I Remember Mama

Do you recognize the title of this blog post?

If you do, you're over 30 or an old movie or early TV buff. I Remember Mama was a book first, then a movie, then a charming TV series.

It was the story of a Swedish family that immigrated to San Francisco early in the 20th century. If you haven't seen this move, rent it. It is all about how Mama--kind, good and wise--keeps her family together and loved.

I lost my mother over a year ago. Unfortunately the end of her life was nothing like the days I most treasure, the days when she was a young and loving mother. Dementia and its unpleasant side effects separated us at the end.

But today I want to remember Mama, the way I loved her.

My mother loved animals. Our house was always filled with them--some ours; some of the neighbors. It wasn't unusual to come home from school and find the house filled with all the pets on the block. We had turtles, ducks, fish, cats, dogs, a baby robin. (The robin's another story for another day.)

One special memory is the cat from down the street who obviously didn't trust her kittens with her owner. She had her kittens in her own home. But after a few hours after delivery, she carried each kitten one by one up the hill to our house. My mother "got" what the mama-cat wanted and set up a box with an old blanket in it. The cat nestled all three of her mewing kittens to that box and moved in. Once or twice a day, she would go down to her house and visit her owners but then she would come back to our house.

Our neighbor was not amused. But what could she do? When the kittens were old enough to give away, my mom found homes for them. And the mama-cat moved back to her owners.

One Christmas memory I have is of my first cat, a very large, a very loving tom who thought that we had put the Christmas tree up just for him. He climbed it every night!

And this was in the days of glass ornaments. Every night for three nights we woke up to CRASH!!!! We had to pick up the tree, sweep up the shattered glass ornaments and redecorate.

Now most moms would have banished the cat until the tree came down New Year's Eve.

Not my mom.

She put a cup hook in the all and tied a narrow rope to the tree. Then the cat could climb the tree and not knock it over. Now most moms would not have wanted a cup hook in her living room wall. But to my mom, the cat was more important than the wall.

Now I'm going to stop rambling for today. But drop by Thursday, New Year's Day and read about my mom's most unbelievable animal Christmas.

Blessings,
Lyn

Auld Lang Syne

The year 2008 is nearly spent. It has been a trying year for me. I decided not to listen to my own good sense and suffered 2 nasty falls and one bout with a crazed cat which resulted in infected hands (hard to type with!). I hope to listen to my own good common sense this year. That may be my only resolution. GRIN

I think most of you have realized that once we turn 21 years of age, every year goes by faster. I used to think that January was a long month. Now it's gone so quickly, I barely have time to complain.

Anyway, at the end of the year, I do look back and try to assess what I have accomplished in each year which will last. As Christians, we have a different view of this than those who don't see eternity as we do.

I am of course privileged to be a writer so I hope that a few of my words may have be a continuing blessing to some. Other than that I have tried to be a good friend, a good mother, a good wife. Our son is planning to marry this coming year and I hope I have begun my job as good mother in law, at least, in training.

Life demands so much of us all. That's what eats up the hours and days--busyness. I have no big words of wisdom that you haven't heard before. I only hope that this year I will be a blessing not a curse to those around me.

Have a safe and happy New Year's Eve.
Lyn

Merry Christmas!

Just in case you drop by
please do me a favor
and have a
VERY MERRY AND BLESSED
CHRISTMAS!!!

12 Days of Christmas!

Today, I'm going to suggest that you drop by http://www.craftieladiesofromance.blogspot.com and read my post on the 10th day of Christmas--a completely new version.

My topic is Ten Hunks a Strutting!

And of course only a strong man can appreciate a strong woman!

Drop by the other site and read the fun posts. And you could win $50!

Merry Christmas!
Lyn

The Strong Woman in Christ's Life

Today it's my turn to post. I hope you've read with interest the blogs of my friends over the past week as I did. And of course, we are all immersed in the Christmas season. A truly blessed time of the year.

And in the midst of all this, the birthdays of both my children occur. And both of them were over 9 lbs. at birth. Fortunately, I'm not a petite little woman. And evidently I have a very roomy womb. I was blessed with easy deliveries.

Anyway, both of the Decembers that I was expecting, the phrase "Mary was great with child" took on new, VIVID meaning to me. Believe me, a 9+lb baby qualifies as "great with child."

