Sometimes I struggle to smile and find the joy in life. I mean, we are living in a crazy time, aren’t we.
Is it just me or do you feel the same?
This past weekend, my family got a little lesson in joy.
Continue reading “Time For A Little Joy …”Tag: Cozy Mystery
The Winters of Our Discontented Spring
Ahhh …. The joy of spring. You know what I’m talking about, right?
- The stuffy nose
- The sinus headaches (Every. Single. Day.)
- The sneezing
- The coughing (until you gag—which I’ve done since I was a child)
- The not sleeping at night because you can’t breathe
Spring … we wait all winter for spring to get here and then it makes us miserable. Unless, of course, you’re one of the fortunate who don’t suffer from allergies.
But, let’s talk about Spring in the South, shall we?
Continue reading “The Winters of Our Discontented Spring”Two Travelers and a Rodent
My husband and I have spent over a year becoming lazy, good-for-nothing couch potatoes. But, this didn’t happen just because we’re lazy and a couple of good-for-nothings …
Continue reading “Two Travelers and a Rodent”Christmas Without Jesus
After weeks of shopping, decorating, cleaning and cooking, Christmas 2023 is over. It came and went in what felt like five minutes. All that remains are a few leftovers still hanging out in the fridge, one stocking someone flung under the tree, the satisfaction of holiday success and the dreaded “un-decorating” of the house.
But, it was a great Christmas with family and friends. And once I settled my anxiety over the necessities of hosting, there was actual enjoyment.
This year, during the last few days before Christmas, I became aware our son had begun playing tricks with my nativity … specifically with the baby Jesus … the baby Jesus I hadn’t planned on putting out this year.
Let me explain.
Each Christmas our fireplace mantle displays a painting of the nativity and is covered in garland with angels, bells and shimmering trees. My decorations include a large nativity with animals, shepards and wise men on the entryway table. But this year, instead of the nativity on the table, I put out snowmen, candles, snowy scenes with little Christmas trees and glittery, festive baubles everywhere. My decorations looked lovely and Christmassy.
Then a friend commented about going to a Christmas parade and not seeing a single float that depicted the reason for the season, not even the church floats included a nativity. It was all holiday, holiday holiday, but nothing “Christ”-mas.
I stopped in my tracks, looked around at my own decorations, and despite the nativity painting on my mantle, I knew I must make my Christmas décor highlight the true meaning of Christmas, so out came Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. Phew! Christmas crisis averted.
But then the games began …
I first noticed my nativity looked jostled. Mary or Joseph would be turned, looking across the room, not at the baby. Baby Jesus would be out of place. I was always readjusting them. Then one morning, it happened, baby Jesus was gone! There was Mary and Joseph gazing lovingly down at absolutely nothing.
My panic and search resulted in finding baby Jesus on top of the refrigerator. Knowing my son, I now understood the mystery.
That was only the beginning of this game. It became a daily hunt for baby Jesus. I found him with the snowmen. On the mantle. Under the tree. Even my husband became a “mover”. My guys were having way too much fun messing with me.
But I always found baby Jesus. He was never far away and I realized there was something to learn in our little family game … if you seek Him, you will find Him.
Christmas has become a season of apprehension. We fret over gifts, food, and decorating. Rushing to this event or that concert. These are all wonderful things but, when do we find time to fit Jesus into our holiday calendar?
Our little family game may seem silly, but it emphasized the importance of putting Jesus into every moment of the season. And even if we lose sight of him, he’s never far away. We will always find him.
Without Jesus, Christmas is just another holiday. Just another day off work or school. Without Jesus, Christmas has no real joy, no real reason for the season.
Christmas without Jesus? No thank you! I will seek Him and I will find Him.
Birds In A Windmill
I recently read a story from a man who grew up on a farm with a working windmill. Occasionally, they would turn the windmill’s power off for an extended period of time and birds would build nests in the ironwork.
