1 Writer, 1 Day ....

Our Story Continues, Part IV

2012-01-29T18:08:00.001-05:00

Our Story Continues (Part IV)

A funny thing happens when you're rearing children, whether your own or helping someone else. Time has a way of getting away. When they are little, very little, and getting into everything, we think the days will never end. Sometimes the hours. The minutes. We look forward to their nap time. But, when it comes, we wonder what to do with ourselves.
Do I sleep, too?
Do I read?
Clean the bathroom? Mop the floor? I can't vacuum. The noise will wake her ...
So we do a little of it all and never really get it done.

When we are young mothers, we cannot see the joy in this. But when we are mothers for the second time around--grandmothers or old enough to be the grandmother of the child whom we are caring for--we understand that the old saying "this too shall pass, and pass quickly, it shall" is true.

2nd Generation mothers don't care about fingerprints because we know they'll wipe away and soon, too soon, there will be no fingerprints to fuss over. We don't care about bath toys left wet and ripe for mildewing in the tub because we know that Clorox makes bleach. We don't care about wet footprints marking the tile or the carpet because ... it's gonna dry. And it's just water, after all. Later on, we don't care about smeared makeup in the bathroom sink or clothes strewn on the floor because "I can't find anything to wear" when there is a closet full. Okay, maybe every so often we care about that. Maybe every so often we say things like "pick up this pig pen" but only because we are trying to teach discipline and order into what is a chaotic span of life. Adolescence. Oye.

Sometimes we walk into the bedroom of our 2nd Generation teenage daughter's bedroom and we see that new "things" have been added. For Jordynn it was the shape of a heart. She drew a large heart on her closet door, made of cedar, with chalk. She put a piece of tape on the wall and drew drew a heart with lipstick. With a pen, she drew a heart on the baseboard of her white wrought iron bed. And, with gloss on her lips, she kissed the white-wood desk by her bed, leaving the shape of a heart.

Time stamps that say, "I was here and now I am not."

I want to tell you more. I want to share with you about the hours in between. The weeks, the months, and the years. Start to finish. 2000-2011, nearly to the day of having laid eyes on her for the first time.

Eleven years of love, devotion, worry, and ... joy. Joy shattered by a thing we call "mental illness" but that the state I live in, Florida, has yet to recognize. What we don't understand, we ignore. But first we remove, like a piece of lint from a pair of black slacks. We can throw it away. We can flick it into the air. We can move forward and pretend it never was.

But, truth be told, it was. And it still is. I know. I have the time stamps to prove it.

To read Part I: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/fridays-southern-style-faith.html
Part II: http://evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith.html
Part III: http://www.evamarieeversonssouthernvoice.blogspot.com/2012/01/friday-southern-style-faith_20.html

My Story Continues; Part III

2012-01-21T14:34:00.002-05:00

Our Story Continues, Part III

Being a single parent is difficult. It's made more difficult when there is no financial support from the other parent. Our new friend, Sarah, was one of those. A single mom with a 2-nearly-3 year old, working two, sometimes three, jobs to put a roof over their heads, food in their stomachs, and clothes on their backs. Gas in the car that oftentimes wouldn't start.

She was nothing if not doggedly determined. She often worked herself silly, which is never good. Not for anyone. My husband and I, from the start, looked for ways we could help. After all, this young woman and her child had been brought into our lives for a reason ... and with four little words, "Can you help me?"

Those were the first words Sarah ever spoke to me. They became our mantra. Our theme song. The foundation by which our relationship was formed and remained.

We--my husband and I--offered child care. When "the baby," Jordynn, was not in daycare or in preschool (as she got older), we took responsibility for her while Sarah worked that second or third job. We picked her up from daycare or preschool. Fed her a snack. She played with the neighborhood kids.We had dinner and then she took her bath. Bubbles and tub toys...

