Giveaway reminders and Friday Fiction: A Purpose Driven Wife

With Thanksgiving only a week away, the holidays are quickly approaching! Don't forget that today is the last day you can enter to win a copy of Creative Cooking for Simple Elegance, by my friend and author Angela Breidenbach. This is a great cookbook for the upcoming holidays! If you missed the original post, check it out here: Cookbook Giveaway and Interview with Angela Breidenbach

Also pop over to THIS POST and enter to win this week's 12 Books of Christmas giveaway, Love Finds You Under the Misteltoe by Anita Higman. Winners of this book and the cookbook will be announced tomorrow.

Speaking of Christmas...As I mentioned on Wednesday, I went on my annual 3-day Christmas shopping trip this week and my mom and I put a huge dent in our holiday shopping. Because shopping is fresh on my mind, I thought today I'd post a flash fiction story I entered in the FaithWriters Writing Challenge a few years ago.

A Purpose Driven Wife

by Lynda Schab

Saturday mornings are for relaxation and that’s exactly what I doing. I sat in my favorite green Lazy-Boy, newspaper in hand and coffee within reach.

What more could a man ask for?

I heard my wife enter the room, but I didn’t look up. We had already said good morning and, right now, the sports section demanded my attention.

“Hey, honey,” she said, in her sweet, soft voice.

“Hmmm---“ I mumbled.

“I was thinking we could spend some time together today.”

My ears perked up and I looked over the paper. Pam was still dressed in her silk kimono, long hair damp from the shower. “Spending time together” was about the only thing that could distract me right now. When she batted her baby browns at me, she had me. I grinned and threw the paper on the ground.

“Let’s go!” I said, struggling up from the chair.

“Oh, I was hoping you’d say that.” She pulled a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from behind her back and shoved them into my chest. “Here. Get dressed. We’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

“Huh?” I stood there, dumbfounded.

“I have to go to the mall and look for a dress for Kate's and Adam's wedding. I need your help.”

“What? Wait a minute. Why can’t your mother go with you?”

Pam looked at me strangely. “Because my mother lives five states away.” She rolled her eyes.

“What about Nancy and Kim? Why don’t you treat yourself to a Girl’s Day Out?” I suggested hopefully.

“Honey, come on. They won’t be seeing me in the dress – you will. I want your opinion.”

I sighed and watched the manipulator bounce up the stairs. Why, oh why, couldn’t I say no to that woman?

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

The mall parking lot was jammed.

“Is there some kind of special event going on?” I asked.

“It’s the Christmas in August sale,” she said, and pointed to a car backing out of its parking space, about a mile and a half from the door. I longed for my recliner.

“I thought it was called Christmas in July,” I said as we walked.

“July is over. Nothing happens in August. They had to come up with something.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

I totally didn’t get it.

My wife was on a mission. In the first store, she marched directly to the dresses, dove into dozens of racks and emerged carrying no less than fifteen at a time. She led me to the dressing room area, where I finally got to sit down. It didn’t matter that I was sandwiched on a sofa between two other helpless looking husbands. The three of us sat awkwardly, waiting for our wives, occasionally checking our watches and cracking a joke or two.

My wife came out and showed me dress number one.

“That’s nice,” I said.

“Nice?” She frowned. “That won't cut it. I want, WOW!” She disappeared again.

“She did look good,” offered the guy on my right.

“Yeah,” agreed the left guy.

An hour or so later, we left the first store with no dress. I waved to my two new friends and wished them luck.

For the next four hours, I was dragged through mobs of people, shoved six times, stepped on twice by bratty kids, and snapped at by rude sales people. The worst was that after four hours, Pam was still empty-handed.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, praying she’d just give up.

“Oh – I’m going back to the first store to get the dress you called, “nice.” I really liked that one.”

“WHAT? If you liked it, why didn’t you just get it four hours ago?” Thoughts of my Lazy-Boy returned. I could gotten in a long nap!

“I had to make sure there wasn’t a better deal out there,” she smiled and patted my arm.

I was pretty sure I had gotten the worst deal of all.

“Thanks for tagging along, honey,” Pam said sweetly. “I know you hate shopping and I really do appreciate it.”

I softened. At that moment, I decided that my wife was worth a little discomfort. And that one of my husbandly purposes had been fulfilled for the day.

When we got home, I plopped into my recliner, completely exhausted. My wife, for some reason, was exhilarated.

“OK, honey, now we can really spend some time together, if you know what I mean." She winked.

For the first time I could remember, I had a headache.

But you know, I just can’t say no to that woman!

Friday Fiction: The Summertime Einstein Escapade

I'm participating in Friday Fiction today because I've been crying a little too much lately, due to missing the ACFW conference this weekend, and I needed a good laugh. Just thinking back on this event accomplishes that. This story is both fiction and non-fiction. Because it's based on a true story (a few minor facts fictionalized), feel free to mock me, accordingly. My family hasn't let me live it down yet, so believe me, I'm used to it.


This was actually the last FaithWriters Writing Challenge entry I submitted, in July, 2009 (has it really been that long since I've entered? Wow.)

Anyway, hope it makes you chuckle.





THE SUMMERTIME EINSTEIN ESCAPADE


There was a mouse in my basement. Nasty little thing with big beady eyes and a tail as long as an extension cord. But by the time I yelled—some might say screamed hysterically—for my husband, the sneaky rodent had disappeared. My husband, bless his heart, knows how terrified I am of mice, bugs, and anything else that magically appears when the temperature rises above fifty degrees. Because hubby loves me—and prefers a happy wife—he searched for the mouse for two straight hours.

To no avail.

Honestly, if it were up to me, I’d live at the North Pole—a constant winter wonderland—with Santa and all his elves. I’ll bet they don’t have spiders crawling on their tool benches and mice hiding in their toy boxes. Unfortunately, my husband and kids love summertime and all of the icky things that come with it.

Nut cases. All of them.

I slept with one eye open all night, and my husband offered some help before leaving for work in the morning.

“Here,” he said, shoving a broom into my hand. “If you see the mouse again, smack him with this.”

I looked at the broom with skepticism. “This won’t work. Mice can squeeze through the tiniest cracks and crevasses. He’ll slip right through these whisks.”

“But you’ll feel better with some sort of weapon.” He winked and kissed me goodbye.

“Mom, all my jeans are dirty. Can you do a load of laundry?” My son called over his shoulder as he left for school.

Laundry? That meant going into the basement.

Gulp.

Well, a mother’s gotta do what a mother’s gotta do.

Armed with my broom, I carefully made my way down the stairs, ever watchful for the slightest movement or flash of tail. By the time I reached the laundry room, my armpits were damp. If I weren’t in such a hurry, I’d have thrown it in the wash along with the denim. But no time for that.

Setting the broom on the dryer, I hurried through the pile of laundry, praying I wouldn’t touch something furry.

A noise from behind startled me. I stopped, hand mid-air, to listen. It sounded like someone was scratching a plastic bag. Feeling brave, I cast a look over my shoulder. There was a shelf along the wall, with four hooks lined up underneath. On one of the hooks, hung a plastic grocery bag. The crinkling sound continued, and it was coming directly from that bag.

So this is what I figured happened. Einstein, the name I appointed the mouse, was sneaking along that shelf, lost his footing, and fell into the bag. And now he couldn’t get out.

Ha! Ha!

I talked some smack to the bag before leaning against the dryer to slow my speeding heart rate. Now I had a decision to make. I could either wait until my husband got home to take care of Einstein, or I could face my fear and dispose of the mouse myself.

I chewed my lip.

Before I could think too hard about it, I lifted up a silent prayer, grabbed the broom and fed the pole through the bag’s handle. With total concentration, I kept the broom steady so the bag wouldn’t slide off the end. I wasn’t quite ready to die from a heart attack.

I maneuvered the broom up the stairs, out the door, and through the garage. My hand trembled slightly but the bag stayed put. By the time I reached the driveway, my armpits weren’t just damp, they were soaked. But I did it!

Here was my plan: I would count to three, drop the bag and start pounding the mouse like crazy. Sounds brutal, I know. The Animal Rights Activists would gasp in horror. But set it free so it could make its way back inside my house? Don't think so.

I mentally prepared myself.

1…2…3…drop!

Pound! Pound! Pound!

Nothing.

Did I smush him?

Tentatively, I poked the bag. Standing as far away as possible, I lifted a corner of the bag with the broom and looked inside.

Something was making its way out! I held my breath.

I squinted. Huh?

A clearly disoriented cricket hobbled out of the bag.

I let out the breath I was holding. Quickly, I looked around the neighborhood to see if anyone had witnessed my insanity. A couple of curtains moved, evidence that I had an audience.

I looked down at the bug and shuddered. Yep, summer was way overrated.

*Based on a true story. Only in the real version, I called my brother and his girlfriend and begged them to come over and help me dispose of the "mouse." Bless their hearts, they came to my rescue and witnessed the whole thing, much to my embarassment.

