Chesed

Could I host all these giveaways without doing one of our book? I thought not.

Marital Bliss with a kiss of Reality:



“Michelle and Christy are sisters and best friends. They got married only two and a half months apart and were each others main support as they soared and dragged through the first year. Six months into marriage, they were ecstatically happy, but also surprised by the nitty gritty work of marriage and their raging emotions.

“I wonder why everyone smiles and pretends newlywed life is perfect?” we wondered. Were we the only ones who found marriage, a new community, and a new family to be a little less than pure bliss? Thankfully we had a few friends who were honest with us and confirmed that they too were faced with a steep learning curve.
In one of our many emails detailing our new lives Michelle first wrote the words that would change our outlook, sparetime, and marriages, “We should write a book!”

Christy’s words were somewhere along the profound, “Ha! Ha! Yeah, we should.”

“No, I’m serious. I think there are more people out there who are having a tough time with this even if they’re not admitting it.”

“And how would we survive without each other?”

“Exactly.”

Chapters flew back and forth. Well, not exactly. Sometimes Michelle spit out a few chapters as Christy hunkered over her keyboard hoping to eek out one. There was a lot of editing. Slashing paragraphs. Adding concepts. Phone calls for inspiration.

Then we wrote up a survey–partially to be sure we and our few friends weren’t a few ill-adjusted women, partially to judge the amount of interest in a book of this type, and mainly because we needed more wisdom than the sum of our own. The response to the surveys was indescribable. As soon as we’d get one in the mail, we called each other, “I GOT ONE!!!!!” and we’d sit and read to each other. To say we were overwhelmed by the response, the eagerness, and mostly the encouragement would be an understatement. Friends copied their surveys and sent them to friends. In all there were nearly a hundred. (And the paper copies are still stashed under my bed! -c.)
After we sent out the surveys there was no turning back. It was no longer a fuzzy dream or a half-hearted asspiration. Because now people knew. From there it was a looooooooooooong process. More writing. Discouragement. Silence. Then one of us would feel slightly inspired and say, “We need to work on the book again.”

More often than we wanted to hear it, friends would ask, “How’s the book coming?” We’d cringe and make another effort at writing.

Sometimes we made goals. Michelle was pregnant for the first time. “We should finish the book before my baby is born.”

Friends asked, “Will the book be done by the time I get married?”

“No,” we said. “It will be done in time for your daughter’s wedding.”

Finally after a few years of on and off writing, we had a book. From there we edited. Cut this. Added that. Retyped. Edited. Sent it off for typesetting. Did the final edit, or so we thought. More changes. More edits. More changes. More “final” edits. Publishing questions. Cover design. More editing.

And finally one day, nearly eight years after we began and six years after Michelle’s baby was born, we held a book in our hands.

A real, true, genuine book.

We hope you will find it the same.”

(copied from the “About” page on our book’s website)

You can see a bit of the inside of the book here.

To order your own copy: visit this page

or find it on Amazon

or you can email me directly at smilesbymiles{at}gmail{dot}com
Mention the giveaway and I will give you free shipping!

And for a gift basket idea check this page.

If you have someone on your Christmas list who has gotten married in the last year, I think she’d love to find this book in her Christmas gift pile!

Same rules … because I’m sure by now you’re tired of reading them. So skip on down and enter if you’ve been in the previous giveaways.

And if you haven’t been: To enter, leave a comment on this xanga post. You can earn a second entry by linking to facebook or your blog. Come back and leave a second comment telling me you did so. If you do not comment with a xanga or facebook identity, please check back when the giveaway ends or leave your email address so that I can get the books to you.

Giveaway ends Thursday, December 8th.

Good Luck!
*************This giveaway is now closed!*****************

If this isn’t a lucky one, I don’t know what is. The famous Dorcas Smucker is giving away not one book, but all THREE of the books she wrote. I LOVE the way Dorcas takes the most ordinary things and wraps them up in words that make you laugh one minute and notice minute details the next. There are interesting snippets from her girl days growing up amish and tons of stories of current days with her fascinating family of six kids. I LOVE the way she raises respectful, free-spirited, intelligent, creative thinkers and I wish I were more like her … even as I’m shuddering thinking of orange pop specks all over MY kitchen ceiling.

Her writing is a fine mesh of story-telling, introspection and humor. And oh, the stories she tells.