Afterward, she stepped into a thick towel, I drew her into my arms just as I'd done my girls years before, snuggled for a minute to warm her little body in a shower of giggles, then got her dressed for bed.

Jordynn had a prayer bear. After bath time and a few minutes of reading to her, I snuggled down with this adorable tot and, with the prayer bear between us, we'd close our eyes, squeeze the hand of the bear and pray together, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Your love be with me through the night, and wake me with the morning light."

"Amen," I'd say.

"Amen," she'd echo.

Nothing in life was sweeter than planting seeds of faith into this baby.

Nothing.

Twelve years later, that bear remains on her bed ... the one that now has not been slept on in over a year. He's a little worn. He stoops forward like an old bear. His prayer button no longer works. Still, sometimes at night I slip into the dark shadows of her bedroom, draw him into my arms, and whisper, "Somewhere out there, she lays down to sleep ... I pray, Lord, her soul you'll keep ... your love be with her through the night ... and wake her with the morning light."

Amen.

My Story, Part II

2012-01-14T15:33:00.002-05:00

So, how do I begin to tell this story? How do I adequately describe two young ladies who entered our lives back in February 2000, both to leave so unexpectedly and in a most unexpected way? How do I explain what mental illness does to a life? To a home? To a family? What it does to love that you thought could never be destroyed. Or laid to waste?

The child we came to "adopt" to become legal permanent guardians -- a funny title if there ever was one -- was only 2 1/2 years old when we met. She was cuddly and cute. Precocious. Adorable. She made our hearts sing. Her mother, at only 22, was honestly one of the most beautiful creatures I'd ever seen. She walked into a room and everyone's head turned. Men. Women. It didn't matter. Not in a sexual way. Not necessarily. But in such a way that dictates beauty cannot be denied.

She smiled and the room lit. She had Elizabeth Taylor eyes ... that shocking near-violet color.

There was little doubt her daughter would become just as lovely as her mother.

The mother was trying to get her life together. She needed help and we -- my husband and I -- offered to be there for her. To mentor her. She befriended our daughters who were close in age. She hung out and solicited advice, just as they did. She helped cook, she cleaned the kitchen after meals, she vac'd and mopped when asked.

We watched TV together. Went shopping. Laughed. Oh, how she could make us laugh.

But we aren't laughing any more.

So, how do I begin to tell the rest of the story? How do I tell you of the heartache and confusion we've been left to deal with? The pieces we've been forced to pick up, whether we want to or not? The parts that are lost, never to be found again?

One moment at a time ...

[photo is of Virginia Woolf]

My Story, Part I

2012-01-07T10:58:00.002-05:00

It's January of 2012. Every year, as the ball drops in New York's Times Square, I recall the strangest thing. I was in the 6th grade. The Christmas Break (as it was called in those days) was soaring toward us. The students in Mrs. Boddiford's class had all brought a gift (we could not spend more than $2) for the gift exchange. We placed the wrapped gifts at the front of the classroom, near the teacher's desk, and then drew numbers to see who would get to "pick" first.

One of the gifts was obvious. It was a ball. A regular, ordinary ball. Not a small ball, and not a beach ball, but a basketball sized rubber ball. It had probably cost all of 25cents.

The giver was a girl named Linda. Linda came from the poor side of town. She wore our hand-me-downs. She didn't bathe every day like the rest of us girls. Her hair was curly and unruly and her body had started to change already. In the 6th grade, she was an outcast.

I actually liked Linda. She was nice, once you got past all the other stuff. She somehow managed to grow her nails long (no small feat for 11-year-old girls in those days. Most of us were still tom-boying around. So, even though her nails were usually dirty, they were long. I was impressed.

I had drawn a high number; meaning, I would be one of the last to get a gift. Not the last, but among the last. As each child picked a gift, the rest of us watched as they deliberately avoided the ball from Linda. I cut my eyes over to our classmate several times (she sat in the row next to mine, in the seat next to mine). Her face reddened with each turn and, when one of the boys acted like he was going to choose the ball, but then didn't (which caused the rest of the boys to laugh), she looked as though she'd cry any moment.

