Back Porch Break & Take My Hand Again Blog Posts

Grateful for the Fruit

November 15, 2018 by Nancy 22 Comments

My son Tim McConnell, lead pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Colorado Springs, is currently preaching a sermon series on GENTLENESS—part of the fruit of the Spirit listed in the Bible in Galatians 5:22-23. Listening to his encouragement that gentleness should be evident in the lives of believers today more than ever, I was reminded of a time when I saw the fruit of the Spirit come alive in a very real way.

It was years ago at a special prayer session called by the executive director of a nonprofit ministry where I volunteered. Family Life Services is a residential facility for single moms and their kids and, like many small nonprofits, it is a “pray and patch as we go” type of ministry.

On this particular evening a group of board members, staff members, and volunteers gathered to pray for the ministry in a more intentional way than we had for years. We were asked to begin our individual prayer time by finding a quiet place on the grounds, and by asking the Lord what He would have us pray for.

As I walked across the lawn, so many of the needs we had ran through my mind. We needed funds to replace some plaster falling from the ceiling on the third floor of the Victorian house that serves as ministry headquarters. We needed new carpeting. We needed someone to donate grounds keeping services. More important, we needed childcare volunteers for Thursday evenings when the moms meet for group counseling.

But then I quieted my mind and my heart and asked the Lord how He would have me pray. Clearly I heard Him say, “Pray for PEACE in times of conflict. Pray for LOVE to surround the mothers and children.”

When the group reconvened after 30 minutes of individual prayer, we shared what each of us had heard from the Lord. Soon it became evident that He had not instructed us to pray for anything tangible. The words GOODNESS and PATIENCE were quickly added to PEACE and LOVE. By the time we got all the way around the table, I realized that the Lord had instructed us to pray for everything comprising the fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5:22-23: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. All gifts available through the Holy Spirit to those who believe in Jesus Christ.

What JOY we felt as we realized how intimately He was involved in our ministry. How encouraging it was to know that He cared enough to lead our prayers in the direction that would accomplish His purposes. Even when our eyes were focused on the things right in front of us, the Lord’s eyes were on the whole mission of the ministry and the lives He knew could be changed.

We need to remember to pray for the fruit of the Spirit to be evident not only in our own lives and personal ministries, but in the lives of all those for whom we pray. Instead of asking for a friend’s relief from financial or health concerns, maybe we should be praying that she will have JOY in the midst of the trials, or PATIENCE to wait for God’s solution in His time.

We can encourage a friend by telling her when we see the GENTLENESS in her response to a situation or the KINDNESS she shows to her elderly neighbor. Maybe you notice that someone who struggles with the need to gossip about others makes a conscious effort not to do so, and you can praise her for her SELF-CONTROL. Certainly a volunteer who dedicates year after year to a church or school near you should be commended for her FAITHFULNESS.

In this season of Thanksgiving, I choose to be grateful for the fruit of the Spirit. By recognizing it in others and affirming what we see, we can make this world a gentler place. And by praying for that fruit to be evident in us, we can live more fruitful lives.

Applicious

October 15, 2018 by Nancy 15 Comments

The scarier the world gets the more mundane my blog posts seem to become. Cats, books, pumpkins…it seems in an attempt to diffuse the scariness nothing is too commonplace to become the topic for a blog these days! Given that, and how scary and sad the world has been this month, today’s subject is the apple. That’s right, that red orb that bounced around in your metal lunchbox in third grade. Let it bounce you to a saner, happier time!

Of course the apple is much maligned as the forbidden fruit that Eve ate and gave to Adam in the Garden of Eden, but this is only because artists have depicted the fruit as an apple. The Bible never says what kind of fruit it was. It could have been a kumquat for all we know. (Isn’t kumquat a funny word? I always wanted to use it in a sentence. Now I can check that off my bucket list. Writers have weird bucket lists.)

Apples are mentioned in the Bible however. In Proverbs, the collection of the wise teachings of Solomon and others, we find, “A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver (Proverbs 25:11).” There’s some wisdom there alright. We should peel away at that teaching until we get to the core of it. If only we limited our conversations, our texts, and our tweets to words aptly spoken. Not apple-y, but aptly, meaning suitably or appropriately. The world would be a better place already.