Here are the words from the back cover of Ordinary Days.

“Imagine raising six spirited kids on a grass farm. Today. That’ll test any mama’s strength.
Newspaper columnist Dorcas Smucker and her brood live out their days in full view in this collection of musings — picking blueberries while watching for bears, hoping for angels off the nearby freeway, moving into the thousand story house, enduring 15-year-old Matt’s lecture on respect while captive in the car. Then there was the four-week road trip, which, Dorcas says, “my sister-in-law warned me would be like putting your whole family in the bathroom and staying there for three days.”

One person will win one copy of each of her books:
Ordinary Days
Upstairs the Peasants are Revolting
Downstairs the Queen is knitting



To enter, leave a comment on this xanga post. You can earn a second entry by linking to facebook or your blog. Come back and leave a second comment telling me you did so. If you do not comment with a xanga or facebook identity, please check back when the giveaway ends or leave your email address so that I can get the books to you. Giveaway ends Thursday, December 8th.

And just for fun …..

These books are perfect for any one really, but I’ve chosen to fix a fictitious gift basket for a mom in the throes of morning sickness. Not for the mom who is curled up into a fetal ball with her eyes squinched shut whenever she’s not heaving over the toilet, but for the mom who is sick, lying on the sofa a lot, and just miserable inbetween the trips to throw up. Because each chapter is it’s own story, it’s easy to pick up the book at different times and read a short part of it without feeling as though you lost the story line. Plus, Dorcas makes you laugh a lot. And laughing when you’re sick is a good thing. So here’s my basket:




light weight blanket
books to read
and a video to keep the kids occupied for a few hours so you can actually stay horizontal for thirty minutes

To order your own copy:
email Dorcas: dorcassmucker{at}gmail{dot}com

or send your order and $12 per book to:
31148 Substation Drive
Harrisburg, OR 97446

or you can find them on Amazon

and very likely find them at your local bookstore.

Good luck!

**********This giveaway is closed ****************

I apologize for not closing out giveaway #3 yesterday. Every once in a while xanga suddenly turns mostly chinese for me for a few hours. I have no idea why they overestimate my lingual skills like that, but it leaves me stuck. Yesterday was a chinese afternoon, so here we are. On Saturday.

Also, I’m going to close out the planner giveaway this morning because, Starla is running a 20% off sale until midnight tonight. If you didn’t win, you will want to order TODAY! Don’t forget, these make fantastic gifts, too, and Christmas is coming!

Alright, here we go.

Giveaway #3 Light my Candle

First, I have to say, some of your comments broke my heart. Women with five tiny babies in heaven. Women who lost birthed a baby and said goodbye after two hours. Tears sting my eyes and my heart whispers words to God that He would continue to cover you with grace and healing.

Here is the winner:

Sherilyn Miller who says: Somehow I just can’t find words, for this post, and your last one, even though I want to… my heart just chokes up. I would love to have the book! Love you!
Please message me your address. I know I used to have your address, but I’m not sure if I still do or where it is. Thanks, and congratulations on winning.

To order your own copy: email Stephanie at lightmycandle{at}abcmailbox{dot}net (and yes, read those at and dot symbols in email format … I’m trying to avoid having Stephanie end up with tons of spam).

Don’t forget to mention the giveaway and you’ll get free shipping!

Giveaway #4 The Time Keeper

117 comments! Gracious! Could we say there are many women longing to find more organization in their days?!!! Honestly, I don’t see how you could be disappointed with this planner. So here’s to you and a whole lot more method to the madness!

Winner:

suzierose779 I need a planner like that — so far a notebook is the only thing I’ve used.

And to the rest of you, don’t forget to order today and get 20% off. There is also a discount for buying more than one copy, so if you have friends close by who want to order, you can order multiple copies together and save on the planner and on shipping!

Go here to order.

Stay tuned for a few more giveaways!

Deliverance for Duncan:

millerseven …. you won a copy of this book AND renewed my faith in random number generators. I’d just been thinking they couldn’t be too random because they never seem to pick the first few numbers or the last few and you were the next to last number. Congrats on winning!

Please message me your address so I can get the book out to you. To those of you who didn’t win, you can always order a copy for yourself or for a gift …. details here.