I'm not going to say I'm a saint here, but when it was my turn, I took the ball.

I was always a sucker for the underdog. Always looking out for those less fortunate than me. Always looking for the good in the bad, the joy in the sad. I got this from my parents, especially my mother. I can only think of one or two people she ever treated "differently" and both of them were boys she didn't fancy good enough for her daughter.

I've done the same, only to be found very wrong.

Last year, a number of Facebook friends said, "You seem sad to me ..."
My closest friends knew of our heartache, the one that had nearly consumed me. Okay ... it consumed me. They knew I'd never been so hurt, so torn apart, so ripped to shreds as I'd been in 2011. Nothing in my life had ever prepared me for this. Nothing. Yet, God saw fit that we -- my husband and I -- had to endure the pain. The loss.

I tell you the first story before I start to share the second because I want you to know the kind of person I really am. I am far from perfect. I am a sinner by every stretch of the word. But, deep down in the core of me, I (and my husband) am "good folks." We see a need and we wonder how we can help fix it. We see someone who is down, and we ask ourselves if we have what it takes to make life better for that one person.

When we do, we offer it.

Oftentimes this results in the most positive of returns. Other times, it ends in the crushing blow that, no matter what, some people just cannot be grateful. They'll always see the negative. The rainbow fades; there is no pot of gold.

So I begin our story of 2011 in 2012 with a story from 1968. A girl with her simple gift. Another girl willing to take it.

And, for a while, I enjoyed that ball. But, in time, it too deflated.

Come Heal With Me: Thou Shalt Not Steal

2011-10-14T08:21:00.001-04:00

Thou Shalt Not Steal

Notes from the Book: God's eighth rule for life, "Thou shalt not steal," is the foundation of our entire economic system, because it recognized the fact that one has a right, a God-given right, to work, earn, save, and own.

Actually, no person owns anything. All belongs to God, but while man is on earth he has the God-given right of possession. To deny any man that right violates the very basis of God's creation.

"If any would not work, neither should he eat" (II Thessalonians 3: 10).

(What denotes stealing:)

"What belongs to my neighbor belongs to me and I will take it."
...by the robber, the embezzler, and all the others.

Living beyond one's means. To go in debt without a reasonable probability of being able to pay back is stealing.

To fail to give an honest days work is also stealing.

We can also steal from another when we withhold from our fellows ... How can I give to God what is rightfully His? There is only one way; that is in service to others. So the positive meaning of "thou shalt not steal" is consecrated service, both of my material resources and of my life.

Notes from Mother: All that we have God has given in one way or another.

My Notes: Mother didn't write a lot in this section and I think I know why. Mother was a giver. She believed in tithing and offering, not just of her money (which was tithed to the penny) but also of her service.

When Mother retired, I thought I would now find her sitting before the television, knitting, enjoying her "shows." She watched The Young and the Restless from the day it first aired until the last day she physically sat before a television (her last few days were spent with me at Ridgecrest). She often said she didn't really care about it ... but she had to keep up, I guess.

Mother also enjoyed anything featuring The Gaithers. She had hours and hours of Gaither Homecoming shows recorded. She adored the "Love" movies which aired on The Hallmark Channel, made from the Jeanette Oak books. Just last night I saw a new one was airing. I was on the phone with my brother and I told him, "Here's one she never got to see."

"Gosh, she loved those movies," he said.
"Sometimes I'd walk in the house and she'd be sitting there watching one. I'd say, 'Don't you have that recorded and haven't you already seen it about a hundred times?' and she'd answer, 'Yeah, but I just love to watch them.'"

I'm on a rabbit trail. The point is ... Mother actually, honestly, rarely got to watch television. She was too busy volunteering. Helping others even younger than herself. When I called and got the answering machine, I'd leave a message that said, "Now where are you?"