First glimpse of my novel, Mind over Madi

I thought I'd do something a little different today. Because it's officially Fiction Friday, I would like to share the first four pages of my novel, Mind over Madi. This is the manuscript that my agent, Terry Burns (Hartline Literary Agency), is currently pitching to publishers. Mind over Madi took 2nd place in the Chick Lit category of the 2008 Genesis contest. Before today, I haven't publicly shared any portion of this, so I'm a little nervous, although I have no idea why. It's not the complete first chapter, but only a few pages to give you a peek into the story. I hope you enjoy this first glimpse at the manuscript I hope will be picked up soon!

*I apologize for any formatting issues. Blogger is not cooperating today.

Chapter One

I’m on the run. Unfortunately, not a very fast run. Heels have a way of slowing a woman down. Especially a woman who lives in tennis shoes, loafers, and flip-flops. Why, oh why, did I let Christina talk me into wearing my heels today? Christina is sixteen. She could probably hike the Grand Canyon in heels. Me? A couple hours in pumps and my calf muscles still ache three days later.

Not that I knew when I put them on this morning I’d be darting through the halls of church, fleeing from the likes of Claudia Boeve. Claudia is a hundred and ten pounds of tofu-eating energy who wants to convince me to join her Losing Means Winning Workshop. For the past couple months, she’s been tossing around hints like the salads she eats daily for lunch. But right now, I have no interest in joining her group. I am a Wendy’s woman—hear me roar! Or, Burger King, McDonalds, Taco Bell or whatever fast food chain I happen to crave at any given moment.

I duck behind a large potted plant to catch my breath. My heart is racing after the two-hundred-foot-dash from my pew to the atrium. Hmmm . . . Maybe God is trying to tell me something.

Peering between leaves, I survey the throng of people still exiting the sanctuary, trying to catch a glimpse of Claudia so I can hightail it in the opposite direction. My husband, Richard, has gone to pick up Emily, our nine-year-old, from her Sunday school class. He’ll meet me and our sixteen-year-old twins—Christina and Max—at the car.

A tall, willowy blonde stands in front of the bookstore, chatting with one of the associate pastors. The blonde is Sarah Price, a friendly acquaintance who happens to be a clinical psychologist. Catching sight of her reminds me that I’ve been meaning to set up an appointment. Not that seeing a shrink is something I’m dying to do, but I need some professional advice, due to some, um, issues I’ve been dealing with lately. Okay, not really lately. More like for thirty years. I only just realized it might do me some good to get some professional advice. Better late than never, right?

Affixing an invisible sticky note to my brain to call Sarah’s office first thing in the morning, I intently search the faces in the crowd for Claudia. Someone grabs my arm and twirls me around, causing me to lose my balance. I crash to the floor, butt first.

The only thing worse than falling in public is falling while wearing a skirt.

I lock my legs together and struggle to my feet. My friend Sylvie does her best to help me up while trying to maintain a straight face.

“So not funny, Sylv.”

“Sorry. You’re usually not so … unbalanced.”

“Yeah, well, blame Christina. She made me wear high heels today.”

Sylvie looks at my feet and raises a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. “I would hardly call those heels. They’re wedges. Now these,” she points a toe, “are heels.”

And so they are. At least four inches. Which explains why today I look her in the eye instead of down about four inches.

“What are you doing hiding behind a potted plant, anyway?”

“I’m avoiding Claudia. She spotted me in church and wants to invite me to be a part of her stupid weight loss group.”

“Joining might not be such a bad idea.”

I fold my arms across my chest. “Thanks, Sylv. Why don’t you just come right out and call me Orca?”

She sighs. “I’m not saying you’re fat. It’s just the whole health thing, you know? It would be good to learn more healthy eating habits.”

“I do eat healthy.” I sound defensive even to myself.

Sylvie grabs the big black purse from my shoulder, as only a best friend would do. Unzipping it, she pulls out a bag of chocolate-covered candies and a bulky napkin that holds the other half of the cinnamon roll I grabbed for breakfast. She waves the evidence in the air. “Care to change your statement?”

“So I didn’t have time to make an egg-white omelet this morning, Miss Calorie Police Officer.” I snatch back my purse and shove the food inside.

Sylvie holds up a French-manicured hand. “Okay. I’m done now. Are we still on for coffee on Thursday? Because there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Her words are washed away in a wave of jealousy as, over Sylvie’s shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Richard. He stands by the coat rack, chatting with a woman whose back is to me. She wears a clingy off-white dress that shows off her, uh, assets more than should be legally allowed in public. Even though I can’t see her face, I know who she is. There’s no mistaking that gorgeous head of long, thick auburn hair or the sleazy—er, figure-hugging dress. But seriously, there is only one person I know who would ever wear something so … provocative to church.

Fawn Witchburn.

I can’t help but notice men’s reactions as they walk past Fawn and Richard. The guys try with all their might to avert their eyes but can’t help sneaking a peek when they think their wives or girlfriends aren’t looking. What the men don’t realize is that the women detect Fawn even before they do. But the looks the women give her aren’t quite so appreciative. I watch as a few of the ladies blatantly veer their husbands off in the other direction to prevent them from the inevitable lure of Fawn’s presence.

And there is Rich, trapped in her poisonous web.

Although, for someone who is trapped, he doesn’t seem to mind. He grins like a goofy schoolboy.

I scowl like a jealous wife.

Fiction Friday - Scaredy Cat

OK...I don't have a lot of time to write a post today, so I'm posting a flash fiction story I wrote in 2004. Despite the temptation to change a few parts, I'm leaving it as is, as a reminder to myself of how far I've come in my writing journey. :-)

Scaredy Cat
By Lynda Schab

"You wanna piece of me?" Misty stood on her hind legs and held up both paws in boxing position.

Butch lay in the corner several feet away, curled up on an old green army blanket, a blank expression planted on his pug face. He stared at her, and Misty was sure she saw fear in his eyes. Although Butch made no effort to get up, he kept his distance. Misty knew he feared her! Just look at the way he watched her, prepared for any sudden moves indicating she was ready to pounce!

"You're no fun," Misty proclaimed, dropping down on all fours. "No fun at all.." She yawned dramatically. She would pretend she was going for her catnap and then... WAM! She'd make her move.

Misty watched out of the corner of her eye as Butch followed her warily with his own.

She stretched, yawned again, lay down and closed her eyes until they were slits..she waited patiently to make her move. Butch's eyes were getting heavy. One, two, three...POUNCE!

Misty had never seen that bull dog move so fast! But he wasn't fast enough for her! She landed smack dab on the middle of his back as he was making his getaway and she clung to him like the hunk of mud he'd dragged in with him yesterday. Misty's claws dug into his fur and she smirked as Butch made sounds vaguely resembling a yelp.

BAM! Butch knocked into an end table and a glass vase came crashing down to the floor, shattering into millions of pieces. Misty reluctantly let go, watching as Butch went hightailing out of the room, probably going outside to finish the business he started on the rug...heh heh…

She dusted off her paws. What a wimp! He was twice her size and he was scared of her! "Scaredy-Cat" was the nickname she had given him. He hated that! Exactly the reason she kept on with it. Everyone knew cats were supposed to be afraid of dogs - not the other way around! The neighborhood cats all had dogs in their houses that actually chased them! What a riot! The only thing Butch chased was his own tail! It was probably the only thing he wasn't afraid of!

Well, at least she was here to create a little excitement. She loved watching Butch peek around the corner every time he entered a room, cowering when he saw her. She would take a few steps toward him just to see him back away, his tail between his legs. "Little Puppy… Scaredy Cat…" she would sneer. Hissing was even better. He had been known to go into hiding for days after a good hiss.

Hmph. What a wuss.

Misty heard a noise coming from the basement. Must be Butch found a new hiding spot. Maybe I'll go rile him a bit, she thought.

She sneaked through the door to the basement and made her way down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, a creaking noise startled her and she looked back up to the door at the top of the steps. Butch stood there with what Misty perceived as a grin on his ugly mug. He nudged the door closed.

Huh?

Misty looked around, glad one of her many talents was seeing in the dark. Something smelled fishy. She heard a small sound and jerked her head to the right. Movement. What was it? Her hair stood on end as she realized the source…

Mouse!

Misty tore up the stairs and scratched at the door, her claws digging into the wood. And even through all of her scratching, she faintly heard a smug little pug voice on the other side, "little kitty...scaredy cat...heh heh…"


Lynda Schab
Copyright 2004

Love is (not so) Patient

It's been a long time since I've posted a short story for Fiction Friday. I thought with Valentine's Day only a week away, I'd post a lighthearted story for all of those who may be waiting for love. This was one of my Challenge entries on FaithWriters.com for the topic of "Patience".

Be sure to get in on the fun by posting your own fictional piece and linking to it from Joanne Sher's blog, An Open Book.

Love is (not so) Patient

My life is over.

Okay, not really. But right now it sure feels like it.

Amber and Shawn just announced they are getting married. Should be a happy occasion, right? Apparently it is for the thirty or so single people around me who are applauding with overdramatized enthusiasm. And, of course for Amber and Shawn who are beaming as bright as the flash from that gigantic bling on Amber’s finger.