Life is for Living:

Ernies_girls … I am still waiting for your address. Please message me.

never_alone89

And for those of you who didn’t win, details on where to buy are here.

The Time Keeper

Household Planner 2012

On a slightly different twist from the books I’ve been posting, how about a planner?  David’s cousin, Starla, created this fantastic planner three or is it four (?) years ago and I have used it ever since she started.  I started with a notebook after we were married, drawing each page into weeks.  After awhile I upgraded to a computer version and taped it to the frig.  But when we started building the house, it wasn’t enough.  I was on so much overload I truly needed an external brain.  Christy kept telling me I needed a real planner and because I didn’t believe her, she gave me one and said, “use it.”  It was a gorgeous, leather bound little thing and I LOVED it.  You could buy new inserts every year for the calender part.  The only problem was that it was kind of heavy in my purse thanks to the pretty leather and the pages were too small.

Then Starla magically appeared on the scene.  This planner is perfect.  Lightweight.  Easily fits into a purse.  Doesn’t add much weight.  Nicely lies flat on my countertop aka its permanent home. 



I love that there is a spot for phone numbers so I don’t always have to get out the phone book to call the doctor.  I love that it has a “planning ahead for 2013” section.  I love all the blank pages for notes in the back where I can create lists of books to read someday.  There are also perforated grocery lists in the back which I use sometimes.  More often than not, I scrawl what I need on the “TO DO” list on the weekly page because the bigger things on my to do list are mostly in the day to day schedule.

As soon as we make an appointment for anything, it goes in the planner.  I write down upcoming activities so that I don’t as frequently over-book.  Do I ever forget something?  Yes.  A planner still can’t keep you from walking out the door without the plate of muffins you put right there so you wouldn’t forget them.  But it has simplified my life so much.  Especially because writing it down helps me to “forget” about it and frees my brain to think about other things. 

The other thing I’ve done to help us remember everything and especially to make sure David and I don’t end up with conflicting plans … like hey, I thought you were going to be available then … is to put a white board calendar on the wall next to the kitchen table where we eat most of the time.  Every person in the house has a color and every one’s important things get written down.  That way we get to look forward to them together and we don’t miss each other in the hi and bye.  I do need to get one more color because right now black has to stand for David and for all of us.  I love it.  The boys love it.  David says “hmm, that’s cool,” in his typical laid back manner, so we’ll just assume he loves it, too.   We still sometimes end up with curazy days like the 9th when I’d invited my SIL over for the day, Adam had a half day of school, we had parent teacher conference around five and a Dave Ramsey teaching seminar in the evening and that morning at the last minute I agreed to babysit four month old twins.  It was a crazy day, but a super fun day, too.  Having a calender keeps me from doing that more than one day in a row because then it goes from fun to over the top exhausting.

And that, my friends, is the method to our madness.  I would LOVE to know how you keep your life organized. 

Starla is giving away one planner to someone who has never used her version.  So if you’ve used it, please respect her wishes and do not enter this giveaway.  I will fudge the rule just enough to say that if you’ve used it and love it and want to give it to someone who has never used it, you can enter to win it for a gift.

To purchase your own planner, go here.  And yes, you do want one.

And just for fun, here’s a gift basket idea.



*planner … to organize your life
*huge bag of coffee … for energy to knock off that to do list
*two large mugs … self-explanatory

I will close this giveaway on Saturday, December 3rd.  As always, if you are not a xanga member and do not use your facebook identity, please leave an email address for me to contact you or check back to see if you won.  And anyone who links this entry to facebook or your blog wins a second entry (come back and leave a second comment for your second entry).  Good luck!


****************** This giveaway is closed ************************

Light My Candle          Prayers in the Darkness of Miscarriage

Stephanie first contacted me about her book this summer with questions about self-publishing and marketing.  I was thrilled when she agreed to do a giveaway here, partially because I so much wanted an opportunity to read her book, Light My Candle.

The book came last week and that evening, I innocently sat down to read.  I wasn’t more than five pages in before I was crying.  I haven’t cried about our baby for a long time.  Do I think about it?  Nearly every day.  Time really does ease the intensity of painful experiences.  I was surprised to find how much is still lurking in the corners of my soul.

