The Grace Writers is a story—in large part—about church hurt … and forgiveness. Being hurt by someone in authority in the church—the place that should be filled with the love of God—well, it hits differently than other kinds of hurts. Reality tells us that people are flawed—people will disappoint us. But expectations are elevated when we cross the threshold of a church.

Recently, I browsed through the comment sections of social media posts about several prominent church leaders’ misbehavior. I was struck by how some of the faithful clung to unwavering support for the leaders, driven by the sincerity of their apologies. It gave me pause. There was little said of the victim or of those whose trust had been violated by the person/pastor in question. When a leader misbehaves, someone, sometimes many, are hurt.

Some (most?) churches have a super-protective mechanism that activates when someone has caused harm—too often shielding the church above all—under the guise that God’s work must be protected. Hard truth: He doesn’t need us to fulfill His plans. He invites us into them. They will happen with or without us. To roughly quote podcaster Allie Beth Stuckey: “God is on the throne, nothing takes Him by surprise, and His plan is going off without a hitch.”

I’ve witnessed misbehavior by leadership in churches I’ve attended. It’s always shocking when it happens. My faith in God has carried me through the ups and downs. The church will never be perfect, but God never changes, and He never fails.

I wrote The Grace Writers because I wanted to tell the messy story of being a believer—and loving the church. I haven’t met anyone (unfortunately) who hasn’t been hurt by the church or someone in it. We go in with high expectations—as we should, right? But what if our expectations are dashed by bad behavior?

That’s where The Grace Writers picks up. What is the hurt person to do with all that hurt? How does someone harmed by the church maintain a relationship with God and find a home with a church family again? It starts with trusting who God is, not giving up, and … spoiler alert: Forgiveness.

Even when no one apologizes.

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One summer evening, a thunderstorm loomed on the horizon. I love a distant display of lightning, but the dark clouds closed in fast. I was listening to the radio as I cleaned the house, and with each flash, static interrupted the music.

It wasn’t long before flashes of lightning and static became more frequent, and thunder crashed mere seconds after each flash.

It was almost here.

I decided to hunker down in the hallway. I felt a little foolish. I’m a grown woman. I like to think I’m fairly brave, but there I sat, knees to my chest, fingers in my ears.

The flash came—a blinding white light. My radio went dead, and the lights went out. The silence was deafening—for a millisecond.

CRASH!

An intense, angry blast jolted the house. The windows rattled, and the hall vibrated as thunder growled over me.

I thought of only one thing: The caricature of a lightning bolt hitting a stick figure from heaven—God striking someone down for disobeying Him. As the house shook, my mind raced to the way that the world has rejected God.

Churches today tend to focus on the kinder, gentler scriptures that speak of His grace and mercy. And we often sugarcoat our testimony with the sweetness of His lovingkindness. “God loves you, God is gracious, God is kind and merciful.”

All of those things are true.

But that night, as the floor trembled and darkness enveloped me, I felt the immense power of that single bolt of lightning. I felt a sliver of power compared to God's. It reminded me that with every passing moment, the day when Christ will return and righteously judge us all is drawing closer. When that day comes, will those who have rejected His love, mercy, and grace say to us, who knew of the wrath to come, “Why didn’t you tell me about His wrath?”

Could it be that while some are drawn to Him by His love, others will require the fear of God to recognize their need for a Savior?

What stood out to me in this read-through of the Bible is that God is not mocked and His wrath will and has come with a Holy fury. There are countless examples of this in the Bible. He did not slap those who continually disobeyed Him on the wrist and tell them to do better. He gave them a chance to obey, but they didn’t, and He destroyed them completely.

Why would He deal with us any differently? He won’t.

Perhaps we who know Him should season our witness with more of the full truth of His character—His righteousness and His justice—by sharing both the consequences of rejecting God and the benefits of accepting His grace and forgiveness.

Perhaps in the dark of night, when the earth shakes, and the radio goes dead, and the air is silent, that knowledge will seal in someone’s heart the need for a Savior and will cause some who are lost to be found.

Then the kings of the earth and the great ones and the generals and the rich and the powerful, and everyone, slave and free, hid themselves in the caves and among the rocks of the mountains, calling to the mountains and rocks, “Fall on us and hide us from the face of him who is seated on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb.” Revelation 6:15-16

The fear of the Lord is a healthy fear. A reverent fear. It’s a good thing that leads us to acceptance of all the wonderful gifts He freely offers us.