But this is not good news for me. The third engagement announcement in two months, our singles’ group is dwindling rapidly. Available guys are being stolen right from under my nose. Pretty soon, the only ones left will be Stan, Phil and Brian. They make great pals but definitely aren’t my type. Especially Brian, a momma’s boy whose hair hangs to the middle of his back, whose beard length rivals Pippi Longstocking’s braids, and has more chest hair poking out of his shirt than Rosie, my bearded collie, has on her whole body.

Since I turned eighteen, I’ve been praying for a nice, clean-cut, responsible guy who has his priorities in order.

That's twelve years I've been praying! Is it any question that my patience is wearing thin?

I sigh. So this makes three newly engaged happy couples who soon would need to leave our singles’ group for the “newly marrieds.”

Goody for them.

“Did you hear the awesome news?” Stephie squeals as she slides into the chair next to mine.

Stephie is one of those too-happy singles. She’s here for fun and fellowship and claims that if and when God wants her to meet her husband, she will. Til then, she’s just enjoying the ride. Of course, Stephie is only twenty-two – she probably still sucks her thumb at night. We’ll see if she still has this perky attitude when she’s pushing thirty.

“I heard it,” I mumble.

She socks me in the arm. “Oh, come on, Lil, be happy for them.”

“I am.” I fake smile.

Stephie gives me a blank look. Then her face brightens. “Hey, a new guy joined tonight.”

“Is he cute?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Extremely.”

I straighten my shoulders, feeling hopeful for two seconds before slouching back down in my chair. “I’m sure Christina or Robin or Alexis will snatch him up in no time. They all took dibs on the next new guy to grace those doorways.”

Stephie rolls her eyes. “Lily. You cannot take dibs on another human being. When that spark happens, it happens.” She clutches her chest like she’s auditioning for a Broadway production.

“So where is he?” I look around the room. The singles’ pastor and his wife (what’s up with that, anyway?) stand at the front, chatting with a still-beaming Amber and Shawn. I spot Christina at the snack table talking to Stan and Phil. Robin and Alexis sit in the corner, texting, probably to each other. A few other regulars mill about.

And there he is. Coming our way.

Stephie elbows me in the side and I try not to grimace.

Gorgeous New Guy pulls up a chair and looks right at me. “Hey,” he says.

The drool starts pooling. Not making a good first impression, here.

But wait. That voice. That “hey”. It’s familiar.

I squint. No way. Could it be?

“Brian?”

Stephie giggles. “Told you there was a new guy here. Looks great, doesn’t he?”

I can’t stop staring. This can’t possibly be the same person who just last week could pass for a grizzly bear.

“You like it?” He grins, running a hand through his newly cropped hair.

I observe his smooth chin and chiseled jaw line. Never...noticed that...before. My eyes go to the opening of his shirt. What do you know? No hairs poking out.

“What happened?” I ask, jaw still slack.

“Well, you could say I had a revelation. It was time for a change. I got my own place, cut my hair – even shaved my chest.”

Stephie laughs. “Is there any particular reason you went to all this trouble, Brian?” She asks with a wink.

He looks at me. “Well, I was...I am kind of wondering if you’ll go out with me.” His cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

Wow...have those great cheekbones been there all along?

Okay, so I’m thinking I may try to dig up a little more patience. And a bit more trust that maybe God does have everything under control.

And perhaps I’ll even find some enthusiasm for Amber and Shawn.

FICTION FRIDAY...In the Mind of Sharon

This week, I'm posting a story from 2006, another FaithWriters Writing Challenge entry for the topic of "Personal Peace." It's perfect for me right now, particularly with the holidays coming up, as well as my current work-load. :-)

If you'd like to participate in FICTION FRIDAY (please do - it's so much fun!), visit Patty Wysong's blog, PATTERINGS to find out how.

IN THE MIND OF SHARON

I have so much to do! The breakfast dishes need to be washed, there’s that juice stain to be scrubbed out of the carpet, I have to run those three packages to the post office, take Don’s shirts to the cleaners, get groceries...

“Did you hear that?” Peace asked.

“I heard it alright,” said Patience.

“Oh – here comes another one.” Peace covered her ears to muffle the sound.

...and I can’t forget to call Laura. She’s been bugging me to go to lunch for two weeks. But there’s no way I can go today with everything I need to do. Scratch the call; it’ll have to wait. But I really should call Cathy and see how her mother’s doing. Oh, but that pile of laundry – it’s not going to wash itself! Lord! How am I going to get all of it done?

“Well, my job’s finished,” Stress said with a smirk. “I challenge any of you to top that!”

Peace frowned and looked over at her friends, Patience, Joy, and Hope. Joy was smiling, unable to help herself.

“She’ll come around soon,” Hope offered.

“Not if I have anything to do with it.” Irritability scowled. “Get out of my way!" He pushed his way through.

Why can’t Don – just for once – bring his own shirts to the cleaners? And why can’t the kids rinse their dishes before putting them in the sink? Are they completely helpless? Geesh! I’ll need sandpaper to get the cereal unstuck from those bowls.

“Am I good, or what?” Irritability folded his arms across his chest. “Stress may have started it but I’m the one who clinched it.”

“Well, it aint over yet!” Anger hollered. “Watch this!”

“Brace yourselves,” Peace said calmly, covering her ears again.

I have to do everything around here! I’m practically a slave in my own home! Maybe I’ll just leave Don’s shirts in a heap and let him take care of them for a change. Maybe I’ll leave the dishes for the kids. Then they’ll finally appreciate me. I am so taken for granted. There are only so many hours in the day! I can’t do it all!

Peace spoke quietly. “Come on, Sharon, be still. Get it together.”

Confusion spoke up. “Sorry to stir your waters there, Peace, but it doesn’t seem likely that Sharon will be getting anything together... except her luggage. I predict that soon she’ll be taking a little trip – to the loony bin. Or maybe divorce court - I can't decide.” Evil laughter echoed through Sharon’s mind, courtesy of Stress, Irritability, Confusion, Fear, Contention, and Anger.

“You guys never learn, do you?” Peace shook her head. “You constantly underestimate the Power.”

Contention spoke up. “Yeah, well, you know better than anyone that I'm always ready for a good fight. But do you see that Ghost around here anywhere?” He made a big show of looking around Sharon's mind. "‘The Power’ apparently isn’t interested. Looks like we have this one in the bag!”

“I won’t argue with you, you know,” said Peace with a smile. “But if you wait just a moment, you'll hear another thought about to break through. Peace winked at Patience.

I’m so sorry, Lord. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Help me to be still and know You’re God. With your help, I’ll get the things done that need to be done. Please give me patience - and joy - to get through the day. But most of all fill me with Your peace.

And then the wind came. Starting as a gentle breeze, it grew stronger and stronger until Stress, Irritability, Confusion, Fear, Contention, and Anger had to struggle to hold on. Before they could lose their grip, they simply gave up and fled, their faces ugly and contorted in their own expressions.

The wind died down, leaving a calm and gentle wake. In the enemy's absence, the fruits of the Spirit grew and ripened. Each one stood tall and proud, ready to be harvested.

Peace smiled, filling Sharon's mind, then overflowing into her heart, where she now resides...at least most of the time.

FICTION FRIDAY...The Rain Book (Dr. Seuss Style)

This week, I'm posting something a little different for Fiction Friday. I've always love Dr. Seuss and thought I'd try my hand at his style of poetry. This was my first attempt, written four years ago for the FaithWriters Challenge - the topic was RAIN. This is actually appropriate for today because, in my neck of the woods anyway, it's raining!

Thanks for taking the time to read my work. You are invited to play along and participate in Fiction Friday. My friend, Julie Arduini, is hosting this week. Please visit her blog to join in the fun.

THE RAIN BOOK (Dr. Seuss Style)

Rain. Rain. I hear the rain.
It's drumming on my window pane.
I hear it spit
I hear it spatter
I hear the rain go pitter-patter.

Rain. Rain. I hear the rain.
I hear the rain go down the drain.
I hear the rain in the street,
I hear the rain like little feet.

I hear it tapping on my roof.
I hear the rain go poof-poof-poof…
I hear it knocking on my door
I love the rain...oh, more, more more!

I love to listen to the rain
I love it on my window pane.
I love rain when I'm at the park,
I love it when I'm in the dark.

I love it when I'm in the car,
I love it eating a chocolate bar.
I love rain when I'm on a boat
I love it when I go to vote.

I love it when I exercise,
I love it when I'm swatting flies.
I love rain when it's nice and quiet,
I love it when I'm on a diet.

No matter when or where it falls,
I love the raindrops...love them all.
I am so glad God gave me rain
That splashes on my window pane

He sends the rain to wash away
the dirt and stains we see today.
God sent his Son to do the same -
To wash away our sin and shame.

Our blackened hearts He scrubs to white
and turns our cloudy days to bright.
He made me fresh, He made me new
And He can do the same for you

Rain. Rain. I love the rain
I love it on my window pane.
I hear it drip. I hear it drop.
I do not want the rain to stop.