As a young boy, his father sent him out early one spring to check the windmill before returning its power. He found an elaborate nest made completely from wire that a bird had apparently scrounged for over a few summers. But she built her nest in a hazardous location and it had to be removed.
Birds in a windmill … that got me thinking.
Continue reading “Birds In A Windmill”Windmill in the Tempest
Abigail Mason was haunted for years by the mystery of why the windmill survived the storm … until she learned that God provided a Windmill in the Tempest.
1935, The Great Plains, Nebraska
Rotating darkness loomed above them, throwing jagged streaks of light to the ground. Wind swirled and rain began to strike her cheeks as they raced to the barn.
“Don’t stop, Abigail.” Her father’s voice rang above the raging storm. “Hailstones are a comin’. Move, girl! Move!” Fred Mason slid the barn doors open, pushed his wife through and grabbed Abby’s arm. “Let’s go. Get down the ladder.”
She watched her father struggle to slide the massive doors closed. He turned to see her standing behind him. “Get down that ladder now, Abigail.”
“What about Emma, Daddy?”
“Her pa’ll get her to where it’s safe. There’s no time … ladder now!” He snapped his fingers and pointed down.
The pale face of Abby’s mother beckoned, and her thin arms reached for her daughter. Moments later their little family huddled in the dark, dreary underground room. Wrapped in her mother’s arms, Abby heard the near silent whispers.
Deep, pleading prayers. Please, dear Lord, calm the storm. Protect us. Mercy, Jesus, mercy.
Abigail Mason, now ten years old, remembered two previous times her family ran from an oncoming twister. Thrust into this room again, the roaring manifestation of the approaching tornado engulfed her. Helen Mason’s prayers morphed into screams above the seismic waves underneath them as the merciless twister advanced.
Abby heard her own screams, too. She couldn’t stop them. Fear forced them from deep within her.
Fred Mason’s arms wrapped around Abby and her mother. “Dear, God. Dear, God,” were the only words he seemed to find. Abby squeezed her eyes tight shut and gripped her mother’s blouse.
Then, the calming dissipation. The roar quietened. Wind ceased. An eerie silence surrounded them. Except for … what? A creaking? An ominous squeaking and scraping.
“What is that Daddy?”
“It’s the windmill, Abigail. The windmill.”
1965, The Blue Ridge Mountains, North Carolina
Abby Mason awoke screaming, plagued by the same dream for thirty years. Running from the tornado, the roar, the earth shaking … then nothing. The dream held onto its secrets, refusing to unmask more memories of the aftermath. It would relinquish only the sound of the squeaking windmill.
The tornado took everything but the windmill. Even the barn above them was left in splinters. She knew, not because she remembered, but because her daddy had told her again and again about that day.
The squeaking windmill snatched her from sleep night after night. But why? Why wouldn’t the haunted sound of that windmill leave her alone?
Remember Abby. You’ve got to remember.
What was she doing before her daddy rushed toward her and pushed her into the barn? With eyes closed, Abby pressed fingers against her temples and tried to envision those moments in her mind. She was at the windmill. She wasn’t supposed to play around the windmill, but she and Emma loved to play there—
Emma! Emma had been playing at the windmill with her. What happened to Emma?
Abby grabbed her phone off the nightstand and dialed her mother’s number. Her daddy passed away two years ago, but maybe her mother would remember.
Or not. Helen Mason had been left a traumatic mess following the storm. Twenty people died that day. Had Emma been one of them?
“Momma?” Abby said after her mother’s panicked greeting at a call that hour of the morning. “What happened to Emma? Did the tornado take her? Was she one of the dead?”
“Let’s not talk about that day. There was so much hurt and loss. Are you still having the dreams?”
“Momma, I remembered I was playing with Emma at the windmill before daddy forced me to the barn. What happened to her? You have to tell me.”
