Phoebe! The Peddler's Wagon! And a book give-away!!

I hear him It's Zeke! Zeke's coming! Nothing but his peddler's wagon makes that kind of racket coming across the old covered bridge. I think I can hear the pots and pans clanging and clanking despite the thunder of hooves and clatter of wagon wheels rattling the wooden planks.

It's about time, too. I've read all of the books I traded in last time Zeke's horses pulled that wonderful wagon across the bridge to this side of the river.

Zeke's got all kinds of sundry goods in his peddler's wagon. If you need it, it's likely he'll have it. It's a regular general store on wagon wheels. Plus but you never know what treasure you might find stashed amongst the needles and tubs, buttons and pans, kettles and tools - an exotic perfume maybe? the perfect lace for your new dress?

I think we might be kin, Zeke and me. When he hops down from his seat, his floppy hat doesn't seem to fit quite right, but he wears it comfortably. His arms poke way too far out of the sleeves of his gray coat, but he doesn't care. His eyes sparkle and his mustache twitches, and he seems as tall as the weather vane on the top of the barn.

He doffs his hat and bows low. “Well, good day, folks. What can I help you with? This here is a regular gen'ral store on wheels! Anything you want or need - I have it. and things you never saw before, and maybe didn't know you needed."

The men are drawn to the gadgets and tools, the children to the toys and trinkets, and the other women to the calico and kettles.

I, of course, go for the books. Zeke's carrying a crate of Yvonne Blake's newly released and muchly anticipated novel, "A Home for Phoebe", and I've been waiting IMpatiently to get my hands on it.

Zeke smiles and nods. "Good choice," he says.

A Home for Phoebe

A Home for Phoebe is an historical novel of an Indian woman and a young girl wandering the hills of the Hudson Valley during the mid 1800's.

One flees prejudice, while the other yearns for a home.

Through the friendship of a peddler, a blind granny, and blacksmith's family, they learn of forgiveness and faith.

You can follow Zeke and his peddler's wagon from blog to blog, and at each spot you'll find something new! Not only does Zeke bring you Yvonne's book, he brings you the scoop on the author.

For example, did you know that Vonnie could put together a puzzle of the U.S. when she was 2 yrs. old, and that knows how to say “Hello” in Navajo? I didn't either!

Meet us at Zeke's next stop in Michigan (brr! snow!) at Karlene Jacobsen's spread, Legacy to learn more about A Home for Phoebe and Yvonne Blake. But don't wait until then to bookmark Karlene's blog. Her heart is WARM and beautiful, and you will love her.

And you'll also want to visit Vonnie's website, of course. The back door is always open, and she welcomes everyone with love, encouragement, and FUN!

Yvonne Blake

Oh, and PLEASE --  leave a comment somewhere? Yvonne will be giving away a free copy her book at the end of the month, but you can't win unless you leave a comment!! (And it doesn't have to be here.) She'll be drawing a name from everyone who comments on any of the blogs on Zeke's tour, OR on her author page on Facebook.

See ya tomorrow at Karls' place!

Many blessings, and blessed reading,
Cat

What's in a NAME?

I belong to the best church EVER! My pastors love to share the wisdom, truth and promises of God from the Bible. Their passion is to lead their flock into a full and abiding relationship with God through His Son, Jesus.

The month of February was devoted to helping my church family understand the Holy Spirit and how He is at work in our lives. Many lessons brought teaching and encouragement from the New Testament, but the message that led me into a meditative study, and down a bit of a rabbit trail, was from Ezekiel.

Want to know what I found at the end of the rabbit trail? I posted it at Jewels of Encouragement today. Click to read more!!

Blessings, and happy hunting,
Cat

“God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."  

Psalm 18:24 (The Message)

catrina@faithwriters.net

Scattered Seeds

To Everything Burn, Burn, Burn...

Do you smell smoke? Something's burning! What is it??

Find out at Jewels of Encouragement today

Blessings!
Cat

“God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."  

Psalm 18:24 (The Message)

catrina@faithwriters.net

Scattered Seeds

I'm Listening - Jewels of Encouragement

Do you ever feel like no one is listening to you?

Do you ever think God might feel the same way?

Hmmmmm........

Come read about "Shema" at Jewels of Encouragement.

Blessings!
Cat

“God rewrote the text of my life when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes."  

Psalm 18:24 (The Message)

catrina@faithwriters.net

Scattered Seeds

Pray Without Ceasing - Word-Filled Wedneday

A Word Filled Wednesday quickie...

My #1 resolution for 2012:

And we urge you, brothers, admonish the idle,
encourage the fainthearted, help the weak,
be patient with them all.

See that no one repays anyone evil for evil,
but always seek to do good to one another
and to everyone.

Rejoice always,
pray without ceasing,
give thanks in all circumstances;
for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.

Do not quench the Spirit.

Do not despise prophecies, but test everything;
hold fast what is good.

Abstain from every form of evil.