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Last May, I set a goal. To read through the Bible in a year. I just met my goal a bit ahead of schedule.

It’s the best, most timely book I’ve ever read.

I’ve read it all before. But this time was different.

You may have noticed, it’s been a wild ride in this crazy world. There’s so much going on. If I’m honest, I’ve never been more confused.

My faith is solid, but my faith in people … in knowing what’s true … in understanding current events … in trusting people in positions of power, both inside and outside the church … well, it’s a challenge.

It was probably the best time to read through the Bible.

In the past year, when questions arose, I either found the answer as I read my Bible, or I found peace—the reassurance that God is not surprised. He is not taken aback by anything. That He is still on His throne. And that his plan is going off without a hitch (to quote Christian podcaster Allie Beth Stuckey).

I’ve read my Bible daily as a habit for the past several years (why it took me until my 50s to establish that habit is fodder for another post), but reading it cover to cover—especially the books I haven’t read often—opened my eyes to many of God’s attributes. He has never changed. Sin is and has always been sin. He doesn’t alter His holiness to accommodate how I, or anyone, feels. He is just. He is a God of wrath (more on that in a future post). He is in control. He knows us completely—and He loves us anyway. He knows and loves us from the moment we’re conceived and pursues us until our last breath.

If that doesn’t give you peace in the midst of chaos, I don’t know what will.

Is it time to challenge yourself to read through the Bible? You can start any time. It is not your average book. It enriches your life, imparts wisdom and understanding, and best of all, draws you closer to the One who is before all things and holds everything together. (Colossians 1:17)

So, I highly recommend my favorite book—the Bible. Two thumbs up. Five out of five stars.

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We followed the signs on our way home from church. It was the last day of the sale. Needless to say, there wasn’t much left, and we ended our tour in the home office, pawing through bags of paperclips, pens, pencils, and a box of paper goods (I love office supplies).

Mixed in with the notebooks and empty file folders, I found a clutch of handwritten pages. The writing was so small that I couldn’t quite tell what it was about, but I was instantly intrigued. I searched the box for every page and inquired about them.

“I found these papers in the office,” I said, “Do you know what they are?”

“It’s Grandma’s life story,” the woman tending the sale replied. “You can have it.”

Why would she give away her grandma’s life story? I asked if she was sure she didn’t want it, and she assured me she did not. I was both shocked and thrilled.

I went home and began to investigate. Did I have all the pages? I found tiny numbers in the upper left-hand corner of each page, and I had pages 1-43 (both sides covered in cursive) … the story ended on page 43. Hallelujah! It appeared to be a complete volume. The author counted every single word on each page, writing the number in the margin. The end count was 77,000 words!

Now, to read Grandma’s story. At first, it seemed like a life story. A boy and a girl growing up on the same street, falling in love, but separated when the boy goes off to college. When she switched to the young man’s point of view, though, she knew his thoughts and conversations with people the girl couldn’t know. It was then that I realized it probably wasn’t Grandma’s life story. Was it a novel, instead, or perhaps her story written in novel form? Maybe she wrote what she thought happened when she wasn’t there. The two lovers married other people; her husband wasn’t good to her, and they eventually divorced. I couldn’t get through the entire thing. It wasn’t just the tiny script, but Grandma wrote in an antiquated style that was difficult to follow—no paragraphs, little to no punctuation, and an omniscient point of view that jumped around endlessly.

It was written during a time of scarcity, perhaps during or after the Great Depression or World War II. Grandma had a limited amount of paper to work with, and as I read, the handwriting became smaller and smaller … and smaller. She wrote in perfect cursive (also hard to decipher) with only a few mistakes! Several pages were written in ink.

The story may be hard to read, but what makes it a treasure is the author's immense effort and the handwritten perfection. My goodness, how could you write so small, so straight—on unlined paper—without mistakes? Amazing.

So many questions swirled in my mind. How long did it take to fill 43, or rather, 86 pages with her story? Weeks? Months? Years? Did she spend a lot of time thinking before she wrote to avoid mistakes? Was it her story or fiction? Did she ever try to have the manuscript published? And who is Grandma?