Stephanie’s first pregnancy ended in miscarriage.  She had a baby girl and then another miscarriage.  And finally, a second baby girl.  As she told me earlier, “Miscarriage is the subject of the book I have (somewhat accidently) written.  I never intended to write a book about miscarriage, but after my second one (miscarriage, not book), I realized that what I had written in order to cope with my pain could be used to minister to another woman’s pain.”

How right she was.  Light My Candle is written free verse poetry style with snippets of Stephanie’s story interspersed to help you understand the emotions she writes about.  I love the way she addresses so many aspects of miscarriage.  The tremendous grief, the difference in the way men and women grieve, the difficulty of facing another women with a baby, and how others can show care; but even more, I like the way she addresses the less common.  Things like feeling as though you are a creator of death.  Feeling as though your body has failed.  The way your child is forgotten …. in a much greater way than someone who loses a living child or even a full-term infant. 

I’m going to put a few excerpts here because I don’t think anything I say will give adequate credibility to the beauty and depth of what she has written.  Stephanie, if you read this, thank you from all of us for sharing your heart with this much vulnerability.

One paragraph from “Try Again” on page 44:
Try again?
     Babies shouldn’t be
            an assignment gone wrong,
                     a redo —
                an erased mistake
                               painstakingly reworked.
They should effortlessly awake
            beneath their mother’s heart
     in the sweet afterglow of love.
A little heart should quietly find it’s rhythm
      and thump out its promise of life
                                 to come,
                                        to stay.
We shouldn’t have to “try.”

And another paragraph from “Our Loss” on page 90:
Instead of being
             a fountain of life,
    I have become a funeral pyre
          on which two have been borne
                            into eternity.

And the one I’ll probably never be able to read without crying because it describes me.

Moments
It was a moment
              captured in the sunshine and laughter
     of a little girl
  and two puppies
                   tumbling across the lawn.
          Unbidden
came the thought:
          you should be here, too,
       in the sunshine and laughter.

It was a moment
              hidden deep in the night shadows
       as I tucked a blanket
    under a chubby chin,
                    whispering lullabies to my baby.
               Unbidden
  came the thought:
            you should be here, too,
        in the night shadows.

It was a moment
              woven in the tapestry of my day.
       I watched her face
  as she discovered something new,
                   and I knew wonder again.
              Unbidden
 came the thought:
           you should be here, too,
       in the tapestry of my days.

It was a moment
             encircled in the warmth of family.
       I sat beside my love
 and she played at my feet,
                  and all was as it should be.
               Unbidden
 came the thought:
          you should be here, too,
       in the warmth of family.

These are the moments
            marking the passing of time.
     I am in the midst
               and whirl of life,
                      when suddenly I think of you.
              Unbidden
  is this thought:
       you should be here, too.

But you are in a better place,
                 and somehow;
   I imagine you standing,
                      tiptoed and smiling,
       peering through a pearly portal
                between our world and yours.

You watch us
        in this harried, hurried life,
               and sometimes,
I think, I hear you whisper;
            “Oh, Mommy,
                 you should be Here, too.”

               *****************************************
Stephanie is giving away one copy of her book.  I will close this giveaway on Friday, December 2.  To enter, please leave a comment on this post.  Linking to your blog or facebook will give you a second entry (leave a second comment please because I’m using a random number generator).  I thought of putting stipulations on who can enter, but decided at the last minute not to.  But can I ask that if you win you would consider loaning your copy freely with friends who experience a miscarriage?  There is something powerfully healing about reading words from another woman who has walked a similar journey of pain.  I also tried to decide if it would be kosher for me to enter my own giveaway because I’d really like to keep the book myself.    I won’t; but that should tell you how much I like it because I’m trying not to acquire things that need to be packed and moved next summer.

To order your own copy, email Stephanie at lightmycandle{at}abcmailbox{dot}net
The book retails for $11.95 plus 6% sales tax for PA residents.
Anyone who mentions the giveaway when ordering gets free shipping.

And just for fun (why does that word sound so out of place in this post), if I were currently giving the book to a woman experiencing a miscarriage it might look something like this:

*soft throw because she’s going to spend a lot of time on the sofa longing for physical and emotional healing
*chocolates … although this would depend on her experience.  I was so nauseous from the crazy high HCG levels with my molar that a Coke would have been much nicer
*something symbolizing hope.  I keep this card visible in my kitchen even though it can barely stand on it’s own from water damage.  My friend Cindy sent it on the mail with my due date and the most powerful, but simple words inside.  I needed the comfort of her words inside in those dreadful, dark days.  I need that message of hope every single day since.  And so it stays.  Reminding me to believe.