Fall is apple season, and any grocery store shopper can go cross-eyed trying to decide between the Red Delicious, Gala, McIntosh, Granny Smith, Golden Delicious, Fuji, Honeycrisp and more. Gourmet cooks know which apple works best in which apple dish, but I just pick shiny ones that look fresh and have the fewest worm holes. Biting into a worm isn’t how we like to get our protein!

Those fortunate enough to live close to an orchard that hosts an apple festival may be able to pick your own bushel then get busy making apple butter, apple pie, apple cake, apple tarts, applesauce, apple fritters, apple crisp and the ever popular apple cider—now offered in upscale bars as well. How well I remember such an apple picking adventure with my son and his family at an orchard in Virginia. It included a cold but fun hayride!

So have I succeeded in getting you to forget about this morning’s news and dwell instead on the joy of biting into an apple with all its crunchy sweetness? There is joy to be found in all the ordinary things of life. And hope as well. Martin Luther wrote, “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.”

Pick up an apple and praise God for making it just for you. Even in a piece of ordinary fruit we can find joy and hope if we give God the glory. “Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him (Psalm 34:8).”

SIMPLY THE SAVIOR Turns Twenty

September 29, 2018 by Nancy 24 Comments

It surprises me to realize that the first book I wrote under contract (not as a work-for-hire assignment) turns twenty this month! I wrote Simply the Savior during a time when there was a lot of emphasis on simplifying life. Magazines carried headlines like, “10 Easy Steps to a Simpler Life” or “You Too Can Embrace Simple Living.” Book clubs were reading Sara Ban Breathnach’s best-selling book, Simple Abundance, and her publisher soon took advantage of its success to spin off sequels, journals, etc.

All these things caught my attention because I had a strong desire to simplify my own life, and so had left a full-time job to work at home. But everything I read seemed to have a “new age” feel that didn’t quite satisfy me. “Wait a minute,” I thought. “I’m pretty sure Jesus had a lot to say about what really matters—about living a simple, uncluttered life.” I opened the Word, and Simply the Savior was born.

When writers read a nonfiction book they wrote twenty years ago, it’s like reading a tattered 20-year-old journal. I smiled when I read illustrations featuring small granddaughters who have since gone to college, gotten married, and traveled the world! And then there’s the surreal feeling you have as a writer reading something you wrote so long ago as you think, “Not only do I not remember writing that, I don’t even remember knowing it!”

Yet I just read Simply the Savior again and I wouldn’t change a word. Yes, my spiritual journey has deepened my faith and my understanding of Scripture, my marriage is twenty years stronger, and I’ve had to accept that being 50 wasn’t old enough to write about gray hair and wrinkles. But the 15 chapters such as “Simply Believe,” “Simply Listen,” “Simply Forgive,” and “Simply Love” are full of Holy Spirit inspired truths.

Back cover photo of the author who thought she was old!

Because it’s a book about Jesus, and we are promised in Hebrews 13:8 that He is “the same yesterday and today and forever,” everything I was inspired to write back then still holds true—even if I don’t remember writing it. In fact, my not remembering is a strong reminder that the book came through me, not from me.

Sara Ban Breathnach’s book Simple Abundance sold five million copies and is translated into 28 languages. Simply the Savior sold 10,000 or so and was translated into German. Yet I received a note from a reader who said she kept a copy of my book in the glove compartment of her car so she could pull it out and read it when she felt a panic attack coming on. “Lord,” I said, “that’s enough for me.”

And I’ve accumulated twenty years of gratitude for having this little book in my life. My publisher, David C. Cook, also owned Best to You at that time, a Christian social expression catalog for which I wrote product and catalog copy. So they did their own version of spin-offs: a promotional paperback and both a lovely framed print and a mug designed with the chapter titles from the book.

This first book opened up my life as a speaker. I went where I was invited, and there were many and varied opportunities. I remember a small gathering in a little church basement where the rhythmic hissing of oxygen tanks permeated the room as I spoke to a circle of older church ladies—perhaps stirring in me a heart for the books I’ve written for the elderly recently.