--Lynda Schab (2004)

FICTION FRIDAY...Healing Rain

Well, it's Friday again. And although my intention was to blog a couple of times this week, it didn't happen. BUT...I AM here for Fiction Friday! This week, I'm posting something a little different - a biblical fiction story. I just want to mention that although the rain here is literal, it also represents faith.

If you'd like to join in on the fun with Fiction Friday, visit Dee Yoder's blog, My Heart's Dee-Light. Dee is hosting this week!


Healing Rain

The woman didn't realize it, but a rain cloud was hovering even before she left home that morning.

That she didn't notice had nothing to do with the fact that she was inside of her house. It had everything to do with the fact that at the moment, her mind wasn't focused on the drizzle. Instead, she was wonderfully distracted by the idea that today might just be the day. The day she had waited for, for twelve years!

No, she told herself, not 'might' be the day. Today would be the day; she was certain of it.

She prepared herself to go out - physically and mentally. It took a lot of energy to show her face in public. She was considered unclean and people tended to steer clear of her when she went to town. But she would risk the harsh comments and ridicule and disgusted looks from the townsfolk. Anything she had to endure would be worth being made well again.

Her hope and her faith rose significantly and it began to sprinkle.

***

She saw the hoards of people and her heart leapt. She knew the man who called himself the Son of God had to be at the front of the crowd, although seeing Him was impossible - she was too short to see over the grown men's heads.

I need to touch Him - if only the hem of His garment, she thought to herself, then merged with the thronging crowd, pressing forward with all her might.

And the rain came down a little harder.

***

It seemed like hours had passed. She was tired and sweating and weak but she refused to give up. She had to get to this man they called Jesus. She had heard that He healed hundreds already, most who were worse off than she was. The blind, deaf, lame, even lepers were miraculously cured. Surely He would heal her! She didn't have any more money for doctors. This was her one last hope! She fell to her knees and inched forward, ignoring the pain of her scraped and bleeding knees and her sore and aching hands as they were stepped on again and again.

As the woman neared Jesus, the rain grew stronger, a steady flow of water from heaven.

***

She saw His sandals first, and then His robe. She concentrated on the hem, reaching her arm out as far as she possibly could to touch it. Dozens of legs and feet got in her way but she pushed and struggled around them until she finally drew close enough.

Slowly, she stretched her hand out and felt the fabric brush against her fingertips.And the windows of heaven burst open and it poured. The rain came down in torrents and soaked her, washing away the dirt and the grime and the blood. The water cleansed her and made her whole.

And she was healed.

***

The woman went away in peace, lifting her face to the sky, letting the rain continue to pour over her. And she rejoiced and praised the One who had made her well.

"And He said to her, 'Daughter, your faith has made you well.'" Mark 5:34

*Based on Mark 5:25-34

Friday Fiction - It Snot Funny

Maybe it's because my son just attended homecoming dance and I have teenagers on my mind, but I chose the story, It Snot Funny, to post for this week's Friday Fiction. It's very loosely based on a real-life event (and no, I won't give you the real details). :-)

Anyway, if you'd like to participate in Fiction Friday, visit Vonny's blog for all the details and to add your name to the list. In the meantime, I humbly present you with my story (the story I wrote, not the story I lived. Not exactly, anyway.)

It Snot Funny!

Alyssa looked hot and she knew it.

Her hair was perfect. Make-up was perfect. She and Jade had gone to the mall the other day and she bought a great outfit – just for tonight. Gap low-rise jeans and an off-the-shoulder Hollister tee. Even her skin was glowing from the spray-on tan she’d had applied yesterday.

Yep. No doubt about it. She looked smokin’!

The only problem was that she felt a dreaded cold coming on. Two days ago, she woke up with a scratchy throat and she’d been popping vitamin C since. So far, it hadn’t seemed to help much. She was sniffling a little and her lips were slightly chapped from licking them. But, with her new Mac shade of Passion Pink, you couldn’t even tell. And she’d make sure to keep a couple tissues with her in case her nose bothered her.

Her cell phone rang and Alyssa flipped it open. She recognized Jade’s cell number.

“Where are you, girlfriend? Brad is here and he is lookin’ mighty fine! Get your hot little self over here before some other girl snatches him up!”

Alyssa heard music and noise in the background. The party was in full swing. “I’m on my way. Keep an eye on him for me, okay?”

“I’ll try, Lyss, but I can’t promise.”

Alyssa snapped shut her phone and hurried out the door. As she drove to the party, her mind was only on one thing: Brad Pearson. Cool, gorgeous, football quarterback...and interested in her! Or so she’d heard. Hence, the reason she had to look her absolute best tonight. She wanted Brad to notice. She wanted to leave an impression he wouldn’t soon forget. Maybe she’d even play a little hard to get. Of course, she didn’t want him to think she was blowing him off. No, she would definitely let him know she was interested.

If Jade didn’t let him get away, that is.

Dozens of cars lined the street and Alyssa squeezed into a spot between two sports cars. As she walked toward the house, she stifled a cough. Digging through her purse, she pulled out a cough drop and popped it into her mouth.

Inside, Alyssa looked around for Jade and found her in the basement shooting pool with a couple of friends.

“Where is he?” she asked, searching the room from side to side.

“He’s out back. But you’d better hurry. Carly Stevens was flirting pretty hard the last I saw.”

Jealousy oozed into Alyssa’s emotions and she narrowed her eyes. “Carly is nothing compared to me. I mean, do I look hot tonight, or what?”

Two guys standing nearby gave Alyssa the confirmation she needed.

“Okay...here I go. Come with me.” She pulled her friends arm and dragged her out back.

And there he was, sipping a diet coke, with an easy smile, surrounded by all of his football player friends and a few cheerleaders...like Carly Stevens. But not for long.

Brad looked her way. Was it her imagination or did his eyes light up? Carly shot her a dirty look as she approached.

“Hey, Brad,” Alyssa said, the cough drop dissolving in her mouth.“Hi Alyssa. I was hoping you’d show up.”

He was hoping she’d show up! Yes! Score one for me! She gave Carly a smug smile.

“You’re looking pretty hot tonight,” Brad said.

She knew it was true, but it was still nice to hear. Particularly from him. Still, she’d laugh and act embarrassed, as if she didn’t really think she was.

And then it happened.

She laughed – through her nose. And something came out.

It would have been horrifying if it only came out onto her lip. But no. It ejected like a rocket, landing with a splat on Brad’s cheek. At first, he looked stunned. Then confused. Then...disgusted. He reached up and felt his face. Looked at his slimy fingers. Then at her.

For the last time.

Everyone but Brad thought it was hilarious. Especially Carly. And even Jade...the traitor. The laughter closed in on her, the faces blending together in a jumbled mess.

Alyssa didn’t think it was funny either. In fact, it felt as if her cold was coming on stronger than ever. She turned and fled.

She didn’t feel so hot.

Friday Fiction - A Day in the Life...

I chose a fun one today. It was written for the "Write in the Adventure Genre" week of the FaithWriters Challenge. Didn't place but it's one of my favorites.

If you'd like to join in on the fun of Friday Fiction, click on over to the blog of this week's host - and my good friend - Joanne Sher. (An Open Book)


A Day in the Life...

The chase is on.

I slam my car into park and climb out. “Napoleon Dynamite the Second, get back here! NOW!” My tone borders on shrieking.

This is ridiculous. I can’t believe I left work to come home and chase down my dog—no, my daughter’s dog.

I scan the streets. Napoleon is nowhere in sight.

Mrs. Clancy, my elderly neighbor who called me out of a meeting to inform me that the dog had gotten loose and was digging ferociously in her flower bed, comes ambling out of her front door, baseball bat in hand.

“Mrs. Clancy, put down the bat. Napoleon may be a nuisance but he’s harmless.”

“Tell that to my flowers!”

My front door opens and Krissy, the fourteen year old babysitter strolls out. “What’s going on?”

“Napoleon got loose. I’ve been trying to call you all morning but the phone was busy.”

Guilt splashes over her face. “I wasn’t on the phone, I swear. I was just about to give Allie a bath.” We both look down at the cordless phone, still in her hand.

So busted.

“Did the carpet guy come?” I try to ignore the fact that she’s been yakking on the phone all morning instead of playing with my daughter.

“Oh – yeah. He left about fifteen minutes ago. Carpet looks great!” She gives a “thumbs up” and a gigantic smile. Her pathetic attempt at looking responsible falls flat on me.

Behind Krissy, the door swings open and my three year old flies out, buck naked. “No bath, Mommy!” She tears around the side of the house, free as a bird.

“Krissy—grab Allie before somebody calls the cops and reports my toddler for indecent exposure.” I turn to Mrs. Clancy. “Which way did Napoleon go?”

She points the bat towards her back yard.

At this moment, a brown rust-bucket of a car loudly turns the corner. As it nears, it suddenly speeds up and squeals away down the street. But not quickly enough for me to miss that in the passenger seat sits my fifteen year old daughter—yes, the one who begged for a dog for two years until I finally (and stupidly, I might add) relented—who is supposed to be shopping with Melissa. Instead, she is in a car with a purple-haired, tattoo covered stranger who looks twice her age and ten times as experienced.