I was going to include a box of tissues and forgot until I’d already taken the picture.  I was absolutely showered with gifts of love during my miscarriage.  Among other things, there were beautiful flowers delivered to my door over and over from friends far away and from family.  At least three times I received pink tulips …. it was so perfect because not only are they almost my favorite flower, they symbolized hope to me.  The way a bulb dies and bursts into bloom every Spring.  The color pink … reminding me that happy days would come again.  A far away friend I’ve only met once sent little pink shoes and a hair clip because her girls were sure it was a girl (love them!  I always think of the baby as a girl now) and books for each of the boys.  Liam has wanted that story read so many times … a story of a little girl and her mommy’s lost baby.  And one friend sent a lovely card with a tea bag inside.  It was so sweet and thoughtful.  Twice someone brought cookies.  Meals appeared which was beyond nice because I was still so nauseous I had a hard time cooking.  So I know that many of you already know how to reach out with love.  But if you’ve ever wondered, claim ignorance no longer.

Oh, and the other day someone asked what I’m getting out of the giveaways and I suspected others are wondering, too.  The answer is nothing, unless you count trips to the post office and I hadn’t been having withdrawal symptoms concerning those.  There are many people who helped me along the way with writing my books and I simply wanted to share the love and keep the circle of giving going.  And if you’ve authored a book or know someone interested, message me.  I would be happy to feature your book here.

*************** This giveaway is now closed *******************

Our life is on the verge of changing in more ways than I can count. David has been asked to work at Allegany Boys Camp (read more about it here) as family worker. It’s been two months and sometimes I still can’t quite grasp it all. But after the interview Monday night and unanimous approval from the board, it feels somewhat official.

That’s what I really need on our bathroom wall.

Deliverance for Duncan



Ruth and her family lived in Kenya for many years and she does a fascinating job of weaving many actual events into the fictional life of Duncan. From homeless glue-sniffing street boy to polygamist to the death of his child to missionary in his own country, Duncan’s story winds gracefully through tribal practices and cultural nuances. Throughout the story, I was impressed most with its authenticity. It is obvious that Ruth lived in Kenya and knew and loved her people.

I love books that tell a story, but also help us to experience a world broader than our own. Deliverance for Duncan lets you breathe in Kenya for a few hours. I suspect that you, like me, will be shaken at your own lack of simple trust in a God you have known all your life. Why are we, the spoiled Americans, the ones to most question that God is good? Ruth doesn’t ask the question, but it is unavoidable. She just tells a story. Duncan’s story. The story of many, many Kenyans.

Ruth is giving away one copy of Deliverance for Duncan. To enter, leave a comment on this xanga post. You can also receive an extra entry by linking to facebook or your blog (leave a separate comment telling me you did so).

I will close this giveaway Thursday, December 1st.

And just for fun, if I were giving this gift to a friend, I think it would be fun to include things like:


chai latte concentrate (Chai tea is a staple in Kenya)
a friends mug
and
chocolates

To order your own copy of Deliverance for Duncan, email mark.kuepfer{at}gmail{dot}com
The books are $12.85 plus shipping.

Good luck on winning!

************This giveaway is now closed!***************

Life is for living (not for waiting around)

This is my favorite giveaway of all because it is written by one of my best friends. Anita has been a sister friend to me, ever since I was the awkward twelve year old who moved into her community and hung onto every word of her sixteen year old coolness. I was in awe of her because she was beautiful, articulate, and laughed with abandon. Even then, I would ask her to critique some of my essays.

Anita lives without reserve and without fear. When I said I was writing a book she yelled, “Go for it” the loudest. It took Christy and I almost eight years. Four years after we started, she decided to write a book AND she finished it a year later (long before ours ever hit the shelves).