I protect each page of the volume in a sleeve and keep it on a shelf in my studio. When I need a nudge of encouragement, I peruse the artful pages, reminding myself that I’m blessed to have a computer with which to write. This novel inspires me to keep going when I’m stuck. If a mysterious grandma can write a novel by hand, with limited resources, surely I can do it with ease on my laptop.

This estate sale treasure also reminds me to do whatever my hands find to do with all my heart. (Ecclesiastes 9:10) Grandma surely did.

Below is a video of a flip-through of the manuscript. Note the tiny script on the final pages. It’s amazing!

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Many years ago, something strange occurred in my neighborhood.

A minivan was parked on my street, and a woman sat in the weeds on the side of the road, staring into the field.

I noticed her as I took the kids to the bus stop.

I waved.

She waved back and continued staring.

She was still there when I came home that afternoon.

The next day, another lady parked her car on the street, sat in the weeds, and stared into the field. Curiosity overwhelmed me.

I walked to where she sat and asked, “Excuse me, what are you doing?” As the words left my lips, they seemed a little abrupt, but I live in a small neighborhood in the country. It isn’t every day strangers park their car on my street and sit outside in the rain and weeds, staring into a field.

“I’m trying to rescue that dog,” she whispered, pointing.

I hadn’t noticed the dog.

In the middle of the field, a filthy mutt stood alone—his ears and nose raised as he peered above the tall grass.

My knee-jerk reaction was to climb through the barbed-wire fence and collect the dog so the lady could get on with her life. Two different women had spent two days waiting for the mutt to come to them. As a busy mom of three teenagers, I couldn’t imagine spending one day, much less two, sitting in the weeds watching a dog.

Instead, I asked, “Is it your dog?”

“No.” The woman’s eyes didn’t leave the field.

“Whose dog is it?”

“We don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“The dog is timid and won’t allow anyone near. My friend rescues dogs, and we’re trying to gain his trust so we can give him a home.”

Don’t get me wrong. I love dogs. But this seemed a little over-the-top for dog rescues.

I asked if she needed anything. She didn’t. She obviously wanted to be left alone to do her work.

The two women spent two full weeks, from sunrise to sunset, sitting by the side of the road, staring into the field, waiting. I didn’t bother them—they didn’t want to be bothered. Their sole purpose was to earn the dog's trust. They had food, treats, and water. I could watch the scene from an upstairs window, so I’d check on them throughout the day.

One day, the dog inched right next to one of the women and began eating from a dish. I saw them touch the dog and stroke his back. But even while they had him in their hands, they didn’t force him into the car.

Honestly, I honored their patience but questioned their sanity. Who in their right mind would spend literally every hour of daylight for weeks on end to pursue a stray dog? Eventually, they all disappeared. I assumed the women succeeded.

I’d forgotten about the women and the dog until recently. They came to mind, and I chuckled about the seeming silliness of it. Then I heard a whisper …

God offered His take on the situation. “You know, that’s what I do too.”

My chuckling abruptly stopped. I pondered what He meant. Does God sit in the weeds and wait for us?

Aaaah … yes, He does.

God waits for us to accept His gifts of love, grace, and forgiveness. He is kind. He does not grab us against our will. He is gentle and patient—offering exactly what we need, adoption into His family.

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! (1 John 3:1)

God loves us—he doesn’t leave any of us alone in the field of our unbelief. He wants everyone to have the choice to come to Him—to be rescued—or not. He waits in the weeds, the rain, the wind, in the stench of our filth, guilt, and shame. Do you see Him? Do you hear Him calling your name?

About a week after they all disappeared, the dog reappeared in the field, and the ladies were back on the side of the road. This time, they disappeared after a couple of days. Perhaps the dog was testing them. Do you really want me? Are you really who you say you are? Do you really care about my life? The ladies’ persistence proved their love.

God’s Word says, For the wages of sin is death … thankfully, it doesn’t end there. But the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. (Romans 6:23)

God proved His love when He sent His Son to die on a cross to take the penalty for our sin and all of our shame onto Himself.

On Easter morning, He conquered death and rose from the grave.

Jesus offers us the gift of eternal safety, belonging, and eternal life. All we have to do is accept it and be His child.

