FRIENDS - special treasures

What would we do without friends?

I suppose our closest friends are those we’ve found always stand by us when we need  encouragement, help, or plain good advice. I value my friends now more than I ever did. I have lost a couple of dear ones but I’m comforted knowing they are with the Lord. I used to wonder at their kindness in being there when I most needed them, but now I know. They, like me, have discovered it’s even more blessed to give of yourself than receive.

I heard a touch of disappointment in my friend’s voice when she told me no one was planning anything for her birthday. That was my opportunity to make a special cake for her. She was so surprised when she assumed it was a simple dinner invitation. But then the candle-decked birthday cake came! Such a simple thing. She keeps my books. Another friend does my hair, so we have a lunch date every so often. And so it goes. Other friends visited me in hospital.And I keep ‘tabs’ on them. It’s mutual give and take, joyfully given and gratefully received. Yet another dear friend guides me in everything to do with computers … no mean feat.

Online Friends They are special in another way They can give valuable help and encouragement from afar. They can cheer you on when you're despondent, something that happens many times in a writer's world. Only another writer can truly empathize with you. It may be a simple comment, but that can mean so much.

So let's look after our friends. They are a special gift to treasure. And  sometimes they understand you more than you understand yourself. Do you possess those special pals who truly are the wind beneath your wings?

(left) Three of Rita's friends who were the first to turn up at her book signing at Koorong, a Sydney bookstore. 

www.ritastellapress.com

A Gratitude List

Gratitude and thankfulness seem to be severely lacking in our world at times. People expect others to cater to their needs yet often when they do, there is not even a word of thanks. This attitude can even rear its head in the way we treat God. How often have you or I prayed and then forgotten to give God our gratitude, praise and the glory when He answers, often even more wonderfully than we could have imagined?

So today I thought l would share some of the things I am grateful for in my life. I’m grateful for:

 God’s grace that called me into His family and the salvation won for me through Jesus and His death on the cross.

God’s Word which helps me learn more about God, his mighty plan of salvation and what He expects of me.

The privilege of prayer and knowing the value of praying for others, as well as being prayed for.

My husband of over forty years who is still the love of my life, my best friend and the one I enjoy spending time with. I love that we go to church, pray and share God’s word at home together.

Our married adult son and daughter who are walking with the Lord, married to believers, serving the Lord in their own churches and communities and who are teaching their children His ways. What a huge blessing that is.

For the church we are part of and the concern for each other shown in this church. For the feeling of belonging.

For good friends who share our lives and for Christian friends online who share the trials and joys of being a writer.

The place where we live, where God’s creation is so evident. Just yesterday morning as my husband and I went walking, we were blessed with the sight of kangaroos that we share our space with. At present a number of them have joeys in their pouches. They look so cute.

Sweet peas in our garden flower pink and purple. There is nothing like the smell of sweet peas to lift the spirits, so I’m, thankful for the gift of smell. Orchids and moth orchids brighten up our dining area and sweet peas and pansies are on the table in the living area.

The cheerful yellow and orange of browallia in my front garden. This photo is the parent plant of mine given me as a cutting from a friend.

Sunrises and sunsets. Two of my favourite times of day. These photos were taken at a beach near to our home.

The ability to be able to walk and stand and do things after my spinal operation over a year ago. Relief from pain and the outstanding result of the operation which came through prayer and plenty of it as well as the doctor’s skill.

Singing at church, in the car and just about anywhere else. The gift of music.

Sight to see all of the wonders God has made and to be able to read. I can’t imagine a world without books. I’m thankful for writers who write the kinds of books I like to read and for variety in reading.

Imagination. Without imagination and creativity we would have no books, no stories, no art, no craft, inventions and spectacular l buildings. The Sydney Opera House is one of my favourite buildings.

Words to communicate to my loved ones and friends how much they mean to me and words to use in my writing.  Poetry - I love the way words can be used to make different and beautiful patterns of sound and meaning.