In contrast, I also remember speaking to the women’s ministry of the much larger First Presbyterian Church in downtown Colorado Springs. Twenty years later my son, Tim, is the lead pastor of that church. I mentioned him in the book as a young seminary student with his first baby in his arms. Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.

I’m not one to force my books on anyone (thus I haven’t sold five million copies of any of the six books I’ve written!), but there may be a few copies available from used booksellers online, or you can download the Kindle version here if you’d like to read Simply the Savior again, or for the first time. Simplifying once is seldom enough. Material, emotional, and spiritual clutter happens. And as the book says, “It is simply the Savior who gives us all we need to live a life of simple joy.”

Happy 20th Anniversary, little book. You have blessed me so.

A Harvest of Memories

September 13, 2018 by Nancy 16 Comments

What is it about the first crisp morning of fall that brings a rush of nostalgia—especially to those of us with more than a few decades behind us?
Of course so many of our memories are back-to-school ones. Even before the temperature begins to change, several of the stores I frequent set out their offerings of school supplies. I blame back-to-school memories for the fact that I’m a glutton for the smell of new pencils and colored markers, the feel of fresh notebook paper, and the aisles of all things “back-to-schoolish.” I have to stay away from such displays because one year I bought a purple binder I didn’t need, well—just because it was purple!

Yes, the memories in the back-to-school category are plentiful indeed. I remember wearing a new plaid dress to the first day of school each year—the only new outfit I would have until Easter. I wore my hair in a ponytail throughout elementary school, but my mom would always take me to get my bangs permed before school started. I would show up looking like I had a Brillo® pad glued to my forehead! My school photos prove it.

But fall nostalgia doesn’t stop there. At any age autumn makes us think of cozy sweaters, warm socks, hot chocolate in front of a fire, and front porches decorated with an array of brightly colored pumpkins and other gourds, corn, and mums. It’s the time of year when we may go for a walk in an old jacket just for the joy of hearing the leaves crunch under our feet. Having an old dog as a companion completes the experience.

I grew up in Tennessee, so my memories of fall drives through Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg to the Great Smoky Mountains through the years are replete with recollections of the fall displays on every corner. No cornstalk or scarecrow goes unappreciated in that part of the country in the fall!

And of course fall means the return of football, as my husband is so quick to point out. For him, the nostalgia centers around two-a-day practices and the year he was a high school running back playing for the state championship! Ah, the glory days. When he sees the football team practicing early in the morning on the dew-covered field at the high school near our house, it all comes back to him.

My teenage football memories center around cheering at high school games, but that little girl with the curly bangs remembers watching her parents go off to University of Tennessee football games on September Saturdays. My mom always wore a wool suit (no matter how warm the temperature on game day), heels, and a bright orange mum corsage. I was sure she’d be the prettiest fan there!

For many farm families, fall brings more than a harvest of memories. It brings the actual harvest of the last of the crops and the joy of sharing the bounty with friends and family—or getting it to market. It’s also a time to cut and bale the hay, storing it in the barn for winter. As a girl, I loved throwing my school books down as soon as I got home on warm fall days, running to the barn to jump on my horse, Dolly, and riding through the freshly mown fields near our house. The smell of hay still transports me there in an instant.

What about you? What memories of fall do you treasure? Savor the nostalgia this year. Let it seep into your soul like a bowl of steamy oatmeal on a frosty morning.

Welcome, fall! We’ve missed you.

Miracle Molly

August 27, 2018 by Nancy 12 Comments

Someday you’ll read on Facebook or in this blog spot that we had to say good-bye to our cat, Molly, but not today!

In April we lost our cat Beau to cancer. I still wake up in the morning missing him. In May, Molly was diagnosed with kidney disease. (Note to self: Don’t have two cats the same age.) We noticed she wasn’t eating and was losing weight. The blood test the vet ran revealed that she was in serious need of immediate fluid injections and recommended an emergency vet for overnight IV treatment. You don’t want to know what that cost.

For the next couple of weeks we alternated infusions in the vet’s office and at home (and no, we aren’t medically trained!) with blood tests to see how she was responding. This meant additional expenses and many trips in the dreaded cat carrier for Molly.