Her book is an invitation to single women to live life abundantly. She delves into truths fearlessly:

“My gift of singleness used to look ugly to me. For a long time, I wanted to keep it at arm’s length and tried to avoid looking at it. I didn’t want to unwrap the brown paper. I wanted the pretty gifts that my friends were getting. God, the miser, was cheating me.”
“This book reveals the discoveries I made when I decided to accept and embrace God’s gift. I learned that as long as a gift stays on the table, untouched, it’s not useful or enjoyable to anyone. And the only way I could have the courage to open that unpleasant-looking box sitting on the table of my heart was when I learned to know the Giver of the gift. I came to know His character and His love, and became convinced that He would never give me something inferior or shabby.
“I know the sting of sudden tears. I know the sobs that emerge out of solitude. I know the questions with no answers: “Why didn’t that man choose me? Will I always travel alone?
“But I never want to forget in the darkness what I’ve learned in the light. This book is my story, and the things I’ve learned — and keep learning. The book is not a discussion on how to attract a man’s attention, nor is it a funeral dirge of lost hopes. It will not give you a magic formula that gets rid of all your loneliness permanently. Neither will it promise that you’ll never cry again. But it shares a journey of discovery and an invitation to acknowledge God’s gifts — His creative, generous, surprising gifts.”

And that’s what I love about Anita. She lives life passionately. Not hiding hard things in the dark crevices of her heart but looking at them face on. She is passionate about knowing God. About living life abundantly and without reserve. Life was meant to be lived well … whether it’s building a snowman while waiting on the train or teaching English to Polish students or grieving losses and celebrating gifts. I love the way she lives life with so much J O Y.

While this book is written for single women particularly, there are parts of it that apply to many women. Under the paragraphs specifically relating to singleness are rich, deep truths that speak life to any woman who knows ongoing loss of a dream. Ongoing loss of a dream (singleness, infertility) is different than a one time loss. Not that one is easier or harder, they are just different. I’m not single. But I love reading pages in her book because I still struggle with some of the exact same underlying issues and I love the way Anita takes you to God and his goodness.

Anita has generously offered to give away not one but TWO books! To enter, leave a comment on this post. You do not have to be a member of xanga to enter, but if you are not a xanga member, please check back after the giveaway ends or leave your email address in your comment because I will not be able reach you otherwise. You can earn a second entry by linking this post to your blog or facebook.

Two people will win one copy of Life is for Living (not for waiting around).

Anita blogs here.

And if you’d like to order a copy of the book for yourself or to give to a friend, teacher, mentoree …. you can find them here.

And just for fun, if I were to give this book as a Christmas present, it might look something like this:



snacks
a candle
scarf
a quick fix meal (if she lives by herself …. do you know how hard it is to cook for one person?)
even better, you could add an invitation for her to join you for dinner at your house
Or if she lives with her family you could pair it up with a Starbucks card and a warm scarf and lovely scented lotion

So whether you are entering for yourself or to give as a gift, good luck on winning!  Giveaway ends on November 28th.

*********** This giveaway is now closed ********************

The first time I met Mac I was on a ladder painting the trim against the front porch ceiling of our not nearly completed new house. He and Phyllis had walked up to say hello like next door neighbors do in the South. I craned my neck to take a peek as I heard David say hello.

He was tall. Really tall. Grey, stringy hair hung just past his bony shoulders. His frame was too thin for the enormous voice that boomed out of him. Tattoos. Holes in his sleeveless shirt. Muscles no one would have wanted to mess with. And veins that would have made even a student nurse smile with confidence. He carried himself with a confidence that bordered on cocky. His stutter surprised me.

I dipped into the paint again, moving the brush back and forth and listening to the easy dialogue between the two men. Mac didn’t live on a schedule as far as I could tell and apparently he thought no one else did either.

In the next four years I would feel more aggravation and compassion for that man.  Oddly enough, the feelings sometimes happened simultaneously.

(Mac could never do the normal thing and ride down the road past our house … he had to gallop in and out our circle drive … and leave his souvenir)


There were aspects of our neighborhood that felt a little slimy. I couldn’t lay my finger on it, but something made me feel a little on edge. Somehow, I always felt safer knowing Mac was 300 feet down the road. Because while I’d seen him so angry he couldn’t speak in complete sentences and while I knew he’d gone after his wife’s son with the poker stick from the fire … I also knew he had our backs. (Interestingly, though, when Mac left, so did the strange traffic.)