On a serious note, what always strikes me is Mary's wonderful expression of humility. When Gabriel gives her the news of God's plan for her life, her response is "Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word."

How lovely, how beautiful was her acceptance of God's plan for her life. What a weight to carry, to be the mother of the Messiah.

In my own life, I've found that responding to any situation with humility is a win-win for me. Pride always brings embarassment and trouble. In this hectic season, it's wise to remember Mary's humble attitude. Often families who have hurting members come together and the prickly emotions of past hurt and jealousy can spark disagreements.

So remember, Mary's example of humility and call on the help of the Holy Spirit to keep this sacred holiday filled with love and joy. It's takes two to make a fight and a soft word turneth away wrath.

Don't let the past destroy your present joy in celebrating Christ's birth.

Make your Christmas Merry!

An Inspiring Story of a Strong Woman and the Power of Love

Anna Schmidt who also writes for Love Inspired has been a long time writing friend. I was so happy when she accepted my invitation to write about a strong woman who inspired her. This story brought tears to my eyes and I hope it may touch you deeply too.

"I could not have been more delighted when Lyn invited me to stop by her blog and post my thoughts on STRONG WOMEN BRAVE STORIES. The problem I ran into was trying to choose which woman in my life – fictional or real – to write about! I have been so privileged to be surrounded by many strong women throughout my life – women who have inspired me and given me the courage to face whatever came my way. Women who have become the models for my heroines.

My latest book, MISTLETOE REUNION is the story of a marriage that has come apart – ended actually. And in many ways as I wrote that story I was thinking of my oldest sister, Patsy. Patsy is more than a decade older than I am and her life in so many ways has been far more challenging than my own. Without going into details I have watched (and hopefully supported her) as she faced a devastating divorce, three grown children each with problems that tested her patience and her financial reserves, the need to work and attend graduate school so she could build a career in teaching in order to support herself (and those children), years that should have been her time to explore her dreams and follow her adventures when she put it all on hold for others, and then finally the diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease. As the disease took hold, she was forced to give up her home and move into a care center. For awhile she was able to maintain herself independently within that community, but then she suffered a series of falls – leading to head trauma and brain injury. Today she lives in a nursing center, spends her days in a wheelchair and has reached the point where she must be fed, dressed and otherwise attended by others. The falls robbed her of her ability to make sense of things, recognize people, state her needs.

And yet…

Because I live half a country away from her, my visits are infrequent (and speaking to her via phone or e-mail is not possible). So when I go to visit – as I did several weeks ago – I always prepare myself for the possibility that she will not know me. This was such a visit. It was clear to me that she was drawn to me, but could not put to mind exactly who I was. And yet we had a wonderful visit. We shared laughter and conversation (much of it making little sense). But as I looked past the gibberish into the eyes and the smile and the mischievous little grin that has always been her trademark, I knew that whatever the outer shell might be saying to others, my sister was in there. They brought her tray and I prepared to feed her, but an aide warned, “She won’t let you do that. She only lets us feed her.” The spoon was already halfway to Patsy’s lips so I went ahead and offered it. She took a bite. I asked if she wanted to try some milk. She nodded. And step by step we shared a connection through the simple act of one sister feeding the other. At the end of the meal when I had to leave I took out a piece of Godiva chocolate I had been saving for her. I offered it to her and the expression on her face when she tasted that delectable treat after the bland tastelessness of her regular fare was priceless. I laughed. She laughed. And she looked at me then and said, “So, what’s Larry been up to?”

Larry is my husband.

She knew me – maybe for only an instant – but an instant can be enough. I told her about a fishing trip my husband and I had shared. She laughed and when I left and bent to kiss her forehead, tears leaked down her cheeks – as they always do every time I visit her – whether she knows me or not. This is my sister – a strong woman whose story did not end as happily ever after as MISTLETOE REUNION does, but a brave woman who has faced incredible challenges and can still laugh, still relish the sweet taste of chocolate, still reassure her little sister with a look, a comment and tears when parting. My holiday wish for all of you is that you cherish the women in your life who, like Patsy, have made you stronger and braver. They are indeed the best possible gift! Happy holidays! Anna Schmidt

Drop by http://www.eharlequin.com and enter Anna's name and read an excerpt of her latest Love Inspired romance.--Lyn

Cheryl St John and Anne Bradstreet

Today, one of my writer friends, Cheryl St John, has chosen to write about the first American woman writer. Cheryl is a multi-published, award-winning author who is one of the founders of www.PetticoatsandPistols.com, a very lively, authoritative and fun site devoted to the American West in its glory days. If you haven't visited, please drop by. Now for Cheryl's post.