“Yo, Adrienne!” I yell at the car, Rocky Balboa-like. If I had a pair of boxing gloves I would definitely give the tattoo guy a round he wouldn’t forget.

I can't help noticing several blinds in nearby windows being slitted open and the beady eyes of nosy neighbors peering out, probably wondering about the maniac loose in their neighborhood.

You’d think they’d be used to it by now.

An hour later, still no Napoleon. I trudge into the house. Mrs. Clancy follows me.“My precious flowers,” she whines.

“I’ll pay for the flowers, Mrs. Clancy.” I dig through my purse for a twenty and hand it to her. She leaves, mumbling about how it’s not nearly enough to cover new bulbs.

Krissy drags in a naked, screaming Allie, who she finally dragged out of the sandbox. I cringe at the trail of sand she is tracking in. But I cringe more at the thought of the other places I’ll find sand. Ew.

The door opens again. It’s the rebel, Adrienne. “Look who I found!” She says cheerfully, likely hoping I’ve forgotten about her lying, speeding away, and her undesirable male companion.

Napoleon, the curly brown-haired mutt, trots in, leaving more muddy prints on my new carpet.

“You’re grounded,” I tell Adrienne. She makes a face and stomps off towards her room.

I look at Krissy. “And you’re fired.”

“So I’m not getting paid for today?”

I glare at her and she slinks out the door.

“You’re filthy!” I scold Allie, who now sits, decorating my new carpet with sand butt-marks.

“And you’re history!” I tell Napoleon. He wags his tail and licks my hand.

A knock sounds at the door and—go figure—it’s the cops.

“Let me guess. Someone reported an incident of indecent exposure?” I ask.

Mr. Policeman nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”

I would cry right now but I’m laughing too hard. Oh, I’m going to wet my pants!

And then, as if a mind-reader, Allie claps her hands and says, “Go potty, Mommy!”

And so she has. Right on—yep—my new carpet.

The chase is definitely on, alright... but this time for my sanity.

The Intruder

It's been a while since I participated in Friday Fiction. But I couldn't stay away.

This is a story that I originally entered in the FaithWriters Challenge but didn't place. Then I entered it in the WOW (Women on Writing) Flash Fiction Contest and made it past the first round of judging but didn't end up placing. But it's still one of my favorites because of how much ME is in it. Read on to see what I mean by that (and those of you who know me will definitely attest to it. :-)

If you'd like to play along by posting your own fictional piece on one of your blogs, visit my friend Patty Wysong's blog, Patterings, to find out how.


THE INTRUDER

Ruth was paralyzed with fear. Well, not really paralyzed. If she were, she wouldn’t have been able to feel her back, which was aching more and more every second.

But she couldn’t move.If she did, she would be a goner, for sure. Either from a heart attack or from the intruder, lurking just outside the door. She shuddered, violently. Ouch! Shuddering certainly didn't help her back situation.

But as much as she craved to stretch out her aches and pains, Ruth stayed put, cramped inside her tiny apartment’s laundry room - which was actually a closet - pressed up against the dryer. Oh, if only she had held out for an apartment with a full sized laundry room. At least she had seen the intruder first and had time to escape before he caught sight of her. She didn’t want to think about what could have happened if he'd caught her unaware...Another shudder. Another shooting pain up her back. Ruth tried quietly shifting her weight to her other foot but it didn’t provide much relief.

She put a hand to her chest and concentrated on taking deep breaths. Slow and steady...quietly. In...out...in...out.

Ruth didn’t want to watch but couldn’t help herself. She’d seen enough movies to know closing her eyes was not an option. Better to observe his every move so she would have the advantage. So she peered through the slit between the doors.

Oh-oh. He was on the move.

Ruth followed him with her widened eyes. Back and forth, back and forth. What is he doing? She wished he’d stand still long enough for her to get a good look. As scary as it was for her to look at him, she wanted to memorize as much as she could, in case she was later asked for a description so the intruder could be caught. But he wouldn’t slow down.

He disappeared from her line of vision. Oh, no. Where did he go? Ruth desperately strained to catch a glimpse of him again but to no avail.

Her heart picked up speed again. What if he’s right outside the closet? What if he’s getting ready to attack me? What if...

A door slammed.

“Ruth? Honey? Are you home?” Patrick.

Fear and relief washed over her at once. But she had to warn her husband.

“Ruth?” Suddenly, everything grew dark as her husband's six-foot frame stepped in front of the closet.

“In here,” she whispered.

Ruth squinted at the light as Patrick opened the doors, his brow creased in confusion. Then his face softened. “Another spider?” he asked.

Ruth swallowed hard and nodded. She poked her head around the corner, eyes darting away from her husband’s face and to the floor, in search of the intruder. She pressed a hand to her aching back.

Patrick chuckled. “Which way did he go?”

Ruth pointed.

Patrick leaned forward and kissed her forehead. He shut the closet doors. “I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out.”

Ruth breathed a sigh of relief, her heart finally slowing to a normal rhythm.

“Are you sure it went this way? I don't see it!” Patrick called.

Her heart contracted. Panic seized her again and a line of sweat trickled down the side of her face.

Wait a minute. Was that sweat?

Or was it...

Could it be...

Be Afraid...Be Very Afraid....

Well, I've gone serious for the past couple of weeks. What's up with that? LOL. It's time to get back to some fun. So I've chosen a piece that correlates with the "back to school" theme many of us are consumed with at the moment. Fortunately, my kids have another three weeks before school resumes but I know in some areas, carpool lines and homework are already a part of life - you poor things!

Anyway, if you'd like to participate in Friday Fiction, visit Patty Wysong's blog for all the details.


Be Afraid...be very Afraid...

Her lip trembled but she refused to be a crybaby.

Her hands were shaking. In fact, most of her was shaking. "Stop that!" she demanded through clenched teeth. But her hands wouldn't listen, and neither would her legs, which at the moment felt like two strands of spaghetti.

It irked her that she was so nervous! So what if this was her first day; lots of people had first days. Come on - it was sixth grade, for goodness sake! She tried to convince herself there was nothing to be worried about but the pep talk wasn't working. All she wanted to do was run back home to her bed, dive under the covers, and not emerge until the school year was over.

But that was not an option.

Her mother's words came back to her, uninvited, but they were somewhat comforting, nonetheless. "When in doubt, pray."

So she prayed - quick, inaudible prayers under her breath. And then she prayed some more, hoping like crazy that God was listening. She was scared. She felt like a big baby. Suddenly the tears threatened again. But no - she would not cry. She would march into class with her head held high, ready for battle. She bit back her tears and stood up straight.

What was that verse in Proverbs her mom quoted the other day from The Message Bible? She was always quoting Proverbs from The Message. She said The Message was easier to understand, told it just how it is. She couldn't argue with that. Oh yeah, she remembered now: Proverbs 21:31: "Do your best, prepare for the worst - then trust God to bring victory" Well, she was certainly prepared for the worst. Would God bring the victory or would she go down, defeated?

She peered into the classroom through the glass window. Everyone was talking, laughing, shooting paper wads, obviously comfortable with each other. How would they respond to her, to someone new? She looked from face to face, trying to determine which ones were part of the popular cliques, who were the noisy troublemakers and who were the quiet ones…the quiet ones were the ones she would be drawn to. The loud, obnoxious ones intimidated her somehow and made her feel small.

Again, she reminded herself…this is sixth grade! You can do it!

Her heart was thumping out of her chest and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. "I can do this," she said aloud. "God will bring the victory."She put her hand on the doorknob and began to turn it. She watched through the glass as heads started turning as well. Voices grew quiet, chairs stopped scraping, paper wads stayed where they landed.

She stepped into the classroom and looked around, a lump forming in her throat. Should she say something? It looked like everyone was waiting for her to say something. Maybe she should introduce herself.

"H - Hi. My name is Miss Lewis. And I - I'm your substitute teacher."

And a paper wad hit her square in the forehead. The initiation process had begun.

As she peeled the wet wad from her skin, only one thought permeated her mind, another of her mother's famous quotes from Proverbs: "A prudent person sees trouble coming and ducks; a simpleton walks in blindly and is clobbered."

Yes, she had reason to be afraid. Sixth grade children could be so cruel…

Friday Fiction - No Weapon Formed Against Me Shall Prosper

Well, I missed last Friday but this week, I'm back (I couldn't stay away for long - this is much too addicting!) This story is one that took 2nd place in the FaithWriters Writing Challenge back in 2004 and is one of my favorites. It is dedicated to me dear husband, who recently got pulled over (and issued a ticket) for speeding. Sorry, honey, couldn't resist!


No Weapon Formed Against Me Shall Prosper

Suzie Tierney was late. As in, an hour late. Jack was going to have a fit. He was constantly complaining about her tardiness. She imagined him right now, growing more impatient with every minute, glancing at his watch every minute or so, cursing under his breath. She would get an earful on the way home. She dreaded having to use her weapon on Jack, but she didn't have a choice. Suzie punched the accelerator with her foot.

