiding the question."

My joy at hearing coherent words spoken by my female lead is increased exponentially by a hint of the melodious tinkle usually accompanying her voice. I search for Peter, but he's retreated to his room and shut me out. I know better than to pry when he disappears like that.

"Hello-o, anyone home? Forget the bad poetry. No one cares. You asked the right question, though; now answer it."

I was used to hearing Blaire talk to Peter this way, but rarely did she address me directly, let alone in such a forward manner.

"You mean, 'Why?'"

"Yeah. 'Why?' And speaking of Peter, he's too under-developed, you know."

I'm taken aback. "Under-developed? You mean scrawny? And who was speaking of Peter?"

"Speaking, thinking, same thing. We're all in here together. Except when you guys are in your rooms. I'm getting kind of tired of that, you know. I get lonely."

"You guys...you mean me and Peter?"

"Well, yah, duh. Who else is here? Wait--don't answer that. You don't know Peter at all, do you?"

"What do you mean?" I pick up my pen in a huff, tempted to conjure up an horrific natural disaster to befall her. "I created Peter."

"Yeah? Why is he in his room right now, ignoring us? Ignoring ME? Aren't I going to be the love of his life?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't know that yet."

"Which brings us back to 'why' and to Peter. Underdeveloped. Maybe it's time you got to know him. Knock on his door; demand he talk to you. And ask him why."

This might officially constitute the longest conversation I've ever had with one of my creations.

I'm not mad, of course. I know they live only in my head. I'm also sane enough to realize they speak only what is already known to me on some level, conscious or no.

"Exactly!" Blaire says. "So make Peter speak. He is you, you know. We all are."

"And you, Blaire? Why do I know you and not Peter?"

"I'm easy--I'm joy; I was created with light only touched by shadows.

"Peter was created from the dark that hides in you. That part of you is afraid of the light. He hides. If you can find him, get him to speak, you'll find the part of you you've hidden.

"Only then can you be set free.

"Come on, let's write more bad poetry. We've got some muck to expunge."

I pick up my pen.

© 2010

Our host for Fiction Friday this week is Laury's blog Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart Pop on over and add a link to your own fiction, or spend some time reading some wonderful writing.

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)

Friday Fiction: The Storm

2010-06-11T18:30:00.000-04:00

It's a stormy Friday afternoon here in mid-Georgia. Whenever it storms, I think of a certain stormy night from my childhood - one of my earliest memories. Today, I was motivated to "fictionalize" it.

I did my best to not embellish my memories, although I did add a little "flavor' to the opening. I wanted to write this as a children's story, but I don't think children would enjoy it much. Too scary. Maybe I'll use my "artistic license" to make this a truly awesome piece of fiction someday. For now, though, I hope you enjoy "The Storm".

---------------

The Storm

KatieBelle was having a nightmare. A giant was coming to get her. He was screaming, and every time he took a step toward her, a loud BOOM shook her bed,

And the screams and BOOM's were getting closer together.

Usually, KatieBelle didn't like to be woken up. This time was different. When her mama shook her awake, she was glad. But the BOOMing and screaming didn't stop. And now there were bright flashes of light that lit up her whole room.

KatieBelle flung herself into her mama's chest. "It's a giant, Mama! A giant's coming!"

Her mama wrapped KatieBelle in a hug. "No, KatieBelle. It's not a giant. It's a storm. A bad storm."

The nightmare was fading away, and another loud BOOM woke KatieBelle all the way up. Her daddy lifted her out of bed, and said, "We have to go now."

Before she knew what was happening, KatieBelle was in the back seat of the car. Her mama must have remembered to get her pillow and blanket off her bed, because they were nestled around her as she drifted in and out of sleep.

Thunder BOOM's turned into crackle-snap-POWs, and KatieBelle could feel the car being tossed around like a ship on a stormy sea.

The car stopped moving, and a cold wet wind rushed in. KatieBelle tried to pry her eyes open, but she was just too tired. Then she was in her daddy's arms again, until he set her on her feet was pushing her forward.

"Go!"

KatieBelle was frozen. He wanted her to go, but go where? She was so glad when her mama picked her up.

Her daddy flung open a wood door in the ground and called to them, "Hurry up!"

The steps down into the cellar scared KatieBelle. It was dark, and there were cobwebs and spiders in the corners. The concrete steps were crooked and uneven. She couldn't see the bottom.

Her mama shone a flashlight down the stairs, and took hold of KatieBelle's hand, but she was still afraid she was going to fall.

Then she slumped on a rough bench up against a dirt wall, with a dirt floor under her feet. The air was damp and cold, and smelled of damp, cold earth. KatieBelle knew this smell; she knew this place. She was in Aunt Hilda's root cellar. KatieBelle had been there once before.

Her daddy had lit his camping lantern, and the hissing light made KatieBelle feel safe. She was so cold, though! She was shivering, and she started to cry. She was embarrassed, because there were lots of people in Aunt Hilda's root cellar.

KatieBelle didn't remember seeing her mama ask for her daddy's coat, but when she wrapped it around KatieBelle, it felt like a blanket of peace.

KatieBelle lay down on her mama's lap, and the thunder, the wind, and the hiss of the lantern sang her to sleep.

© 2010

We'd love you to join us for fiction. Friday Fiction! Our hostess today is the cute, multi-talented, inspiring, and inspired, Sara Harricharan at her writing blog, Fiction Fusion. Come on over! Add a link your own link, or just read some AWESOME short fiction.

Catrina Bradley

"God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."
Psalm 18:24 (Msg)