We aren’t so different from that dog—we’ve all been lost, dirty, hungry, and skeptical. We all need to be rescued. This Easter, as we celebrate the resurrection, God is reaching His hand to you. The weeds may be tall, but we only have the length of our one precious life to trust Him. Will you?

The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead, he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. 2 Peter 3:9

May you grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ. Ephesians 3:18

Happy Easter!

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Guy Witherspoon is a pivotal character in Claire’s journey. He filled an empty space left by the death of her father.

He fills that space for me, too.

My dad was a friendly guy who accepted my friends as his own kids. He was the best grandpa. He exuded love. He was a woodworker. Guy is an amalgamation of the best parts of him. Sadly, my dad passed away eight years ago. I miss him every day.

I wrote Guy based on another real-life character, too: “God bless you guy.”

Many years ago, I ran every morning with a friend. We’d jog two and a half miles, and about a mile in, we’d pass a bus stop. There, a man in a suit, overcoat, and hat—the classic executive-type always hollered as we ran by, “Good Morning, ladies. God Bless You.” And we would holler a breathless, “Thank you, you too!” and continue on. Inevitably, when we were out of earshot of the man, one of us would add, “I love God bless you guy.”

He offered us a blessing every day, and it meant more to us than he knew. It’s funny how a simple phrase, spoken in sincerity, can make someone’s day.

So when I wrote Guy Witherspoon, I turned him into a combination of my dad and “God bless you guy.”

He is easy to love, and everyone in Walters Bluff adores him.

I hope you love Guy Witherspoon as much as I loved writing him into being.

God bless you!

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Will is one of the good guys. Claire made a good choice when she married him.

One critique of The Grace Writers was that Will was too perfect.

I’ll admit that he is a pretty perfect husband. But he was first on the scene of the accident when Claire’s parents were killed (not a spoiler, it’s in the first chapter). And he did suffer in the book. He grew, but we didn’t get into the weeds with him. His character arc was not as curvy as some of my characters.

And I get that.

My next book may take that under advisement. (Not a spoiler, I haven’t finished it yet.)

What we do know about Will is that he didn’t have a great family life growing up. Will and Claire understand very well that they are their family. Claire’s extended family is dead, and Will’s is not in the picture. That is a deep wound for both of them. Will has reconciled to that fact because it’s been a lifelong reality for him.

I let him coast a bit more than others in The Grace Writers. I wanted Claire to have a solid rock. When God seemed distant, I wanted Will to push her in the right direction. To remind her that God is the Rock.

He’s a good guy.

He’s a good cop. Did I mention that my husband is a retired cop? A coincidence? I think not. ;)

He’s one of my favorite characters.

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Ah, judgmental Josephine.

She’s a caricature of the middle-aged church lady giving everyone side-eye. But she doesn’t stop there. Josephine says all the things.

She thinks she knows more than she does. She thinks she knows the Bible better than she does. She thinks God has a special place in Heaven for the likes of her.

Do you know a Josephine?

I’ve known several.

I think the world views the Christian Church as a bunch of Josephines. Honestly, I can understand why.

She strives for perfection in herself … and others. Jo’s forgotten she’s a sinner, too—that everyone is in a different place on their journey.

Josephine is so convinced of her righteous superiority that she has no concern for the harm she causes to those who don’t measure up to her standards.

Josephine expects those who do not yet know Jesus to act as if they do.

Have I done that? Gulp.

Josephine is the embodiment of what turns others away from Christ. None of us is better than the other. And when mere mortals think they have the upper hand on righteousness, our ability to love others shrinks.

Will she ever get over herself?

You’ll have to read The Grace Writers to find out!

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Millie is another of my favorite characters. Confession: All of my character profiles will begin with that sentence. They’re all my favorites.

Millie has a bit of a sad history … teen pregnancy, marriage to the bum father, miscarriage, divorce—all under the magnifying glass of a small town.

She supported herself in those early years by reselling treasures she found at garage sales and expanded that love of other people’s cast-offs into a business. Stuff and Things is her thrift shop.

I named it after a real shop (closed and abandoned years ago) that we drove by on the coast. I knew, when I saw the sign, that it was the name of Millie’s shop.

Millie is a people person. She loves fun. She loves her town. She loves a good board game. She loves her cat, Fussy. She doesn’t, however, trust men, or more accurately, she doesn’t trust herself to know a good man when she sees one.