"My choice of a strong woman in our history--Anne Bradstreet.

Though Anne Bradstreet is known as the first woman to have had a book published in the United States, it’s most likely there were others before her, but none recognized as written by women.

English -born Anne was the daughter of Thomas Dudley, steward to the earl of Lincoln, and she grew up in the cultured surroundings of Tattershall Castle. Though theirs was a strictly religious household, her father, a Nonconformist, educated her himself, as well as having her tutored in history, several languages and literature–highly unusual for a female. More fortunate than other girls, Anne had access to the castle library. Anne married when she was sixteen. Yikes! We can hardly conceive of it, but it was common practice. Simon Bradstreet’s father had been a Puritan minister, and Simon remained in the care of the Dudleys after his father’s death.

Two years later in 1630, the entire family made the arduous journey to New England in hopes of setting up plantation colonies. With a husband and father of status in the new colonies, Anne held a visible position of status. What with climate, lack of food and primitive conditions, life was far more difficult than in jolly old England. A second bout of smallpox left Anne with paralyzed joints, though she raised eight children and ran a household. Simon often traveled to other colonies, leaving her to read, educate her children, and write poetry.

Anne’s brother-in-law, John Woodbridge, secretly copied her work and took it to England where he had “The Tenth Muse Lately Sprung Up in America, By a Gentlewoman of Those Parts” published. It was a tribute to her childhood and what she’d left behind. Her mature work was never published until after her death.

Cultural bias toward women was common in her time–a woman’s place was in the home. Period. Women were intellectual inferiors. Critics thought Anne stole her ideas from men, and her writing was criticized because of her gender. The public had a harsh reaction to her role as a female writer. When the book was released, the idea that she was a virtuous women had to be stressed. Her brother-in-law even wrote: “By a Gentle Women in Those Parts” on the title page to assure readers that Anne didn’t neglect her duties as a Puritan woman in order to write. He saw the need to clarify that she found time for her poetry by sacrificing sleep and using what little leisure time she had. I’m probably not the only wife/mother/author who can identify with that! We can see the anger that Bradstreet felt toward criticism in the following lines:

I am obnoxious to each carping tongue
Who says my hand a needle better fits;
A poet’s pen all scorn I should thus wrong,
For such despite they cast on female wits.
If what I do prove well, it won’t advance;
They’ll say it’s stol’n, or else it was by chance.

There were other women writers during the early years in the colonies, those who wrote poems and essays that have been preserved as part of American culture, but Anne is known as the first American female poet. It’s likely that other women’s work was published anonymously or with a male pseudonym. It’s estimated that one third of all the American novels written up to 1820 were by women authors.

It’s interesting to realize that Anne wrote in a time and a culture when a woman seeking knowledge was considered against God’s will. Her writing reveals her faith, her devotion to God, and to her husband and family, but it also shows that she was a freethinker and probably one of the first feminists. Recurring themes in her poems were love for her husband and pleas with God to watch over her children and husband. Anne developed tuberculosis and died at the age of sixty.

In looking for paintings or drawings of Anne, these two recurred. One is actually labeled as a painting of Anne Bradstreet, the other, which is often used with her biography is a Rembrandt, titled, “A Woman With A Pink.” I couldn’t find information to substantiate that this was indeed a portrait of Anne Bradstreet, though both she and the famous painter were alive during this time period. It’s certainly possible. If anyone knows, I’d love to hear.

We may have come a long way, baby, but women’s writing still gets less respect than that of our male counterparts. We are the relationship storytellers who keep love and romance alive, and it’s what makes the world go ‘round. Though our genre holds the biggest piece of the publishing pie, many still turn up their nose at fiction written by women for women. Only a few years ago, women suspense writers wrote under male pseudonyms to be published. At least we’re reviewed on the merit of our work, and not because we’re women!