“Oh, baby girl.” Abby’s mother sighed. “Your daddy saw the two of you playing. He yelled to Emma’s pa and they both started runnin’. Your daddy grabbed you and he thought Emma’s pa was behind him. After the storm … goodness the destruction … we found little Emma holdin’ on to the windmill tower. Her parents didn’t make it, Abigail.”
“Emma was alive?”
“Yes, praise God. It was a miracle she survived. Emma went to live with her aunt and uncle. I couldn’t stay there, Abby, so we moved away.”
“The tornado took everything except the windmill … and Emma.”
1966, Key West, Florida
Laughter rose from a corner table in a cafe on the historic seaport. The dreams were gone now, and though it took almost a year, Abby found Emma.
“Oh Emma, it’s wonderful to see you and hear all about your adventures.”
Emma wiped a tear that slid down her cheek. “My life’s been a roller coaster of story after story. But God has taken me many places, opened doors to share his goodness, and he’s blessed me. That old windmill may have haunted you, Abby, but like a ram in the thicket, God kept that windmill standing to deliver me from the storm.”
Abby took Emma’s hand. “Yes, Emma. God provided a windmill in the tempest.”
“Then Abraham looked up and saw a ram caught by its horns in the thicket.” ~ Genesis 22:13
“Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.” ~ Isaiah 41:10
Move Over, Martha Stewart
Just kidding. I am no domestic diva. Martha Stewart has nothing to fear. Now, my husband? Well, he did vow for better or for worse.
Even though I hate to cook—and let me emphasis hate—my awesome husband would say I’m a great cook. Then again, he is stuck with me for life, so …
On the whole, weekends at my house are wonderful. Friday night is date night, followed by Saturday morning breakfast at my favorite coffee shop, complete with gingerbread lattes all year, not just the holidays. Our family makes an event of weekend sports … on the field and in front of the TV … and we enjoy them together with our favorite take-out food. Weekends equal no cooking, and that’s a win for everyone.
I muddle through the weekdays dreading the three o’clock hour when I’m forced to ask myself that age old question: “What am I going to fix for supper?”
Recipes are not the problem. I have a million. (okay, that might be an exaggeration) With Pinterest, Facebook, and food blogs all over the internet—information that Professor Google will find lighting fast—I have plenty of options. But there’s another problem …
Grocery shopping. Yeah, I hate that, too. Dinner time is a scramble to defrost something, gather ingredients, and pray everything is still in date.
For me, it’s inevitable. I decide what dinner is going to be, begin preparation … and it happens. Something vital to my recipe is out of date. I close my eyes, breathe a desperate “please” and then, “Yes”! It’s a “BEST BY” date, not an expiration date! (come on, I can’t be the only one!)
On our way to church a few weeks ago, that phrase made its way into my thoughts. Best By. It occurred to me that perhaps I have reached my Best By date. Still usable but, maybe I should step back and let those in their prime do the teaching, the singing, and the leading. Sure, I could stay ready to step up when there’s a temporary need to be filled.
Best by…
We age and begin to notice changes, aches and pains. But God does not put us out to pasture. He makes that clear in His word.
“Even in old age they will still produce fruit; they will remain vital and green.” ~Psalms 92:14
“Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day.” ~2 Corinthians 4:16
No, God does not stamp us with a Best By date. Our usefulness has no expiration date. It’s in Him that we “live and move and have our being.” (Acts 17:28)
“I will praise the Lord as long as I live. I will sing praises to my God with my dying breath.” ~Psalms 146:2
We never stop serving. We never stop loving. We never stop … period.
The world may want to retire us and put us in the back seat as we age, but it’s no mystery that God never calls it quits for us.
Walk through every door He opens. Step up each time He calls. God will strengthen and give the tools needed to accomplish whatever He calls us to … no matter our age.
“But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” ~Isaiah 40:31
Christmas … Where are you?