She did respond to treatment and started eating again. Still, after a weekend of praying and crying (me) about what to do for her, we decided that we didn’t believe in extending her life beyond its natural conclusion, especially since we’re not signing up for extreme measures when our time comes. If that was it for her, we would just love her and let her go when it was time. A hard decision, but one that gave us and her peace.

We informed the vet that Molly would now be in palliative care. We would watch her to make sure she wasn’t experiencing any discomfort, and hope to bring her in for her final trip to the vet before she suffered any dire consequences from the disease.

For about a week we watched her closely. She sat and stared at us with a “cat stink eye” as if to say, “Why’s everyone staring at me all the time?” Given that we thought she only had a few days left, we relaxed the cat “house rules” for her. I let her wander out with me when I watered the pots on the downstairs patio, and you’d think she’d gone through the wardrobe into Narnia so thrilled was she to be sniffing around in forbidden territory. We also left the bedroom door open all night so she could come and go at will, because after all, the poor dear didn’t have long to be with us.

That was three months ago and Molly will celebrate her 15th birthday this week! In style, I might add, because it didn’t take long for her to not only appreciate her new privileges, but to actually expect and demand them! How dare I try to sneak out to water pots without her. She protests loudly from the other side of the glass door if not allowed to accompany me. And not only is she in our bedroom all night, she jumps on the bed in the early morning light, meowing and poking at me until I get up to feed her the soft kidney-care food she’s come to love. We are enjoying her in spite of her newfound diva status, however, and she’s reveling in our extra attention.

Who knows why we have all been given this sweet time together? I prayed, “Lord, please heal her or take her.” I didn’t want to have to make another one of those painful last trips to the vet so soon after taking Beau. It may be a miraculous answer to prayer that she’s still here.

And we don’t know if this will make any feline medical journals, but we’re pretty sure some cats have at least 10 lives. We’re enjoying Molly’s 10th, and we’re glad we don’t have to say good-bye just yet.

Happy Birthday, Miracle Molly!

Stairway to Heaven

July 26, 2018 by Nancy 16 Comments

I’ve climbed the beautiful, spiral staircase at the assisted living community where I volunteer many times without thinking of it as the stairway to heaven. But for some reason, today as I climbed from the first floor with its lovely entryway, library and dining room, to the second floor with the activity room where we have The Hope of Glory Bible study, that’s exactly what came to mind.

Maybe my long-term memory was activated by being in the presence of those older than I who cherish this intact part of their brains, and I was reminded of the prom theme we had my junior year in high school. Two by two couples lined up for the coveted prom photo. Girls in long satin dresses boasting wrist corsages leaned in to boys in brown suits sporting their father’s ties. Behind each couple was the backdrop the prom committee painted on butcher paper of a long spiral staircase. Glittery letters at the top read, “Stairway to Heaven.”

Of course, our idea of heaven in the Sixties was a really hot date and getting to stay out later than usual to go to the after parties, or the less sanctioned parties held on the banks of a Tennessee lake. Gratefully, it’s not this temporal, somewhat carnal, concept of heaven that I show up to talk about to the assisted living residents. Rather it’s the gospel truth that we won’t have to climb the 21 steps I counted today to get to heaven, or even take the optional elevator! It’s the message that there’s only one step needed, belief in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.

Most of the residents at this facility, lovely as it is, are there because they need help of some kind—either due to physical impairment or loss of mental acuity. Although they don’t dwell on this fact, the blessed among them realize that their next destination is heaven. Together we explore how this late season of life in which they find themselves is still life, and that God has a purpose for them as long as they have breath. Then they will enjoy eternal life with Him!

It could be because I’ve been to two memorial services within a week that I’m reflecting on heaven now. Both were for women who lived long, full lives, leaving behind memories of stories told, quilts made, meals served, grandchildren cherished, and husbands adored. Hearing about their lives, and their strong Christian faith shared through generations, makes every remaining minute of my life seem more valuable to me somehow—more primed with possibility. They ran their races well, leaving me with a longing to make any time I have left count for something—especially for those things that are small in the eyes of the world, but large in the eyes of heaven.