What I did not know that warm summer day as I painted the front porch ceiling, was how much Mac would teach me. That Christmas when he was so down and out he came to our house for coffee and dog food and the phone all at once, I felt so sorry for him. We were getting our annual gifts ready to deliver to the neighbors. This time, I suggested we fix a box for Mac instead of giving him only a few baked fineries. We headed for the grocery store and filled a big box. A big tub of Folgers, small bag of sugar, deli meat, bread, and other staples. But when David and the boys delivered it, he seemed less than thrilled …. none of the normal exclamations of delight and surprise and pleasure. Suddenly I felt embarrassed as I realized that I’d classified him as way more down and out than he himself did. And what I meant as a gift, may have come as an insult.



But it went deeper than that. That winter, we started noticing odd things about our woodpile. The tarp wasn’t always in place. One spot seemed to be growing smaller rapidly. And then one day I glanced out the window to see Mac piling his little cart full and furtively tucking down the tarp. The wind whipped his flannel shirt and his body leaned forward once again with that racking cough. I called David. “So did you know Mac is stealing our wood?”

“Yeah,” he said easily. “I’d figured that out.”

As the days grew colder, his trips to the woodpile became more frequent. Some days we happen around the corner just as he was loading up. “I’m stealin’ your wood” he’d yell over. “I’m tryin’ not to use too much, but it’s awful cold over there.”

“It’s ok,” we’d yell back.

But there were days when I didn’t feel ok. Why is it that we WANT to give until we meet up with the sacrifices of giving? I would call David already feeling ashamed of myself, yet needing to hear him say the words. I KNEW Mac was cold. I KNEW he was sick. I KNEW that I would gladly pull a load of wood to his house and give it to him. But WHY when he just came and helped himself without asking did I feel resentful? Why did I have flashbacks to all the days and days and days when David had split wood and we couldn’t do other things I wanted to do? Did I really only give because of the good feeling I got from giving? Is that why I felt resentful? David’s voice cut through my feelings again with fact. “You need to let it go, sweetie. I’m going to take a load of wood down to him tonight after work.”

I was ok with the wood issue. I wasn’t so ok with the selfishness that had surfaced. Whatever happened to my idea of living out Jesus?

In the Spring Mac moved. Sold his place and moved to his hometown. Phyllis was back. By then he’d been diagnosed with stage V cancer. The doctor said he’d been misdiagnosed for over a year. One last time of being taken advantage of because the first doctor continuously blew off his symptoms as “an abscessed tooth and asthma.” He put the next house in Phyllis’ name and every ounce of energy left in his frame went into making sure she was taken care of. How he loved her.

We were back and forth some, but not nearly as often as when he lived next door. He was still tough and full of stories, but his energy was waning. And he was still bitterly angry at nearly everyone in his life. And God. We talked to him several times about God. But in it all I wondered, would I believe a God of love existed if I’d experienced that much horror?

His thin body was now painfully skinny. His eyes were glazed with pain. And the cough. Oh, the cough. Some nights he didn’t talk as much. We’d just sit on his front porch and listen for the train. Listen to his stories when he had the energy. Listen to Phyllis talk about the house. He’d laugh at the boys antics and smoke another cigarette. Over and over and over he would tell Adam and Liam, “You boys have no idea how lucky you are. You have the best parents in the world who love you. You are so lucky.” And all the way home I would think about his life. Where he was born and where he was now. And I would think about our boys and wonder. What is their story going to look like?

    (Adam, Liam, Mac when he was little …little boys with big dreams …)

We knew it was coming, but I still wasn’t prepared. Phyllis called in desperation one night. “Mac is at the hospital. We almost lost him yesterday. Can David please go talk to him? I’m so afraid he’s going to die without being right with God. And I know you guys are the only people he trusts.”

We stopped, dropped and rolled. I knew that I missed Mac after he moved. I did not know how much I had grown to love him until that night. Hearing he was dying and knowing how bitter and angry he was at God …. I could not bear the thought of him going to hell. We dropped the boys off, not sure what we’d find, and drove as quickly as we could. He looked a hundred times better than I’d expected, reaching out his arms to give me a hug. “I’m on my way out,” he said. “I’m going over to the other side.”

We sat and talked until Phyllis came and his other visitors left. She took his hand and started talking. “I have something to say to you. I am so afraid that you are going to die without making peace ……”

“I know,” he said, with those brown eyes boring into hers until her tears stopped. I understood why she stopped crying when I started crying later. It is impossible to cry when Mac’s eyes look at you like that. We talked to him about Jesus. And I didn’t stop quite in time because he finally looked at me and said, “You are just quite the little fire cracker for Jesus, now aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but half the time I’m just the firecracker part without Jesus and it gets me into trouble.”