Millie is a personification of Walters Bluff. A friendly, welcoming soul who strives to do her best.

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I love all of my characters, but Ella Mae Walker is special to my heart. She’s so much fun to write because she has many complexities and contradictions.

She hails from Memphis, but landed in Walters Bluff when she and her husband, George, moved there for a job early in their marriage. She’s a fixture in her hometown—beloved by all.

She’s the best baker in Durham County. Hands down. And everyone knows it.

But there’s more to Ella Mae than just baking. She’s a leader and someone who brings people together. She cares deeply for her friends and wants everyone to feel welcome.

Despite those things, Ella Mae’s a bit insecure, which shows in her competitive nature. She doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, least of all herself.

When challenges arise, you can count on the woman with flour-dusted ebony skin and a sense of humor she doesn’t realize she possesses. She’ll be first in line to help.

I think we all know someone like Ella Mae Walker. Someone who makes us laugh, but wonders what’s so funny. Someone who wants to be strong and exudes that strength, and has a strong personality, but deep down is a bundle of nerves. God bless her ….

I love to bake, scones in particular, but I’m no Ella Mae. She is someone who inspires me. Even though she’s a fictional character, she imparts the confidence she strives to possess.

That’s what’s so magical about writing. You can create fun characters with qualities you admire … and be inspired by them!

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So many of you have requested another installment of The Grace Writers. Thank you for that!

I have been writing The Weathered Vessel for a while. Long before I published The Grace Writers. Yet I’m only a few chapters in. My goal is to have a rough draft completed by the end of the year. That’s pretty ambitious considering my previous timeline of over ten years for my debut novel.

But I am not learning to write from scratch this time. I am simply working out the story, which I believe I have well in hand now.

There will be a few new characters. Bud and Stella Bing (newcomers to Walters Bluff) and Alberto Tedesco (he’s opening an Italian restaurant). Jeannie (the waitress) may also take on a more prominent role. The Weathered Vessel—Claire, Fern, and Laurel’s shop— will become a community hub, and the Grace Writers will remain an important connection that binds the women together.

I’m excited to see where the next book goes. I’m a pantser-type writer. I have a general direction and plot points, but I also let the characters decide parts of the story as I write. They’re rather unpredictable, which makes the process so much fun!

I write because I love the life I have in Christ—and I love a good story. I write because it’s messy to work out our salvation in this life, and I want my readers to know that they’re not alone in the mess—that there is hope, community, and forgiveness when we fail.

Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews of The Grace Writers.

Stay tuned for more updates about the next installment!

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Harley is precious to me. I think it’s because I put him through the wringer in my book, and I feel a bit guilty.

He’s had a rough go of life. He’s made some awful choices. He’s hurt the people closest to him. He knows he can do better … but hasn’t chosen to. He thinks he can handle it all himself. He avoids the hard things and the painful feelings. Sound familiar?

He’s rough around the edges, but soft as a marshmallow inside. He is off-putting, yet something inspires compassion. Just ask Claire.

Perhaps it’s the lostness (is that a word?). Perhaps it’s the relatability. He’s every one of us. Maybe not in exact circumstances or situation, but if we pan back and see him from a distance, he’s wandering in the wilderness. That’s something we’ve all done.

I won’t spoil anything here, but suffice it to say, he’s on a journey. His journey intersects with Claire’s … and neither of them will be the same.

I love writing fiction. I get to create characters, swirl my finger in their circumstances, and throw them into the deep end of the ocean. When they languish, and my readers languish with them, that’s when I can give my characters a glimpse of the Light. And I pray my readers will see it too. That Light that redeems them from the choices, the avoiding, the wrong paths, where the darkness seems hopeless and the way out, impossible.

It’s not.

Harley is a troubled soul—looking for a Savior. He just doesn’t know Him yet.

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When my kids read my book, they accused me of being Claire.

They’re not completely wrong.

There are similarities, but writers tend to write what they know.

Here are some ways I’m like my main character …

Claire was hurt by her church. (I can certainly relate to that brand of pain. From what I’m hearing from my readers, it’s a common wound.)

My husband is a retired cop.

I love antiques and flea markets.

I hoard old photos.