Hats off to Anne Bradstreet, a forward thinking woman who paved the way for women writers! If Anne were here today, what would you like to ask her?

Cheryl St.John

Romancing the West: http://petticoatsandpistols.com/

Her Captain's Heart

I don't know if any of you have noticed but Christmas is ALMOST HERE!

I always try to keep my focus on the true meaning of Christmas, God's gift of His Son to this dark world.

But I love all the holiday fun too.

I want to let you know about another way you can have some holiday fun.

Another Love Inspired author Margaret Daley has come up with her version of The Twelve Days of Christmas. Tomorrow drop by www.craftieladiesofromance.blogspot.com
and join in the fun and a chance to win $50 for taking part.

I'd also like to invite all of you to the www.eharlequin.com Holiday Open House on this Thursday the 11th. Here is the link to join in the fun all day on Thursday.

http://community.eharlequin.com/forums/cafe-social/2008-eharlequincom-open-house-author-list

If you want to participate in a Live Chat: 7pm-10pm

Drop by the eHarlequin.com Community Chat Room: http://chat.eharlequin.com/

I plan to drop into the chat right at the beginning for about a half hour. There will be many book giveaways all day and during chats.

BTW, two copies of my first Love Inspired Historical will be given away during the chat. It's released today.

Most of you know that I've been a long time Love Inspired author and I am thrilled that LI now has a historical line.

My book is titled Her Captain's Heart and is the first in my Gabriel Sisters series which will be released one each December starting this year and finishing in 2010.

These three sisters, Verity, Felicity, and Mercy, live in the turbulent period after the Civil War and do their best to try to bind up the wounds of the injured nation both North and South. If you have a heart for children, you will love the first, Verity's story.

Now for the strong women to be featured today. This is Verity's day and if you read her story, you'll know she qualifies as a Strong Woman.

Maureen Lang and Bess

Today I have the pleasure of hosting Maureen Lang, a great Tyndale author who lives in my home county in Illinois, Lake County which on the east borders Lake Michigan. I had the opportunity to endorse Maureen's outstanding story, Oak Leaves.
A memorable and compelling story.

Please welcome Maureen Lang as she tells her story of a Strong Woman!


When Lyn presented the idea to post an article about a strong woman, I thought it would be so easy to introduce readers to one of the heroines from my books. After all, they’re supposed to be strong. If they don’t start out that way, hopefully by the end of the story they’ve grown into someone who’s faced and conquered more than they ever thought they could endure.

But instead I’d like to tell you about my grandmother—a real person rather than one of the make-believe people performing scenes in my head. Do you know what makes a person strong? As the Bible says, it’s testing by fire.

My grandmother came from good American stock. When I was young she told me her family had left Ireland so many years ago one ancestor or another had fought in the Revolutionary War. She also said one of her forebears had been a mail-order bride from Scotland, another story I’d like to explore some day.

My grandmother Elizabeth (Bess as she was called) was born in 1894. The first fire Bess faced was at the young age of seven. Her mother became sick with TB, and one day Bess’s father, a country pastor, dressed in his preaching suit even though it wasn’t Sunday. He told Bess to comb her hair and put on her best dress, too, so she could say good-by properly to her mother. After doing that (combing her hair the best her seven-year old hands could do), her father pressed two silver dollars into her little palm and then took Bess to her mother. She was already gone on to Heaven. It was Bess who put the coins on her eyes, to hold down the eyelids she was told.

Bess’s sixteen year old sister helped to care for her until a few months later when she, too, became ill with TB and died, leaving Bess with her father and brother. Not long after that, two women from her father’s church came for a grim visit: they told him it wasn’t proper for a young girl to be raised in a household of only men, and they’d found a school that would take in girls. And so at seven years old Bess was sent away, to be raised by Episcopalian nuns. She was to see her father and brother only on Sundays for family day.