The answer was that she was nearly always out helping someone else. Driving someone to a doctor's appointment. Picking peas or beans, shelling them, and taking them to someone who couldn't. She volunteered so many hours at the nursing home (where some of her friends lived), she was named Volunteer of the Year (she rode the float as such in the Livestock Parade just two months before her death), and a butterfly garden was dedicated to her after she died.

When Mother died, a lot of people said, "We sure are going to miss her." I knew what they meant, of course. But I also know they'll miss her service, which included her gift of giving financially, her smiles, her laughter, her willingness to play Bingo with the elderly or serve hot dogs during a picnic, to shell peas (probably while watching one of her shows!), and to drive those who no longer could wherever they needed to go. To listen. To give the best advice.

To just be there.

Mother was a giver. I want to be known as a giver, too.

Come Heal with Me

2011-09-30T08:41:00.001-04:00

Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery

Notes from the Book: Morris Wee teels that one day his theological professor said to the class, "About fifty percent of all human misery is caused by the violation of this commandment." That seems an extreme statement -- "about fifty percent ..." The students did not believe it, but after a score of years i the ministry, Dr. Wee says he now knows it is so. Sit with me in my study in a church on a main thoroughfare of a great city. Listen to my telephone, ready my mail, talk with many who come in person. You, too, will begin to believe the professor was right.

Adultery is violation of the marriage vow of faithfulness to each other.
It is wrong because God said it is wrong.
It is wrong because it brings further wrong. Sorrow is a wound.
[Jesus] hated the sin but never ceased to love the sinner.

[In John 8]: Now comes one of the grandest scenes in the Bible. The matchless Saviour is alone with the woman. Not one harsh word comes from His lips. Not even a look of rebuke. Instead, gently and tenderly He says, "Neither do I condemn thee: go and sin no more."

Mother's Notes: SR (sexual relations) between married person and another not their spouse. Voluntary SR between unmarried.

Psalm 32 & 51
Proverbs 5,6,7

1 Co 6: Body is the temple of the Holy Spirit

Cover of darkness

My Notes: I turned to this portion of the book with trepidation. My father, as much as I loved him, committed adultery against my mother (and, subsequently, his children). He--like the woman in John 8--made amends with God, but the damage was severe. My mother, living in a small community where she and Daddy reared us--was forced to hold her shoulders back and keep her chin forward in the midst of personal heartache and sorrow.

"Sorrow is a wound" the author wrote.

Mother circled the words. How well she knew. But her grace and dignity taught me more about the person of Jesus than a month of Sundays sitting on a hard pew. Her forgiveness taught me how to love more deeply.

And my father's sin taught me that, without Jesus, we are all sinners--the adulterer and the gossiper.

"We are all sinners," I heard a convict-turned-prisoner once say. "Some of us rob liquor stores and some of us tell little white lies. But we are all sinners."

When I die, I wonder, what will people remember about me? Mother was far from perfect (actually, she was pretty close to perfect ... but by my standards) but her imperfections are not what I remember. What I think of, when I remember her--which is constantly--is the faith by which she lived her life. My father, even after the divorce, called her "a fine lady."

Even when I think of Daddy, it's not of his mistake, but his work for the Lord as a repentant and saved man.

When I think of them both, I remember her sitting by his hospital bed during his last days. Quietly they watched an old movie while their children took a break from death and dying. Not a lot of words were spoken, she told me later, but not a lot of words were needed.

When my father died, Mother wrote a letter and slipped it into his suit coat pocket he wore to the grave. In it she wrote: While our marriage did not survive, I will always love you as the man who gave me the two greatest gifts of my life, my children.

When I die ... what people remember about me depends on what I do now. Not what I have done ... but what I do.