Blue lights appeared out of nowhere, illuminating her rear view mirror. "Great!" Suzie said out loud, smacking the steering wheel. "Just what I need!"

Pulling off to the side of the road, Suzie stretched out her arm, popped open the glove compartment and rummaged around for her registration. Now Jack was really going to blow his top. It had been her responsibility to register the car when they had moved to California three months ago and she had completely forgotten.

The officer was at her window and she rolled it down, flashing a warm smile. "Is there a problem, Officer?" she asked sweetly.

"Do you realize how fast you were going?" he asked, expressionless.

"Um---Hmmm. No, not really. I couldn't have been going over the speed limit, though. I always watch my speed. Don't want to break the law!"

"You were going sixty miles per hour. The speed limit is forty-five. Can I see your license and registration?" No smile from Officer Crabby Pants.

"Well, that's the thing, Officer. I just moved here from Michigan three months ago and I haven't gotten our new registration yet," Suzie explained as she handed over her Michigan registration.

"You've had plenty of time. I'm going to have to write you up. Hold tight." She watched Officer Grinch saunter back to his cruiser, as if he had all the time in the world. She checked her watch. Jack was probably seething by now!

This cop obviously had no mercy! Suzie simply could not afford a ticket right now. Besides facing Jack's wrath, finances were tight - they had no extra money to spend on traffic tickets! She would have to think of something - fast. Officer Scowley was on his way back. She rifled through her purse for her weapon. She didn't want to use it but she would if necessary.

"I issued you two tickets," he said. Suzie started to protest and the officer cut her off. "Actually, you should thank me. I only wrote you for five over. Saved you some big money. But I also had to write you up for an expired registration."

Suzie had no choice. It was now or never. She tightened the grip on her weapon and pulled it out. She could have sworn she saw fear in Officer Do-No-Good's face. Sweet revenge.

"Wahhh-----" she wailed, swiping at her eyes with the tissue. "Please, Officer. You can't give me a t-ticket. I p-promise to run right to the Secretary of State and r-register the car. And I swear I will never speed again." Suzie's breath came in short bursts and she twisted her face, contorting it as if in severe pain. Tears sprouted from her eyes and she made a display of soaking the tissue.

"Maam, I'm afraid…" (Yes! She knew he was afraid) "that no weapon formed against me will prosper. I'll have to write you up for trying to manipulate an officer of the law with tears."

"What?" Suzie asked, confused.

"Crying your way out of a speeding ticket is against the law in the state of California."

"What are you talking about?" Suzie asked, her eyes suddenly drying up to accommodate anger. "Michigan doesn't have a law like that. I've never heard something so stupid!"

"There are too many actresses in California. It would be impossible to tell who was truly sorry and who was faking it."

Suzie watched, dumbfounded, as Officer Lower-than-Low wrote out the ticket.

"How much is the fine?" Suzie demanded.

"Only subsequent offenders get fined. You'll probably just be sentenced to attend Cryers Anonomous for six months. Just make sure you don't try it again." The officer smiled for the first time and headed back to his cruiser.

Suzie was in shock. Jack would be furious! She wondered if her weapon would work on him today. Highly doubtful. She wadded up the tissue, tossed it angrily out of the window and watched in horror as it hit Officer Evil smack dab in the back of the head.

Then Suzie cried. For real.


To read more of my FaithWriters Challenge entries, visit my profile.

FICTION FRIDAY...The Perfect Campsite

I thought this story would be appropriate today, as gazillions of people are camping for the 4th of July weekend. This Fiction Friday thing has become quite addicting. If you'd like to join in the fun, visit Patty Wysong's blog for more details.


THE PERFECT CAMPSITE

Ben trudged through the woods, listening only to the sound of his own breathing, which was becoming more rapid by the minute. Dusk was falling and he was getting a little concerned. Little Mama (that's what he called her since they became first-time parents, four years ago) might say he was scared. But, as he'd told her many times before, "scared" wasn't part of his vocabulary. He felt confident that God would protect him from harm, as He'd done many times in the past. But he couldn't deny that "concerned" feeling.

He'd been out in the woods for a long time. If he'd had a watch on, it would probably indicate several hours, at least. He started having second thoughts. After all, he'd never done this before. He was used to the city, with lots of noise, and lots of people. When Little Mama expressed a desire to leave the city with their son, Ben couldn't help but agree. Especially when she'd batted those big, brown eyes and flashed him an irresistible smile. So they escaped the big city and here they were.

Ben stopped to rest for a moment. A couple of rabbits and several squirrels scampered for cover at the sight of him. He briefly wondered why God had made him such a scary, formidable presence to these small creatures. He wasn't going to hurt them, after all. But he supposed they didn't know that. He didn't see many rabbits and squirrels in the city. It was nice to experience this part of God's creation.

Darkness was quickly closing in and he gathered his resolve and trudged on. He thought of Benny's face, full of youthful anticipation of roasted marshmallows, crispy graham crackers and melted chocolate. He was so excited to try his first s'mores. And Ben was determined to make that happen.

He felt a strong urge to prove himself. To prove to Little Mama and Benny that he could provide for them. He'd heard what people said about him, that he was a big show-off. Maybe that was what he was trying to do: show off for his woman and his son. He knew they were waiting expectantly, fully confident in his abilities to find the perfect campsite. Visions of s'mores were probably dancing in his son's head. Ben wanted more than anything to turn that vision into reality.

A light glowed up ahead and Ben hurried toward it as the blanket of night fell over him. He paused for a moment, behind a tree, and observed the scene before him.

Two adults and three children sat talking and laughing around a blazing fire. A tent was set up several yards away and coolers and duffel bags were scattered about. But what Ben's eyes rested on was the open package of graham crackers and the marshmallows attached to long sticks that the kids were holding over the fire.

Ahhh. The perfect campsite.

Ben stepped around the tree and approached the family, preparing to greet them. But he wasn't quite prepared for the reaction he received.

"EEEEEEEEEK! BEAR!"

"HENRY, HELP! CALL THE RANGER! CALL 9-1-1! WHERE'S YOUR CELL PHONE!?"

"RUN, KIDS, RUN! INTO THE VAN!"

Ben stood, stunned, as the people fled to their vehicle. Just one more thing he would never understand: humans. They definitely were a strange species. God must have had a purpose for them but wasn't exactly sure what it was.

Wait a minute. Maybe he did understand their purpose. Lifting his head to the stars, he growled, "Thank you, God."

Ben ambled over to the fire and snatched the chocolate, the crackers, and the bag of marshmallows with his claws. He glanced toward the van and saw the three kids and the woman gawking, open-mouthed, through the window. The man was talking into something shiny, waving his arms around like a mad man. Yep, an odd bunch, indeed.

Ben made his way back into the woods to find his way back to his own family. He couldn't wait to see the expression on Benny's face.


Epilogue:

*Ben, Little Mama and Benny were all captured and brought back to the Cleveland Zoo, from where they had escaped the week before. The zoo keeper now keeps a large supply of graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows on hand to reward the bears for good behavior. Benny has never been happier.

*The Williams family was commended for making the call that resulted in the bears capture. They now opt for five star hotels.

Fiction Friday - Sad, Like Pinocchio

Well, I didn't play along last week but this week, I'm back! And, when you read the story I chose to post, you won't have to question the fact of whether or not it really is fiction because, HELLO! At 40, I am MUCH too young to actually be a grandma! Wow, it feels good to say "40" and "young" in the same sentence.

So, anyway, I went light today, as I'm in a quirky sort of mood. By the way, these Fiction Fridays are tons of fun. If you'd like to play along, visit my friend Patty Wysong's blog for all the details.



Sad, Like Pinocchio
By Lynda Schab


I love being a grandma. And I am always willing to babysit my grandchildren. But I’ve always said I can handle either a couple of my grandkids for a long period of time or all of them for a short time (like an hour, tops).

So why, in a moment of insanity, I agreed to take all nine kids for eight hours while their parents attended a day-long stress management conference, is beyond me.

After today, I will be the one in need of stress therapy. And a box of Nice ‘N Easy to cover the gray.

“Are you sure you can do this, Mom?” My daughter, Tricia, calls over her shoulder as she hurries out the door.

What am I supposed to say? No? Kiss the hundred bucks you shelled out for the conference goodbye because granny can’t cut it?

“Of course I’m sure. I raised four of you, didn’t I?”

Four vs. nine. Okay...slight difference. But, hey - I am now older, wiser and more mature. Well, older, anyway. The fact that nine little people are swarming around my feet, crawling into my cupboards and removing all the DVD’s from the shelf make me question the wisdom thing. And because I am tempted to stick my fingers in my ears and say, “la la la la la la la la la...” and shut myself off from this day completely...well, the maturity thing could be debated, too.

I quickly redirect the small but damaging tornados to a swirl of activities instead. We make cookies. Read stories. Play games – like “see who can hop on one foot the longest.” For some reason, they aren’t interested in the game I suggest: See who can sit still the longest.

Sigh.

Soon, they get tired of organized activities and move to the spontaneous (read: restless) mode.

“Wanna see my cartwheel, Grandma?” (“Awesome, Kaylee!”)