“I know, me, too” he snickered. “Dad said I was like a piece of dynamite and if you got the fuse lit you never could get away fast enough. It was one of three times in his life he was right.”

He promised to think about it. One minute he promised he was going to be in heaven. That he was thinking about it and that he would make peace. But it wasn’t going to be like we would and he wasn’t going to say certain words. David kept telling him it’s not about certain words. It’s only about accepting forgiveness through Jesus and extending it to others. The next minute Mac said if he didn’t make it to heaven, he was going to start the third world war and kick his butt all OVER the place.

“Who? Your cousin?” I asked.

“No. Satan. Because he’s made so much trouble.”

“I don’t think you know how powerful he is,” I said.

“Oh, I know. And I’m going to get there (to heaven). I just need to do it on my own time.”

He was still Mac. Tough. Invincible. Unafraid. Determined that he was right.

We all held hands and prayed. And I cried again because this time his eyes were shut and he couldn’t stop me. I didn’t expect to see him again. But we did. He didn’t talk much that next Sunday night. Just sat quietly on the porch, and then, his body swaying with every step, he carefully went down to the yard to smoke so he wouldn’t do it in the boys’ air space. Still, always the gentleman.

The next week we went to say goodbye. Before we walked in Phyllis told us she’d heard him praying the night before. She said she came around the corner in time to hear him say, “Thank you, Jesus. I love you, Jesus.” And then she couldn’t understand him anymore but she could tell he was praying so she sat there beside him and prayed, too. And one more time, Mac would teach me about myself. Because while one side of me wanted to shout with joy at the thought of that hallowed moment, another side of me felt instant doubt. I still don’t know why. Except that I was afraid she was telling us that just so that we would feel good about things. And maybe I had a little bit of doubt about Mac letting go of his bitterness. But I wondered even more if I doubted God’s forgiveness? Did I somehow believe that it took more? Did I not really believe God’s grace? How had I become so doubtful within my own heart? I felt so ashamed of the lies I’d believed without even realizing they were there. Later,  my friend would remind me of Jesus on the cross and the thief next to him who said nothing more than, “Tonight, remember me in your kingdom.” Who is to say that God’s grace is not so big that He will forgive even someone who wants to come to Him … even if they never get to the end of the struggle and ask for forgiveness verbally? Do we really know how big God’s grace is?

Mac was more cleaned up that night than I’d ever seen him, a warm, red, wool sweater hiding his bony protrusions and the narcotics keeping him fast asleep. He tried so hard to open his eyes, but he just couldn’t. There wasn’t much left to say. David talked to him most, telling him how happy we were to hear Phyllis’ words and that we were still praying for him. We sang a few simple songs the boys could help with before taking turns saying Goodbye. I stared at Liam’s tiny, perfect hand inside Mac’s gnarled fingers. I listened to the boys say, “Bye Mac. I love you,” in their sweet, childish voices and I thought about his big, rough voice that had been many places I hope they’ll never go. Why was he there and we were here? Why had his life started with such promise and ended with this?

We walked out, knowing that was it. Mac died that Saturday. He’d asked David to have a prayer for the family at the memorial service and David agreed. When I spoke with Phyllis Sunday she scheduled the memorial so that we could be there for sure and said whatever David wants to share is fine. I know Mac would rather have had him speak than anyone else. And then she didn’t get back with us until the night before. We arrived home to discover she left a message while we were gone (she knew we would be), “Hi David and Michelle … I know you’re busy. We’re going to go ahead and have the service on Friday (when she knew we’d be gone again). Have fun at camp. Give the boys kisses for me. I love you guys. I feel your love and prayers. And I’ll get back with you after the weekend.”

And that was it. Neatly phased out of her life.

Still, hardly a week goes by that I don’t think about Mac at least once. Not in a sad way because I am so happy he doesn’t have to suffer anymore, but in a glad way. Glad because I really do believe he is in heaven. And glad because the man I once pridefully thought had nothing to offer me, showed me so much about life itself.

This time, it’s my turn to yell “thanks.”