Last but by no means least, my football team that just won the 2012 AFL premiership and my husband and I were able to see it and share in the joy. If that’s an amazing experience, and it was, it made me think how much greater it will be when we are around the throne of our Lord and God all praising Him together.

Over to you now. I’d love to hear some of the things you are thankful for.

 Streets on a Map, Dale’s latest novel was published by Ark House Press. Prior to that, Dale has had seven children’s books and Kaleidoscope a collection of poetry published. Many poems in Kaleidoscope have been previously published in Australia’s literary magazines. She has also written bible studies and Sunday school lessons.More information about Dale can be found at www.daleharcombe.com or on her Write and Read with Dale blog http://www.livejournal.com/users/orangedale/

 

Pacific Ocean in a Bottle

Some friends here in Tennessee, where I currently live, took a trip to my hometown in Washington State. Before their departure, they kindly asked if there was anything they could bring back for me. I chuckled and facetiously answered, “Sure . . . the Pacific Ocean, if your luggage can manage.”

I miss Washington State. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve appreciated living in other places in the world, each spectacular and beautiful in their own right. Nevertheless, you’ve heard the saying, “Home is where the heart is. . . .”? Well, my family is there, most of my close friends with whom I grew up are there, my heart is there, and therefore the Pacific Northwest is and will probably always be home (in the earthly sense) . . . despite the fact that I’ve lived elsewhere for over ten years.

Southern friends joke with me about retaining such fondness for the “Left Coast,” or the arty, somewhat isolationist leaning views that are indicative of the culture. But, hey!—I have family members who happen to hold political offices in the name of conservatism, so it all balances out.

My homesickness is magnified by the fact that I frequently dream of Washington, especially over the past couple of years. While various pristine images fill my night visions, it’s the dark, frigid, blue-black waters that consume my sleep the most. That accompanied with ferryboats, rocky beaches, sisters laughing hysterically, windbreakers guarding against the drizzle and chill of the salty sea breeze, and that warm, fuzzy feeling of familiarity and the sense of belonging. This is where I grew up . . . .

Nostalgia is a bittersweet thing. I value where I’m at, the good people here, and the mode of life. It’s gorgeous. Warm a lot. And as a Christian, I downright appreciate the sense of religious freedom that overflows in this, the Bible Belt. I treasure it enough that I made my debut novel’s protagonist proudly hail from Sweetwater, Tennessee. This local environment also inspired my published short story.

Having said that, still, nothing will beat home. In addition, I miss the colorful Northwest cuisine where seafood is fresh, vegetables prepared al dente, and salads are unmistakable and unique, amid an assortment of other superfluous items which strike my fancy. Such as coffee—strong—the way it’s supposed to be; enough to cut through fog that rolls in off the bay. Although it’s well-known, Tennesseans have their tea down to perfection, no questions there. Sweet!

When my Tennessean friends returned from their trip to Washington State, they surprised me with three ounces of the Pacific. Having gone out on a typical cold and rainy day, they purchased a blue bottle, jogged down to the beach, and filled as much as they could in adherence with the current flight regulations. So yes, they slipped a bit of the ocean into their luggage! Deeply touched by their gesture, my eyes pooled when they gave it to me. Crazy about the gift, I untwisted the cap, took a whiff, and even dipped a finger into the liquid just to get the tang of salt and seaweed on my tongue. I’m not a sailor, but “Arrrggghhh!” just the same (I can’t say that without squinting an eye, especially one that’s tear infused).

While I’d wish my backyard the sea if I had my druthers, I’ll take what I can get. The Pacific Ocean now sits on my dresser in a bottle. I glance at it everyday. Yes, home is where the heart is. Right now it’s all wrapped up in a nifty blue container that seems to beckon every time I walk by. That, and in the thoughtfulness of individuals (like I said, there are good people here), whom by a simple act of collecting a three-ounce sample spoke volumes . . . an ocean’s worth.