“Watch me blow a bubble, Grandma!” (“I don’t even want to know where you found that gum, Hanna.”)

“Guess what I drawed, Grandma.” (“Uh... why don’t you tell me what it is, Evan?”)

“Timmy farted, Grandma!” (“What did you want him to do? Hold it in?”)

“Why do bees always sting your butt, Grandma?” (huh?)

By hour seven, I am exhausted. Actually, I was exhausted by hour number two, but sheer will-power and lots of prayer have gotten me through. At the moment, “Pinocchio” is playing and, for now, all nine children are engrossed. Thank goodness for DVD’s.

The moms stroll in, fourteen minutes late - but who’s keeping track? They are laughing, completely peaceful and de-stressed.

“How was the conference?” I ask.

Lisa answers. “Oh. Actually, the conference was canceled at the last minute because the instructor got sick. We got a refund and spent the day at the mall. A day of shopping is the best stress reliever anyway. We desperately needed a day out without the kids. Thanks so much, Mom. You’re a lifesaver.”

I smile because my daughters are so thankful, and I know how much they did, indeed, need time for themselves. Well, and because they are taking the kids home with them.

“I’ll miss you, Grandma,” Timmy says.

“I wanna stay here with you,” cries Hanna, attaching herself to my leg.

My head snaps in her mother’s direction. For a second, I worry that she will ask me to keep the kids overnight. But she gives me a knowing smile and peels Hanna off my pants.

“I’m sad to go.” Kaylee appears in front of me, lip trembling. She looks up at me with her big, brown eyes. “Are you sad too, Grandma?”

Lord? I know it’s wrong to lie. But I don’t want to hurt my granddaughter’s feelings. You’ll forgive me, just this once. Right, Lord?

“I am sad, Kaylee.” I reach up and touch my nose, expecting it to grow beneath my fingers.

Kaylee continues. “I’m so sad I could cry a million teardrops. How sad are you?” Dramatic little thing, isn’t she?

“I’m so sad I'll cry until the next time you visit me.” My fingers are still on my nose, holding it back from poking Kaylee in the eye.

“Why are you holding your nose, Grandma? Did Timmy fart again?” She giggles and runs out the door, her sadness replaced by disgusting humor.

The house finally to myself, I sit back in my recliner and look at the mess surrounding me. I smile weakly and realize I really am sad they're gone.

I touch my nose. Sad like Pinocchio.

Fiction Friday - Funnel of Fear

OK...there is a reason I chose this story today. All week long, tornadoes have been twisting their way through our country. In my area, we've had watches and warnings at least three times in the past 7 days. And then there was just news of the tornado that touched down in a Boy Scout camp in Iowa, killing 4 and injuring a dozen others (Prayers for all of those families!) So, anyway...tornadoes have been very much on my mind. So I chose this piece and although it's not necessarily a tribute in any way, I still feel compelled to dedicate it to all of those affected by these deadly twisters.

I have to mention that these Fiction Fridays have been so much fun! I've enjoyed digging through past Challenge entries and sharing them again, as well as reading some wonderful stories from other participants. You are invited to join in on the fun by visiting my friend Patty Wysong's blog where all of the details are posted.


FUNNEL OF FEAR

The only thing worse than being cooped up in a mini van with my family for three days was knowing that I would soon be trapped in a three bedroom bungalow with my cousins, who were a bunch of Bible thumping Jesus freaks. In the meantime, if my mom sang, "Open the Eyes of my Heart, Lord," one more time, I swore I would open my door and fling myself out onto the highway.

I craved the tunes of Metallica but the batteries in my CD player were dead and daddy dearest refused to stop and buy more.

I wished I were dead about now.

I stared out the window toward the sky and watched the black clouds swirl around furiously. Supposedly there were thunderstorms up ahead and the possibility of tornadoes. I smiled to myself for the first time in three days. I hoped we got sucked up in one. Now that would be cool. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the image of it.

"Are you guys excited?" Mom was asking. "Judd, remember how inseparable you and Mark were when you were younger? Aunt Jen says he's really anxious to see you again. She said he prays for you every night."

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever." I'd heard dad say a million times that no matter how hard you prayed for someone, they still had a will of their own. And believe me, I would do everything in my power not to let anything - or anyone, especially my wussy cousin, Mark - break mine. The only person I could depend on was myself. Everyone else could go to---

Rain started pelting the window. Marble-sized hail followed. Suddenly the car was being pushed and pulled by an unstoppable force. I watched as a funnel cloud ripped toward us. It was too late to outrun it! Before I knew what was happening, we were being swept away! Scenes from the movie, "Twister," flashed through my mind, where cows were tossed like salad through the air and dropped to the ground below.

And then everything went dark.

Was I dead?

I didn't feel dead, although I didn't feel alive either. I remembered dad saying that when you die, angels carry you. I looked around frantically in the darkness, willing my eyes to adjust. I didn't see any angels, or anything else, for that matter.

Someone grabbed my hand and I let him lead me forward. There was a light up ahead and we started toward it. A sound like a waterfall grew louder as we neared the light. Then I realized it wasn't a waterfall at all, but thousands of voices singing, "Open the Eyes of my Heart, Lord." I heard a familiar voice call my name.

Could it be?

Grandma! Wow! She looked great. Not at all like the wrinkly old hag that I remembered. And Grandpa! He looked so… angelic! They were waving to me but somehow their faces looked sad. Was that a tear trickling down Grandma's face?

I wanted to stop and chat but the hand forcefully dragged me on, despite my protests. I looked behind me and watched my Grandparents, still waving sadly…

As the light grew dimmer, the temperature began to rise, causing me to sweat profusely. Hey - there was my buddy Doobie, who had died of a drug overdose two years ago! And Frank, who got killed while drinking and driving a few months back. Their faces looked hideous, as if they were being continuously tortured. Their fingers were clawing at their skin as though trying to break free from themselves!

I strained to hear above other unseen moans what they were shouting to me.

"Go back! Go baaaaack!"

I struggled to break free from the deadly grip of the hand. "Let me go! Let goooo!" I screamed.

"Judd? Wake up, buddy. We're here."

I opened my eyes to dad's hand, shaking me. Sweat ran down my face and I swiped at it as I whipped my head toward the window. It was still raining but the clouds were breaking up.

"The storm?" I asked.

"Oh, it passed right over us. It was nothing."

But I knew better.

My cousin Mark was there and he held out his hand. I pulled him into an embrace.

I looked at my family, who stood gawking with open mouths. "What are you looking at?" I demanded.

Then I slowly made my way into the house that would be my home for the next several days.

FICTION FRIDAY - The Fruitcake Conspiracy

Okay, I'm kind of ashamed to say that I haven't posted since LAST Friday. But, in my defense, it was the last week of school and I was really busy with end-of-school-year stuff, not to mention I was preparing for a garage sale (yesterday and today!) So now that my excuses, er, reasons, are out in the open, I'll go on to post my fiction, per Patty Wysong's FICTION FRIDAY challenge.

Today, I'm posting a story I wrote for the "Fruit" topic a couple years ago. A little challenge for you: see if you can find a name I intentionally included in the story. It's someone you should know from your dancing days. :-) Hmmm.....

Thanks for reading. And, if you'd like to play along by posting a fictional story on your blog, visit Patty's blog for all the details.


THE FRUITCAKE CONSPIRACY

It was Stevie who came up with the plan and for the record, I resisted at first. But never in a million years did I imagine that giving in would one day come back to bite me in the butt.

*****

"Let's ding-dong-ditch Old Lady Swazee's house. But let's not just ditch, let's leave her a present," Stevie, my fearless ten-year-old friend, suggested.

My eyes bulged practically out of their sockets. "Nooooo way. Not crazy Swayzee."

Rumor had it that "Crazy Swayzee" kept her twelve-year old grandson locked up in her basement. We had no way to know whether or not it was true. But back then, we were convinced of it.

"Anyway…why would we leave her a present if we don't even like her?" I asked.

"Not a nice present, dummy - a fruitcake," Stevie said. "We'll set it on her doorstep, ring the doorbell and bolt."

"Why a fruitcake?" I asked, thoroughly confused. Everyone knew that fruitcake was gross.

He rolled his eyes. "Because that's what she is, Carrie." Stevie twirled his finger in a circle around his head. "You know… a little fruity? Plus," he added, "my mom bakes a ton of them for the holidays. She totally won't notice if one is missing."

So that's how it began. For eight straight years on Christmas Eve, Stevie and I left a fruitcake on Crazy Swayzee's doorstep, rang the doorbell and ran. And each time I thought I'd have a heart-attack and die right on her front porch - that's how scared I was.

It had been ten years since I thought about Crazy Swayzee or the fruitcakes. And it might have been ten more if it wasn't for my boyfriend, Patrick. After dating for six months, I was about to meet his grandmother, the godly woman who raised him. Patrick spoke so highly of her I just knew we would hit it off. But the moment he pulled into the driveway, a chill trickled down my spine.

Crazy Swayzee.