I bake scones. Oh, wait, that’s Ella Mae!

I have three kids.

And do I struggle to forgive? Sometimes … but I haven’t experienced the kind of betrayal Claire experienced, either.

Because I created Claire from what I know, I guarded her for quite some time. In the first drafts of my book, I wrote a cocoon of protection around her. She’d been hurt enough already. No one’s going to touch her.

It was boring.

It’s that way in our lives, too. Without conflict and pain, the joy isn’t as loud. The overcoming is where the story is.

So I threw her in with the rest of ‘em and stirred the pot.

Her journey is relatable. There’s pain and uncertainty, but that’s where the growth is. That’s where the miracles happen. That’s where we learn to live life to the full.

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Discussion Questions for The Grace Writers by Heather Morse Alexander

• Have you lost someone close to you? What little things do you miss most about them?

• Claire experienced deep hurt and betrayal from people in her church. Have you experienced a similar wound (perhaps on a smaller scale)?

• How does being hurt by the church and/or Christians hit differently from the hurt experienced outside the church?

• “Giving forgiveness determines the quality of our lives, and receiving it, our destination in death.” How does that statement resonate with you?

• The ladies of The Grace Writers bolster Claire’s confidence through encouragement. Was there a time you experienced encouragement at the right time? When?

• Harley’s deep wounds and abuse of alcohol bring him to a turning point in his life. Have you ever reached a point in your life when you knew you had to change direction?

• The ladies of The Grace Writers are so different from one another. Do any of them remind you of someone you’ve known?

• Have you forgiven someone before they asked for it? Why? How did forgiving change you?

• Have you been forgiven for something you’ve done? How did that make you feel? Have you received God’s forgiveness?

• Like Claire, do you have a goal or dream you have yet to pursue? What is holding you back?

• Which character did you identify with the most? Why?

• Did The Grace Writers change your opinion about anything, or did you learn something new? If so, what?

• Would you recommend this book to someone? Why or why not?

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I recently cleaned all of my watercolor palettes.

You might ask, “Why don’t you clean them right after you use them?”

That is a very good question, and I have a very good answer: There’s still paint on them. Watercolor can be reactivated and used over and over. You don’t just throw it away mamby pamby. That would be wasteful!

But since it’s the beginning of a new year, and I’m going to focus (I really, really am) on illustrating Kai’s Wild Ride, I wanted a fresh start. Clean palettes.

I have several goals for the year, but Kai’s book is at the top of the heap. Another goal is to write a picture book for sweet Ollie-pop and make good progress on The Weathered Vessel, a sequel to The Grace Writers. (For those who asked, there you go. Yes, there is another book coming!)

That seems like a lot. It is. It’s a daunting list. But I already feel like I’ve made good progress.

Cleaning the chaos of mixed paint and mixed thoughts is empowering.

I will be more intentional about which colors I mix on my “Kai’s Wild Ride” palette.

I will be more intentional about where I take my characters in my new manuscript. After publishing The Grace Writers, I have more clarity about what my readers loved, what they want, and how I can surprise them with new twists and turns in the plot.

And as I spend more time with Ollie-pop, I learn what makes him laugh, what he focuses on, and the things he loves to do. The ideas are popping into my mind.

I’m excited to see where all of these projects are in the NEXT New Year.

Stay tuned!

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Aunt Evelyn loved making gifts for the family. She was not, however, an artist. She admired the talents of her peers and tried desperately to duplicate their work with a creative spin.

She tried—and she failed.

Unfortunately, Evelyn did not recognize the failures. She knitted love into her sweaters. She didn’t see the uneven arms and yarn sticking out like strands of spaghetti. Her pattern and color combinations turned heads—away. She crocheted, decoupaged, and strung beads with abandon, always keeping the recipient in mind while working. Her heart overflowed with talent—her hands, not so much.

Aunt Evelyn oozed joy, warmth, and love, but the dread began when a birthday or Christmas arrived. The worry was that a reaction to a gift would not match the enthusiasm with which it was given.

“I stayed up all night finishing this for you,” Evelyn would say.

Her declaration only added to the foreboding that hung over the recipient’s head like a guillotine. After a gift exchange, Evelyn flitted around, asking how much we loved what she’d given.

“I can tell you made it with love.”

“This yarn is so soft.”