In my book, Take My Hand Again, I talk about how hard it was to say goodbye to the assisted living residents I came to love through our time in Bible study, and today I was reminded that I’m still vulnerable to that kind of heartache. And I’m not alone. I just finished the engaging book A Dog Walks into a Nursing Home by Sue Halpern, who also grew fond of the residents she took her dog, Pransky, to visit each week. The author recalls standing at a distance at the graveside service of a friend and resident named Fran because she had the lovable labradoodle with her. She stood amazed as she saw all the people who gathered to honor the woman she and Pransky had only come to know and love in her last years. They had no idea how many lives Fran’s had touched, they only knew she had touched theirs.

Love hurts, but it’s always worth it. And there’s this stairway to heaven, where the loss and pain of aging is no more! There we will celebrate together all the love we’ve received, and all the love we’ve given away.

The Hope of Glory, A Devotional Guide for Older Adults, and Take My Hand Again, A Faith-based Guide for Helping Older Parents, are both available on Amazon.com.

Strike Up the Band!

June 17, 2018 by Nancy 15 Comments

Whenever I see a field of yucca plants in bloom this time of year it always reminds me of a marching band, each member stepping out in a tall hat with a plume on the front. Yucca plants thrive in dry climates and are drought-resistant, so unlike the wildflowers that would have preferred a rainier May, they are in their glory now in Colorado. Walking through Rampart Park near my house is like being at a band festival, with competing groups marching in every direction!

Yet on these competition fields a smattering of wildflowers has dared to pop up. Three years ago when we moved to our neighborhood we had experienced a very wet spring, and the fields of wildflowers were breathtaking. This year I’m delighted with the occasional Indian paintbrush, cinquefoil, or wild penstemon.

I know physical trainers advise clients to vary their workout routines, and many people besides Robert Frost extol the road less traveled, yet I think there is something to be said for taking the same walk through all seasons year after year. Doing so establishes a rhythm to our life on earth—and the heavenly delights we encounter along the way will always vary.

Now that summer is in full bloom, my almost daily walks through Rampart Park provide both the stability of the familiar route and the excitement of change. Which dogs will be at the dog park today, and will the dachshund and the German shepherd get along better today than yesterday? Has the black-tailed weasel returned to his hole by the sidewalk?

Baby rabbits hop away from my footsteps in every direction, pausing at the edge of their thickets as if daring me to see them before they dart inside. I love that they have a safe place to abide when the dogs come by (sadly some not leashed by their owners), and I’m reminded of John 15:5 where we are encouraged to abide in Christ and trust only in Him for our safety.

As I walk I can gaze across the valley to a neighborhood on the mountainside where I know a family I dearly love is stirring and getting ready for their day, and I send a prayer their way. I can check out the snow melt on Pikes Peak and watch for approaching storms. I can greet the neighbors and strangers I meet and exchange pleasantries to brighten my day and theirs.

But most of all, as I walk I can praise God for the glorious creation around me, and for my physical ability to walk through it and enjoy it. I promise Him I will never take my walks for granted, because I know too many people unable to enjoy such simple satisfaction. Maybe I stick to the same route, but every walk is different. And I am grateful. Strike up the band!

Like several bloggers I follow, I’m slowing my pace this summer. I’m hoping for one post a month, with a promise to step it up in the fall.

Makin’ Our Way to Waco!

May 27, 2018 by Nancy 9 Comments

My friend Kathy and I loaded up and took off on a five-day road trip from Colorado Springs, CO, to Waco, TX. Fans of the HGTV show, Fixer Upper, we wanted to see for ourselves the silos, the suspension bridge, and the rolling green fields featured on TV.

We knew we liked the show, and thought its stars Chip and Joanna Gaines were just the greatest, but we weren’t at all prepared for our reaction the first time those silos came in to view. Parking in the lot by the astoundingly beautiful and historic First Baptist Church of Waco, we were like giddy school girls as we climbed out of the car.