We waited at the door, my heart racing. When she answered, I was shocked to see a little old lady who barely reached my shoulders. I smiled hesitantly and held out my sweaty hand but instead she pulled me into a warm hug. Then she stepped back and looked at me. I swore I saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes but then it was gone.

Over dinner, Mrs. Swayzee explained that she had agoraphobia and was afraid to leave the security of her home. I felt ashamed of myself for being so judgemental - and fearful - of this harmless old woman, soft-spoken and kind, that was suffering from a mental disorder but was clearly far from crazy.

By the time we'd finished eating, I adored Patrick's grandmother and felt terrible about the pranks I had pulled as a kid. At God's prompting, I started to come clean and confess, but Mrs. Swayzee abruptly interrupted.

"I see there's something on your mind," she said. "But if you would wait just a moment, we'll talk more over dessert." She disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a tray that she set on the coffee table.

Fruitcake!

I looked up at Mrs. Swayzee, who smiled sweetly.

"You know, I received several fruitcakes as gifts over the years," she said as she sliced a piece for Patrick and me. "I think they were meant as a joke but I never saw it that way."

I swallowed hard and wiped my hands on my pants.

"The year I developed agoraphobia, I refused to go out even for groceries. The delivery service was overbooked with the holiday season and on Christmas Eve our cupboards were pretty bare. Dinner that night consisted of oatmeal and biscuits," she chuckled. "But Patrick never complained. He was a trooper." She patted his knee and went on.

"I knew dessert was on his mind and I so wished I had something to serve him. When the doorbell rang and I saw that fruitcake on the step, I knew it was an answer to prayer. God used someone's evil intentions for our good. Isn't that just like the Lord?"

There was no need for me to speak. The twinkle in her eye said it all, releasing me from my intended confession.

I was deeply humbled but my pride wasn't the only thing hard to swallow that night. The fruitcake was, indeed, gross!

I ate it anyway. It was the least I could do.

FICTION FRIDAY... ON-CALL

I have accepted my friend and fellow writer, Patty Wysong's, invitation to participate in FICTION FRIDAYS. Here'a an oldie I dug out of my FaithWriters archives. It placed third in The Challenge on the topic, "Doctor/Nurse." I just think it's kinda fun. And here's a link to Patty's FICTION FRIDAY blog PATTERINGS, with the details, if you'd like to join in!


ON-CALL

The call came in before the crack of dawn; 4:06 to be exact. It caused me to jump out of bed and stand at immediate attention. I didn’t even pause to yawn or rub my eyes. Being on call isn’t always pleasant but it comes with the job.

I was being summoned. And, the truth is, it felt good to be needed. After all, that’s one of the reasons I took this job in the first place.

Grabbing my bathrobe, I sprinted across the house at lightening speed. I passed the bathroom and felt a sudden urge to go but I didn’t stop. I waved at the coffee maker as I went by, desperately wanting to hit the “brew” button. But there would be plenty of time for caffeine later.

Emily, my nine-year old patient, moaned as I approached. Instinctively, I reached down and touched her forehead.

“It’s okay, Sweetie, Mommy’s here,” I whispered. I Flipped on the lamp and looked into my daughter’s eyes, which were droopy and bloodshot.

“I cat breed,” she said, stuffy-nosed.

“You can’t breathe?” I repeated. “I’ll be right back with some water and medicine. We’ll unplug that naughty nose.” I braced myself for protests. Emily couldn’t stand the taste of cold medicine, except for one particular flavor. A flavor I knew we didn’t have in the house.

“Id it bubble gub?” Emily croaked.

That flavor.I tried to stall. “I’ll see what I can find.”

I raced to the kitchen, praying for a bottle of bubble gum flavored cold medicine to magically appear in the cupboard. I kicked myself for not replacing it before Emily actually got sick.

I opened the cupboard and took a moment to stare at all of the various medicine bottles. The only cold medicine that stared back at me read, "CHERRY," the yuckiest of all yucky medicines.

I love my daughter very much. I hated seeing her sick. I wanted more than anything to give her what she desired, which was bubble gum flavored medicine! Perhaps because it was so ridiculously early, or maybe because I was coming down with something myself, I grabbed a stick of bubble gum from the candy box and stuffed it inside of the cherry medicine bottle. I shook it vigorously, hearing it click-clack against the plastic.

Cautiously, I took off the cap and peered inside. The stick was now covered in thick, red liquid. I dug through the utensil drawer for a medicine cup and poured exactly two teaspoons full. I sniffed the contents. Hmmm. Not bad.

A muffled moan came from the bedroom. I quickly filled a glass with water and hurried back to my daughter’s side.

“Here you go, Honey.” I sank onto the bed and helped her into a sitting position.“Id it bubble gub?” She looked at me as hopefully as a little girl with a nasty cold could.

I smiled and hoped I looked reassuring. “It is now.”

Skeptically, she raised the cup to her lips. As she drained it, I frowned, thinking that it had been a while since she’d eaten. I suddenly recalled a night two years before when Emily had taken cherry cold medicine on an empty stomach.

It hadn’t ended well.

As if in slow motion, Emily scrunched up her nose and closed her eyes. She shivered and made a weird face. Then, before I could retrieve the cup or move out of the way, the medicine reappeared. Only there was a lot more of it this time.

Simultaneously, my daughter and I broke into tears. She felt bad for throwing up all over me and I felt horrible for providing her with the medicine that caused it. What kind of mother forgets how her child reacts to cherry cold medicine on an empty stomach? (and what kind of lunatic thinks a stick of chewing gum will change the flavor?)

I changed the sheets (and my clothes) while my groggy husband went out in search of real bubble gum cold medicine. After propping Emily up in bed I pulled her into a hug.“Forgive me?” I asked.

“Ob court,” she said.Emily’s forgiveness came forth as quickly as the medicine had earlier. What a remarkable daughter I have!

She called me several times throughout the next few nights while the cold took its course. Like I said, being on call isn’t always pleasant but it’s part of the job.

And “Mommy” is a job I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world.

It Should Have been Me. But it Wasn't

Good Friday...

I could sit here and literally break into tears at the thought of everything Jesus did for me that day 2,000 years ago. I think about the suffering, the pain, the agony, the blood, the thorns, the whipping, the cursing, the nails...shudder. And then I think about the fact that Jesus KNEW all of this would happen and, although He wasn't crazy about the idea, He was WILLING to go through it all. I'm sure because He knew it was only temporary and He was well aware of what was on the other side of His torture.

Today, I want to post a piece I wrote a while back that took 3rd place in the FaithWriters Writing Challenge. I've since edited it a hair but it sums up what I'm feeling today. Because, really, it should have been me. But - PRAISE JESUS - He took my place.

It should have been him.

Barabbas sat behind a tree, watching the mass of people in the distance. He needed to witness it for himself, to somehow pay respects to the man who had taken his place on death row.

Jesus staggered along the pathway. He stumbled several times, only to be yanked back up and pushed down again. Another man walked beside him, bent over, carrying the tree. Slowly, agonizingly, the mob made its way to the top of the hill. Barabbas cringed in horror as long, thick, nails were hammered into the hands and feet of an innocent man.

A week ago he did not believe in Jesus’ innocence. And no way did he trust his claim to be the Son of God. But that was before. Before he had looked into the eyes of the one willing to die for him.

He would never forget the moment. The shouts of the people still reverberated in his head, “Maqqabah ushsharna! Maqqaba ushsharna!” Defiant fists had pumped the air and spit flew past him and onto Jesus bloody and battered skin. And from somewhere deep inside, arose the unfamiliar yet overpowering emotion of sympathy. Barabbas could not resist turning his head toward the poor, pathetic Jew barely able to stand on his own. The man beaten and swollen so badly he was unrecognizable, probably even to his own mother.

Barabbas had taken his share of eye daggers. He had received more than a few glares overflowing with hate. He had expected the same contempt from Jesus. But when he looked into Jesus’ eyes, he saw no anger. Only sadness... weariness... compassion...love. Barabbas felt the gaze pierce his soul. And right then he knew. Jesus was the Son of God. He knew Jesus could have saved himself, that Jesus of Nazareth had a choice between life and death.

And he had chosen death.

For him.

Barabbas had been unable to look away, his eyes held in place by some invisible force, broken only when he was physically wrenched away by a guard instructed to unlock his chains. And when the guard gave him a hard shove, Barabbas fled.

But the look haunted him, which was the reason he had come back. He didn’t want to be there. Was tempted to turn and flee again. But he could not look away. He watched as the cross was raised. And as he saw Jesus hanging there, in his place, Barabbas wept.

Barabbas was guilty of many things. But he had been given a second chance. He now had a choice to make: how would he would use the gift of freedom handed to him? Would he keep quiet? Would he be ashamed to admit that a simple Jewish carpenter had saved him from impending death? Would he reveal what he now knew to be true - that Jesus was, indeed, who he said he was? Would he dare speak of the moment he looked into Jesus’ eyes and his heart was changed? The moment he had looked into the eyes of God?

One thing Barabbas knew: that the life he was spared would never be the same. And one thing he would never – ever – forget:

It should have been him.

“For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 6:23 (NLT)