“I love kittens. How did you know I love kittens?” (Her decoupage always included magazine cuttings of kittens.)

When Uncle Red passed away, her creative spark waned. She informed the family of her lack of enthusiasm. “Don’t expect my usual level of gifts this Christmas,” she sighed. I’m spent after Red’s passing.”

We assured her she should grieve and let the family spoil her this Christmas. We were sad for her sorrow but relieved for her lack of creative zeal.

As Christmas drew near, she began to show signs of life again. Perhaps the holiday lights or Christmas carols sparked her muse.

She arrived at Grandma’s house on Christmas Day with a stack of uniform-sized wrapped boxes. A palpable dread cloaked the room. She handed a small, heavy gift to each person.

Her hands folded in her lap, she chirped, “Unwrap your gifts.”

We gingerly worked off the paper. Inside was a shiny box tied with red and white baker’s twine. Each recipient removed the string and opened the box to reveal a block of fruitcake suitable for use as a doorstop. Evelyn clapped her hands with delight. “I’ve added baking to my repertoire. Doesn’t it smell divine? Go ahead, dive in.”

In an instant of pure genius, Grandma jumped out of her chair.

“I’ll slice mine so we can all taste it.”

She scurried to the kitchen, checked on the turkey, and turned the oven temperature down. Grandma sliced the cake into thin slices and arranged them on a plate. She glanced at the clock and recalculated the roasting time before setting the plate on the coffee table with a flourish.

“You go first, Grandma.” Uncle Leonard smirked.

“Oh, no, I had a slice in the kitchen,” she said, winking at him.

No one could outfox Grandma.

Each person in the circle took a slice and then a bite.

“Mmmm.”

“Oh, my.”

“Hmmm.”

Aunt Evelyn perched on the sofa, beaming.

The fruitcake crossed my tongue—a shock of cloves numbing it instantly. It settled hard into the bottom of my stomach.

Grandma had a plan. “I’m so sorry, I just realized that the oven was too low—dinner will be a bit late. Perhaps we could all walk around the neighborhood and admire the Christmas lights.”

The family embarked on a Christmas stroll in the snowy landscape, hoping to digest Aunt Evelyn’s gift in time for dinner.

Even though I was young, I realized how much Aunt Evelyn loved us. I understood we loved her back by appreciating her gifts, even if our delight was only for her benefit.

When Aunt Evelyn passed away, we were surprised to learn that everyone had saved her gifts. No one could part with them. For some, it was the outlandish humor of the item, and for others, the tacky element that couldn’t be duplicated or described. For all of us, though, it was love. Who could throw away love? We began an Aunt Evelyn gift exchange every Christmas—sharing her creations over and over brought us joy, even in her absence.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

May you grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ as we celebrate His birth. (Ephesians 3:18)

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I love old photos and writing stories.

I often challenge myself to write a photo story in 100 words or fewer. It’s not easy. You’ve heard the saying, A picture is worth a thousand words. Now, delete 900 of them! It’s a fun challenge to write tight.

Before I share my story with you, write your own. Don’t let mine influence yours. You can use my caption and follow that theme, or make up something completely different.

On your mark, get set, go! (Please share your story in the comments!)

Now, on to my 100-word photo story:

“He’s smart and handsome, and he’s traveled the world,” Shirley promised.

Mary wasn’t getting any younger. She was game for any date—blind or otherwise. She arrived at the grange hall at precisely six o’clock, dressed in her Sunday best.

“Hello, Mary.” Her boss strolled in the door behind her. “Did you finish the filing before you left work?”

“Yes, Mr. Dickson.” Ugh. Why is he here?

Mary excused herself and escaped to the hallway.

Shirley appeared around the corner. “Mary, he’s here!” She pulled her by the arm and introduced her to her date, Mr. Dickson.

(97 words)

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I led a writing group for almost a decade, aptly called: The Grace Writers. My book is not about the ladies in my group, but the story depicts the friendship, community, and encouragement we experienced.

It was a wonderful bunch of women, gathered with the goal of “Encouraging women of faith to write and share their stories.”

So how do you find such a group? What if you can’t find such a group?

Well, my friends, if an internet search yields nothing, you start one!