A professional dancer turned novelist, Tessa is the author of the romance/political intrigue novel, The Unforgivable (RisenFiction/April 2011), and a literary romance short story, Love and Lull (Digital Dragon Magazine/August 2010), with more in the works. Visit her at http://www.tessastockton.com/ or http://www.monsterforgiveness.blogspot.com/

Fall Fair

One of the rites of autumn in our house is the Fall Fair. As the days grow shorter, the nights colder and the corn swells on the stalks, I itch for the smell of hot dogs and doughnuts. My ears yearn for the soft lowing of cows and the thud of horses' hoofs. I want sawdust underfoot and a hot sun on my back. It's Fall and time for the fair.

When I was a child I raided my mother's flower garden and vegetable patch to create displays for the school section of the Fair. I wheedled my father into taking me for long walks in the woods so I could collect samples -- twenty different types of leaf for the deciduous display, ten sprigs of needles and cones for coniferous.

Later, I joined 4-H and a calf, freshly washed, combed, polished and trained to a halter became the highlight of the day. Keeping my own outfit sparkling white while dealing with an often stubborn, four-legged "pet" weighing 200 pounds was an education in itself. I must have succeeded to some degree, for the rose bowl I used for flowers in church this Sunday bears an inscription of "Champion 4-H Dairy Showman."
For those of you who don't know, 4-H is a club usually for farm kids, although not necessarily. In Canada it is supported by the Dept. of Agriculture. The 4 H's are Head, Heart, Hands, Health and there's a pledge. "I pledge my head to clearer thinking, my heart to greater loyalty, my hands to larger service and my health to better living for my club, my community and my country." Not a bad motto for life.

Years passed and I moved away from the farm, but the sense of seed time and harvest is in my genes so when I found a Fall Fair close to where I live now, I was an avid visitor, taking great pride in explaining to my non-rural husband the finer points of Holstein conformation and the value of legumes in hay. When my godsons were born, their parents joined us in the annual rite of the Fall Fair. Again, I had the privilege and joy of sharing my heritage with a new generation. Again, I was successful, with surprising results. My friend decided we needed to participate at the ground level. She's a wonderful knitter so began entering articles in the needle arts section. Within a very short time she'd won the prize for most points in a section. Imagine! My city friend was beating me at a country pastime.

So, I got the catalogue and marked the sections where I could exhibit. I no longer have a calf or a pony, but I have a garden and I can knit. I've entered roses and sweaters and preserves and jellies and pickles. The days before the fair are spent cosseting my rosebushes, trying to get the flowers to the perfect stage for display, not too closed, not too open. I check all my home canning, seeking the jar with the clearest jelly or the most golden marmalade. Knitted articles are steamed and shaped and primped. All must be transported to the Fair grounds the day before, where I fuss and fidget, trying to get the exhibit just perfect.

Then comes opening day and I'm among the first through the gate. I can't wait to see if I or my friend have won a prize. (Although, in my friend's case it's not "if" but "how many"!) Then I wander happily among the goats and bunnies and cows and horses, donkeys, llamas and swine. Children ride the midway, their squeals mingling with the sound of bagpipes as the classes of highland dancers entertain. I gaze in awe at a five pound tomato or squint to see if that eight inch dahlia is really unsupported. I admire the beautiful quilts, marvel at petit point pictures, and wish I could create the fine lace of a tatter. I've won a few ribbons and earned some cash. But mostly, because of my surprising friend, I've re-connected with my roots.

In my part of the world churches are closing because of declining membership. Generations have wandered away from their heritage, been seduced by the mad pleasures of the merry-go-round and forgotten their roots. They wander through life without guideposts. They feed on candy while ignoring true bread. I pray there will be a friend to lead them home. I pray I might be that friend.

What about you? Do you go to the Fair? Do you have a friend who has opened doors for you? Please share.