Of course we wanted to shop at Magnolia Market, made famous by founders Chip and Joanna. Everyone had warned us the line to get in would wind around the block, but we arrived when the store first opened on a weekday and walked right in. Oh my! Beautifully merchandised shelves of enticing candles, mugs, and decorator items filled our senses, much like walking on to any set of Fixer Upper. If you love Joanna’s design style, this is heaven.

The temptation to buy at least one of everything was quelled when we looked at the prices however. So rather than buy the artificial magnolias for sale we took photos of the real magnolias in bloom all over town and inhaled their intoxicating aroma–a delightful pleasure for free!

We did wait in line at Silos Baking Co. for some of their acclaimed cupcakes and biscuits, but enjoyed visiting with other fans of the show while we waited. The next day we ate breakfast at Magnolia Table—a remodel of the old Elite Café where Elvis frequently ate when he was stationed at Fort Hood, TX. Treating ourselves to huge breakfasts that included French toast or pancakes and Texas Pecan coffee, we agreed the time we had to wait was definitely worth it—as was every calorie. And of course we shopped the attached gift shop until our spot at one of the community tables opened up.

So basically we did everything on offer from Chip and Joanna and their growing brand, Magnolia. We were delighted with our experiences, just as we’d expected, so no surprise there. What did surprise us was how much we fell in love with Waco itself.

Super model turned entrepreneur David Ridley established Waco-tours.com with friends, and no visit to Waco would be complete without climbing on to one of their air-conditioned Mercedes vans and letting a well-informed, entertaining guide tell you the rest of the story about Waco. Yes, we drove by some of the homes featured on different episodes of Fixer Upper (and some of the women in our van could cite season and episode for each one!), including the home and workshop of Clint Harp of Harp Design. (Fans of the show know he’s the one who builds beautiful tables for Joanna after she walks into his workshop with a big, “Hey, Clint!”) But we also drove by Lake Waco, through the impressive campus of Baylor University, and saw the confluence of the Brazos and Bosque rivers from lush Cameron Park.

Our guide entertained us with the legend of the park’s Lover’s Leap, where a young Native American couple are said to have jumped to their deaths just to be together forever. Once back on the bus, he led us in singing the similarly themed hit from the ‘60’s, “Running Bear,” complete with hand motions. Pure fun.

There’s so much authentic American history in Waco, and Kathy and I were impressed with how clean and well-kept the city was, as were the roadways we drove throughout Texas. We didn’t have time to visit the Dr. Pepper Museum (Dr. Pepper was invented in Waco!) or the Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum, but overall it was a fantastic trip. Think about makin’ your way to Waco for all things Magnolia…and more!

My Beau

April 25, 2018 by Nancy 24 Comments

He had me at hello. From the moment I took him out of the cage at the adoption center at PetSmart and he wrapped his front paws around my neck and snuggled his head under my chin, I knew he was my cat. What I didn’t know was that he was a one-woman cat, and I would be his woman.

At PetSmart his name was Jellybean, but that just didn’t seem to fit. I had gone cat shopping because I read an article that a solo cat might become depressed. I’d looked over at our cat, Molly, and assessed she was. What she needed was a beau! So Jellybean became Beau Brummett.

As it turned out, the two cats never really bonded, and truth be told, Beau bullied Molly a bit. But for 13 years they enjoyed one another’s company from a distance, established their own rules about whose couch was whose, and had a workable détente.

We had to let go of Beau three weeks ago, and I’m just now able to write about him. It’s been a heartbreaking loss, not just because I loved him, but because he loved me so completely and so unconditionally, and there was nothing I could do to save him. The third round of cancer was too much for all of us. He was only fourteen and a half so it seemed too soon to see him go, yet it was time.

This won’t be one of those tributes touting perfection, however. Beau’s biggest character flaw was that he was afraid of small children, possibly the victim of being carried around in a neck hold by a toddler before we adopted him. As a result, he was labeled “the mean cat” by all of our grandkids because if he couldn’t avoid them, he hissed at them. I know their parents wondered why we kept him around.

We did because of who he was the rest of time. Part Maine Coon, Beau came when called, was trainable, and loyal beyond description. He was the most excellent of cats in terms of his cat-like characteristics. Curious to a fault, he got shut up in the pantry more than once while checking out the supply of cat food. He would be the first to jump into an empty box and found Christmas boxes especially fascinating.