I have attached a printable guide titled “How to Start a Writing Group.” It explains how I started and ran ours. The years I led The Grace Writers were such a blessing to my life. I only ended my group because my travel schedule made regular meetings impossible. I miss it!

May this guide inspire and encourage you to start your own group—and if you feel like you’re not a leader, don’t let that stop you. What a writing group leader must possess is the desire to gather women together, a bent for encouragement, and perhaps the ability to brew a decent cup of coffee.

Let me know if you find this guide helpful or inspirational.

How To Start A Writing Group

1.94MB ∙ PDF file

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Who remembers the Sears Wish book?
I’m pretty sure I drooled over this very catalog when I was eleven.
I dog-eared pages, wrote lists, and imagined getting every single thing I desired from that wonderful Wish Book.
Christmas in 1976 wasn’t like Christmas today.
My family lived on a tight budget. Credit? No way.
Today we live in a world where stuff is plentiful—whether or not it’s affordable in the moment.
Even though this wish book evokes memories of childhood desire, I’m glad I didn’t receive all the treasures I wanted.
I’m glad my parents carefully chose gifts for me and didn’t stack boxes to the ceiling, feeding the greed monster that lives in all of us.
I’m glad God doesn’t give me everything I want either, such as:
Relationships I thought I wanted when I was young. (I’m so thankful for the husband he gave me.)
Stuff I thought I couldn’t live without. (My friends had some of that stuff, and they were no happier for it.)
As an adult, I wanted children right after I got married. (I’m so glad we waited five years. We were so young—19 and 20.)
Time always reveals the blessing of a “no” or “wait” answer to my prayers.

I wanted to write a book when I was in the thick of mothering.
I felt God say, “Wait. I’ll tell you when to write.”
So I waited.
I dog-eared the page and set that wish aside.
The Lord is faithful, and He’s taken me on a winding road to publication—certainly not the one I had planned for myself.
This Christmas, I am thankful for His timing and The Grace Writers, a debut novel I’ve wished for since I was eleven years old.

What are you wishing and waiting for this Christmas? May you trust the One who sent His Son—offering the gift of eternal and abundant life to anyone who trusts in Him.

He only gives good gifts!

Merry Christmas!

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1. The Bible. It really is the living and breathing Word of God.

2. Forgiveness. Receiving it for salvation and giving it for freedom.

3. My kids. I am so proud of the adults they’ve become.

4. My grandsons. My three loving, smart, silly boys are my joy.

5. My husband. We celebrated 40 years of marriage this year. I’ve always loved roller coasters, and we’re on a fun downhill (hands in the air).

6. My husband. (He gets two.) For his encouragement and support this year: The year of the debut novel.

7. My debut novel. It’s done. It’s out in the ether. It’s gotten great reviews from total strangers. I’m over the moon.

8. My friends. I have the best, supportive, wonderful friends.

9. My critique group. They’re good. They’re brutally honest. They’re encouraging and kind. I’m so thankful for them.

10. My mom. My biggest encourager to get my book out there (“before I die”).

11. My sister. My greatest “hype man” for my book.

12. Our church. Our pastor is bold, loves God’s Word, and preaches truth without apology.

13. My studio. It’s a corner of a spare bedroom that I’ve completely taken over (translate: colorful mess), but it is a creative, inspiring sanctuary.

14. Watercolor. I love it, I love it, I love it.

15. Travel. The world is a vast, treasure trove of wonder—and it’s incredibly fun to travel with friends.

16. Vintage photos—the stories, the history, the simpler times, they’re so interesting, informative, and inspiring.

17. Flea markets. It’s something my husband and I LOVE to do together. I don’t need anything, but I’m slowly replacing what we have with more wonderful antiquities.

18. Thrift shops. I love a treasure hunt.

19. Art books—oh, the inspiration!

20. My Thursday morning art class. It’s so fun to learn new skills with a bunch of creatives with such varying perspectives.

21. House plants. They make a room pop and fill it with oxygen.

22. Studio pottery. Thrifted, of course, to house my plants.

23. Pulling into my driveway. We’ve traveled a lot this year, which is wonderful, but there’s something about pulling into your driveway after a long trip.

24. Home. I love our home. We’ve lived here for 24 years. It’s worn in places, but in all the right ways.

25. Music. It’s worship, inspiration, joy, and fun.

What are you thankful for this year?

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