Photo: Bracker (1924) Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery
art by M Leone Bracker (1885 - 1937)

Come Heal with Me

2011-09-23T08:08:00.000-04:00

Thou Shalt Not Kill

Notes from the Book (God's Psychiatry): God made us to live with each other, and the very process of living requires certain rules. God laid down five rules for us to live with each other. The first one is: "Thou shalt not kill" (Exodus 20:13).

This applies (first) to our own selves. We did not create our lives, and we do not have the authority to destroy our lives. The very fact of life carries with it an inescapable obligation to live.

Murder, too, is prohibited.

Also forbidden are the destructive emotions of men: fear, hate, jealousy, anger, envy, anxiety, excessive grief, and the others. To counteract them requires developing within our lives the healing and life-giving emotions such as faith, hope, laughter, creativeness, and love. Love, for example, is a process of giving.

Positively, it means to live and help live.

Mother's Notes in the Margins: Mother's mind was ablaze with questions, it seems. She wrote:

have the car checked
war & self-defense
religion
mercy killing by doctor
capital punishment
kill by our words
suicide
willful
Samaritan
God values life

My Notes: What stands out to me more than anything in this portion of the book is one word Mother circled: anxiety. My mother tended to be an anxious person. She worried about things ... try hard as she may not to. She knew God didn't want her to worry, but she did. Her worry came naturally. She worried about my father (who worked in law enforcement) when he was out working a case. She worried about her children (with good reason ... we tended to keep her knees calloused until the day she died). She worried about her grandchildren (who also kept her knees bent).

One thing I can know for sure, when Mother died, she left all her anxieties in this world for the joys of heaven. As my brother and I sat vigilant by her deathbed, two people called and told me the same story. Just recently, they said, Mother had expressed her desire to leave the worries of this life for the face-to-face presence of Jesus. She loved her Jesus. More than she loved us. And that's okay by me.

Still, for a year and a half I've struggled with Mother's death. Before I had two seconds to mourn her, another tragedy hit my family that has rocked me far more than losing Mother or Daddy. Their deaths make sense in the light of this. We live our lives and, if we are Christians, we die to gain our reward.

So, for a year and a half, I've been tossed like a ship on the Galilee during a storm. Then, about two weeks ago, I admitted something out loud that I'd only toyed with in my mind. "I don't want to die," I said to a friend. "I just don't want to live any more."

Just saying it out loud ... and the healing began. Don't ask me why. I don't know.

I do know enough to know that death by my own hand is not what God has in mind for me. His desire is that I lean into Him and trust Him with ... my life ... and my death, which will be at His command. Not mine.

Meanwhile, I have a life to live. I have a life to give.

Father God ... let the healing not only begin, but continue in the days, the weeks, and the months ahead.

"I am ready."

[photo by Eva Marie Everson]

Come Heal With Me

2011-08-26T12:43:00.005-04:00

Honor Thy Father and Mother

Notes from the Book: God gave us ten rules to live by. The first four deal with our relationship to Him. The last five deal with our relationship with other people. The fifth rule has been called the centerpiece of God's law. "Honor thy father and mother" involves both our relationship with God and with our fellow men. When God made man He also set up the pattern by which men must live together. First a man and a woman come together in marriage, and out of the union come children...As the child learns to love and respect its parents, so later does it love and respect God.

1) the parents must be honorable.

2) the children should recognize, respect, and love their parents.

3) we must recognize our debt to the past and be thankful for it.

Mother's Notes Written in the Margins: Mother had a lot to write in this portion of the book. Not only did Mother have a lot of respect and honor for her parents (even with their imperfections) she had the honor and respect from her children. My brother and I knew, without a doubt, that our parents loved us. They were far from perfect, but they were the perfect parents for us.

One of the notes Mother made struck me. "Grow up to be like the parents" she penned. This was close to a paragraph that tells of a mother who took her son to the zoo. When he saw some young wildcats in a cage, he asked, "What are those?" The mother answered, "Wildcats."

Like most children, he pondered for a moment and then asked, "Why are they wildcats."