And he was a quick learner. Just one leap off the second-story deck in an attempt to catch a hummingbird and he decided not to do that again!

He was the most affectionate animal I’ve ever been around. Often he would come up to me and put his front paws on my legs, look up at me with those big golden eyes, and want me to pick him up. I was putty in his paws, so most of the time when I was home he was in my arms, perched over my shoulder, or on my lap—even when I was at the computer.

We had two official snuggle times, right before my husband Jim and I went to sleep and first thing in the morning. He never missed one of them, and usually waited in the hallway from about 9:30 PM on to remind me it was time to go snuggle. Any wonder my arms have felt achingly empty? (Jim reminds me that he is willing to snuggle any time, but apologizes for not being fuzzy enough!)

I don’t know what else to say. I miss him. It hurts. I’ve always been sensitive to the grief people feel when losing a pet, but will be even more so now. I don’t want to compare this in any way to the deeper grief of losing a family member or close friend, but I did lose a close and loving companion. No doubt about it.

I’ve cried my way through three PetSmarts and the Humane Society where I went just to visit the cats. I don’t know why. There isn’t a cat alive who could replace Beau, and I know that. Besides it’s too soon to even try to love another cat. Somehow I just had to look.

And while Molly won’t snuggle (please! she just can’t be bothered) her “personal assistant” purr-sonality has her following me all over the house, and she is blossoming now that the whole house is hers. We love her, too, and she deserves to be queen for a while.

When I was praying over Beau for healing, and yes I did, I heard the Lord remind me, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” To comfort me in my grief, He’s whispered, “Think of what a great gift he was to you, not what a great loss you feel now.” OK, Lord, I’ll try. But he was my buddy. My Beau.

To those readers who think they don’t like cats, may I say it’s just like any other bias. Get to know just one well, and you will change your opinion.

Carol, Agnes, and the Love of Purses

April 21, 2018 by Nancy 14 Comments

Once again I’m pleased to feature fellow LPC author Carol G. Heilman in my “Take My Hand Again” blog. Carol has written two books about the antics of Agnes Hopper, an assisted living resident who gets into all sorts of scrapes and situations. I thoroughly enjoyed meeting Agnes in Agnes Hopper Shakes Up Sweetbriar and look forward to catching up with her in Agnes Bets on Murder. (Find both at Amazon.com.) Meet Carol, and then enjoy her blog post about Agnes and her love of purses!

Meet Carol
Carol Heilman, a coal miner’s daughter, married her high school sweetheart, a farmer’s son. She began writing family stories, especially about her dad’s Appalachian humor, for newspapers and magazines. One day her mother said, “We don’t have any secrets anymore!” Her book series on Agnes Hopper (see above) was inspired by her mother’s spunky spirit and her dad’s humor. She has recently moved, along with her husband of fifty-plus years, from the mountains of NC to Charleston, SC. They love to play cards, go antiquing, hike, and visit grandsons on the east and west coasts.

The Love of Purses
Pocketbooks, handbags, purses–whatever you call them, they are essential items in most women’s wardrobes.

I have a collection of old ones that I hold dear. The largest tapestry one, as well as the tiny beaded one, belonged to my great grandmother. Mother’s oldest sister carried the soft black purse. I found the black one with the silver handle in an antique shop.

Agnes Marie Hopper, the main character in my books, also loves purses. She found her favorite, a red-leather one soft as a baby’s behind, in a garage sale. She carries it everywhere, even to the retirement home’s front porch where she rocks and knits and tries to straighten out her tangled thoughts.

Agnes always has a Cox Brothers Funeral Home fan resting in an outside pocket of her big purse. The small southern town of Sweetbriar can be sultry hot, just like that July day when she moved to The Manor. Only on that day, when she needed it the most, her fan had seemed to vanish.

Agnes once told her daughter, Betty Jo, “Every woman ought to have a rain bonnet, a fan, headache powder, and a clean hanky in her purse at all times.”

Do you have a favorite purse?
Why is it your favorite?
What does it look like?
Is it old or new?
What items do you think are essential to carry?