Bess was well educated there and grew up to marry. As a young woman she lived through the Great War and the Great Depression, bore two boys and a girl. When her daughter was six years old she woke up to another day only to become ill in a matter of hours. My frantic grandmother took her little girl to the local hospital and after waiting and waiting for help, the doctor finally saw them. But Bess was told there was nothing they could do. Her daughter died soon after the doctors examined her, a victim of what she was told to be 7-hour pneumonia. Bess continued to hold her daughter, and the staff was so busy they left her there for many hours, until she cried herself to sleep. As the family story goes, that’s when my grandmother’s dark brown hair turned the pure white she had for the rest of her life.

Bess gave birth to a third son not long after that, but when a woman brought a paternity suit against Bess’s husband demanding he support her and his child, Bess divorced him despite social condemnation. She raised three rambunctious boys on her own, all of whom became hardworking and honest, responsible members of society. Each of them entered the armed forces and she watched them march off to fight in the Second World War. By then Bess had a choice of two men who wanted to marry her, and she chose a First World War veteran who worked as a fine tool blacksmith. But before they could be married he was recruited by Uncle Sam to go to the Panama Canal Zone to work on everything from medical to ship equipment aboard warships passing through the Canal. He reported for duty immediately and Bess soon followed—after a series of nasty shots and medical precautions against malaria. They were married by an American judge in Panama City. For four years they lived there, while one of her sons, my father, was taken Prisoner of War by the Japanese in the Philippines. Bess was given only scant knowledge of what he went through after that initial death march for the three and a half years of his captivity until the end of the war.

Bess and her husband made it back to the Midwest just in time to welcome him home after the camp he’d been held at in Mukden, Manchuria was liberated.

By the time I came along my grandmother was quite settled, still happily married to her retired blacksmith, and living near her three sons. Thinking back on my childhood I have few regrets, but one of them was that I never sat still long enough to listen to more of her stories. She died at age 89, having lived a full and interesting life, tested by the fires that made her strong.

Maureen

Maureen Lang is the author of several novels, including Pieces of Silver (a Christy Finalist) and The Oak Leaves (a Holt Award of Merit recipient). Her books are both historical and contemporary and always include an element of romance with the promise of a happy ending. Her newest book is titled My Sister Dilly, the story of two sisters who survive mistakes and guilt and find redemption after one sister makes a terrible mistake that sends her to prison. Readers can see a trailer about the book at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5impgRmCNCk

Maureen Lang www.maureenlang.com
http://maureenlang.blogspot.com/
Latest release: My Sister Dilly, Tyndale

Sandra Byrd's story, Finding Strength in God

It's Tuesday and today, Sandra Byrd one of my fave authors shares about her story and her latest novel, Bon Appetit.

I’d never thought of myself as a particularly strong girl – I couldn’t pass the presidential fitness award due to my poor showing on the flexed arm-hang – but as I grew into a young woman, and then a woman, my idea of what a strong woman was grew, too. I began to see evidence of strength in my friends, and even in myself, though the form it took in each of us was often very different. In my life, strength began to manifest itself as a willingness to take risk.

Being willing to take a risk, take a chance, means that you’re willing to be and look imperfect, to fall on your face in the pursuit of chasing something new, of understanding that you will never keep a perfect 4.0 in life. Why not? Because you’re constantly trying something you haven’t mastered - but would like to. When I went to college I went on a writing scholarship, but when I got there I panicked. Who gets published, hardly anyone! I thought. And I’ll have a student loan to pay back nevermind bills to pay. I promptly changed my major to something safe and lucrative – business real estate.

I liked real estate. I still do. But I didn’t love it, and hadn’t changed because I wanted to; I changed because I was unwilling to risk failure in writing, and because of good old fashioned fear. But God got me around to where I needed to be anyway. I went to work for a real estate publisher. And then became an editor. One day I’d told God that I really still wanted to write…but the odds! He whispered to me, do you lean on odds or God? I jumped into the water and found that it was fine.

My latest series, French Twist, is for lovers of romance, of food, of life, of France. The books, Let Them Eat Cake, and Bon Appétit are for women who want to take a risk, at any time in their lives, to follow their passion and do what they love. It’s for, and about, a woman who is willing to politely set aside the expectations that others have for her life and figure out how God has created her. I still can’t do the flexed arm hang. But I’m living a very satisfying life.

Please visit me at www.sandrabyrd.com to learn m ore about the books, and to email me about how risk taking (or lack thereof!) has affected your life, too.

--
Sandra