Nothing says “Christmas” more than screaming kids, crowded malls, angry faces, and my personal favorite … traffic. Ah yes, the joy of Christmas wrapped up in stress, debt, exasperation, and exhaustion.
Oh Christmas … Where are You?
Someone on Facebook asked, “What is your most memorable Christmas?” One from my childhood jumped to mind.
As a band geek from fifth grade, Christmas parades were a big part of the holidays for our family. Back in ancient times, when I was a kid, our town’s Christmas parade was on Thanksgiving night. Year after year, Mom and Dad would rush me to the band room, I’d march in the parade and afterward we would go back to my aunt’s house for dinner with the leftovers from lunch. Such grand memories!
The flute was my instrument of choice, and all I wanted before starting high school was a piccolo. I mean, the cool flute players had piccolos for marching season and I had to have one too. I asked and asked for a piccolo for Christmas, but feared it wouldn’t happen. Finances were tight and instruments were expensive, but a part of me thought maybe, just maybe.
Christmas Eve came and our family attended the annual midnight candlelight service at church, then home to bed. My parents put our “Santa” presents under the tree after we were asleep, so we’d wake up and rush to the tree with all the anticipation a kid feels on Christmas morning. But this Christmas I woke up in the middle of the night. I just couldn’t wait and slipped to the tree for a peek. And there it was … a piccolo! I could have screamed from the excitement.
I took that piccolo into my bedroom, and there, hidden in the dark, I softly blew air through the precious instrument with an unspeakable thrill. I got it! I actually got my piccolo!
I never told my parents what I had done. Never told them I already knew they made my dream come true before we ran to the tree that Christmas morning. If they knew, they never said a word to me. But that piccolo was a great investment. I played it through high school, college, years of church music ministry, and still play it to this day.
Grown now, with a son of my own, I understand the sacrifice my parents made to get that piccolo. Sacrifice isn’t a word we like to use, especially at Christmas. Christmas is a time of extravagance, not sacrifice, right? It may have become more about indulgence, but that’s not where we’ll find Christmas.
Christmas is life, joy, twinkling lights, and laughter topped off with scents of the season. Christmas is the carols we sing only once a year. Christmas is the hugs and love we can physically feel and remember from loved ones who have passed.
But the true meaning? Christmas is Jesus
I’ve struggled the last few years to find joy in the season. We all have, haven’t we. But there is joy—real joy and blessings beyond all we can ask or think in knowing Jesus and his great love for us.
Christmas, where are you?
Christmas is where it’s always been … there in the manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes. Jesus … born to be the greatest gift of all. Jesus … come to be light, life, and joy. Jesus … come to bring salvation.
So, let’s light that Christmas tree. Let’s sing those Christmas carols at the top of our lungs. Let’s fill our homes with memories around those we love—and tell them we love them.
Are you looking for Christmas? Celebrate Jesus. Because Jesus is where we will always find Christmas.
Closing the Gap
One moment can change your life forever. The mystery is navigating your next steps.
It all started on a cold November evening… but, let’s not go there.
January 2019 began with a bang. I made a major move to Colorado, and this little southern girl was in for the ride of her life—part good, part bad. It was uphill. It was downhill. Perilous one day, victorious the next.
Okay, okay, you get it. Moving on…
In a nutshell, 2019 was the best and the worst. The move to Colorado was an amazing moment in life full of hard truth, restoration, reconciliation and healing for my husband and me. Through it all, I’ve learned to live with a grateful heart for the smallest of blessings.
Continue reading “Closing the Gap”Who Put The Dog In My Cozy?
It’s a well known fact that dogs are the best, smartest, best – oops, I already said best – greatest animals on the planet. (FYI -it won’t do you any good to argue this point with me)
Dogs are so awesome they can even solve crimes! K9 units play a vital role along side law enforcement in the investigation of criminal activity. Continue reading “Who Put The Dog In My Cozy?”
Cozy Intrigue ~ Janet Campbell 