~ 1 Thessalonians 5:14-22 ~

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

Why I Hate "The Christmas Shoes"

Why I Hate "The Christmas Shoes"

It's December, 2003. Christmas preparations are well underway and our shopping is going swimmingly. I'd picked out a luxurious, crimson, velvet jogging suit for my ailing mother. Perfect for lounging around in a cold, old farm house, not to mention the color will look great on her and it will bring pink to her wan cheeks. Mom is semi-bedridden, so the majority of her time is spent lounging. When she does get up and walk around (which she does faithfully as often as she can, or as often as my dad can talk her into it), she puts on her sturdy clodhoppers, takes firm hold of her walker, and makes a few laps around the house. I can just see her sporting that fabulous new suit (under her thick sweater), pushing on and persevering against the odds.

We aren't much of a phone-talking family, so when my sister Jeanette calls, we suspect troubles. (Jeanette seems to be the one who always calls with the bad news – and I love her for accepting this "calling" she's been gifted with.)

Jeanette tells me that mom's taken a bad turn, and if I can come home, I probably should.

Gasp.

I've been given this news once before after a scheduled surgery didn't have the expected results, so I convince myself it's another "false alarm." But I want to be there again, so I make immediate arrangements and arrive in Iowa in the middle of the night. My brother-in-law picks me up at the airport and at 3:30 am, I arrive at my mom's hospital bedside.

This is no false alarm.

I'd like to say I was holding her hand at the end, but, being the last to arrive, the only space left is a corner at her feet. My family has a chair waiting there for me. So I clutch a limp foot as I watch my mom's life ebb away and the monitors flatline. (Kudos to Iowa City Medical Center – they've muted the beep-beep-beep they know will inevitably whiiiiinnne when her body shuts down.)

The details of the arrangements are probably routine to anyone who has been through this ... except for one thing: choosing Mom's outfit for her burial. The dress isn't too hard to pick out (she didn't have many) and we find stockings without too many snags and some not-to-terribly-worn undergarments, but…. see… the thing is … she has no nice shoes. All we manage to round up are three pairs of those ugly clodhoppers that helped her to walk laps around the house. So we choose the "nicest" pair and add them to the bag for the funeral director. Yep, these are the shoes she'll be wearing when she meets Jesus.

But the thing is, after I accept it, I don't let that detail bother me. That was Mom after all. Those were her shoes. And she's not really wearing them. Those ugly shoes will shod only an empty tent. Mom is already dancing with Jesus while she sings (off key) with the angels. I'm good. I'm perfectly fine with it.

UNTIL….

I hear the most cruel and inhumane Christmas song ever recorded.

And I was broken.

"…Daddy says there's not much time, you see she's been sick for quite a while, and I know these shoes would make her smile. And I want her to look beautiful if Mama meets Jesus tonight."

" Mama made Christmas good at our house, Though most years she just did without. Tell me Sir, what am I going to do, somehow I've got to buy her these Christmas shoes."

Are you KIDDING me? Come on, just take a sledge hammer to my head. Better yet, why not a sharp knife to cut the heart right out of my chest?

And that's why I've gone so far as to get out of the shower, drip soapy water across my bathroom floor, and risk electrocution to change the radio station when this Christmas dirge comes on.

(endnote: I gifted my dear mother-in-law with the gorgeous velvet jogging suit, and a heartfelt explanation of its original recipient and why I wanted M-I-L to have it, even though I knew the arms and legs would need to be hemmed. (I inherited my mom's lanky legs and monkey arms.)

When I married her son, BJ became my "other mother", and I love her as her daughter. Since Mom #1 wouldn't need it, I hoped Mom #2 would accept the gift, along with all the love intended.)


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

I Wonder... If you...? Would you... ?

I wonder…if the innkeeper had known that the pregnant woman desperately in need of a room for the night was about to deliver the Son of God…would he have given up his own quarters and made his bed with the livestock instead of apologizing that there was nowhere else for her to rest?

If you knew you were about to become the mother of God Come Down, Emmanuel, The Messiah, might you have spoken up and demanded better treatment?

I wonder…. did Joseph's face flush with anger at being turned away? Did doubt slither up and bite at his faith? Did he question God's angel-delivered promise ?

If you had been tasked the responsibility of raising God's only begotten son, trusted to be a father to a miracle, blessed with a prophetic message from God the Almighty, might you not declare your position and claim your rightly due?

The Bible gives no evidence of Joseph and Mary's reaction, nor their response, to being denied habitable lodging.


My guts tell me they didn't question God, nor did they didn't grumble or puff up. I think they humbly accepted what was kindly offered, and they praised God for the shelter of a stable, a makeshift cradle, and the warmth of hay and horse.

Oh, how they must have trusted Him!


Lord, that I would be as trusting as this young couple. That I would be as open to Your voice and as obedient to Your call. That I would so fully submit to Your will. This is my prayer. 
In Jesus' Name, Amen.


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