"Because," the mother said, "their parents are wildcats."

My Thoughts and Notes: I understand not everyone is blessed with loving parents who also love Jesus. I know that many who may read these words will say, "My mother never touched me...hugged me...said she loved me..." or "My father's way of showing love was a roof over our heads, a meal in our stomachs and a strap if we misbehaved."

I understand. I just was blessed otherwise. There is not a day that goes by that I don't pray my children will see me with the same love and respect as I had for my parents. If anything, their amazing parenting is one of the things that makes me miss them all the more.

My husband did not have such parents as I had. Yet, he is a marvelous father. But his greatest joy is seeing that his children are better parents than he. His prayer is that, whatever he got right, they will imitate and whatever he got wrong, they'll learn from...grow from...do better from.

If you have good parents, give them a call or go into the next room and say, "Thanks. Even for the things you didn't get right. Thanks."

If you had good parents, give a thanks to God and set your mind on imitating and doing better.

If you didn't, I ask you to look beyond what they were to you and try to see what their parents were to them. Then, with prayer (and therapy if you need it), you be the parents to your children you always wanted your parents to be to you.

Mother and Daddy: I love you. I miss you. You were the best!

(Photo taken of Eva Marie Everson and Van Purvis with Betty Purvis (top), Eva Marie and Van with Preston Purvis (bottom) c. 1962.)

Come Heal With Me

2011-08-19T10:36:00.008-04:00

Remember the Sabbath to Keep it Holy

My notes from the book (God's Psychiatry): More words were written about this commandant than any other the others. Think about it. Four words and four words only were given to "Thou shalt not kill" but ninety-nine words were given to this commandment.

The first thing we are told is to "remember." It is scientifically impossible for man to forget anything. Every detail of every day of your life is stored somewhere in your brain. However, "forgetting" and "remembering" are two different things. We may not remember what we had to eat three months ago on a Thursday but our brains have stored that meal forever.

God is reminding us through this commandment that this is one thing we must not forget to remember.

To keep the Sabbath, the 7th Day, is to take a precious gift from God. It is our reward for six days of labor. A man named Moshe Wolf (quoted by Sholem Asch in his book East River) said, "When a man labors not for a livlihood, but to accumulate wealthy, then he is a slave."

The Sabbath teaches us that we are not work horses, meant only to work, eat, sleep...we are children of God, born into an inheritance.

The Sabbath was given to each man so that he could be recreated physically and spiritually. It has been proven time and again that we can do more in 6 days with one day of rest following them than we can do in 7 days without rest. But more than just physically rejuvenating, the 7th day spent in rest allows the spirit to catch up to the body.

An old miner once said, "I bring my mules out of the mines for a full day, every 7th day, to keep them from going blind."

"Be still and know that I am God," we read in Psalm 46:10.

Beauty doesn't shout. Loveliness is quiet. Our finest moods are not clamorous. The Divine is not obtrusive. He is reserved and courteous. We need a day to hear his voice.

Mother's Notes in the Margins: The first four commandments are between man and God. The following six are between man and man. This is the last commandment dealing with man and God.

What would our country be like if we really observed the Sabbath as we should?

Psalm 84:10: (Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked.)

(Next to "we are in too big a hurry," Mother wrote:) Satan busy.

God doesn't push himself on us but waits patiently for us.

My Thoughts on Both: A few years ago, as my work and ministry seemed to explode around me, I took on the 7th Day of Work attitude. Yes, I went to church but then I came home, marched myself to the computer and started working. Occasionally I'd throw in watching an old movie on AMC or TCM...but mostly I worked. I told myself that I enjoyed it, therefore it wasn't really work.

Then, one day, my back began to hurt. And it wouldn't let up. The pain traveled to my right hip, locked itself in, and then moved on down my leg. The pain was excruciating. I went to doctors. I took pills. I had shots. Nothing gave relief and no doctor seemed to have the answer.

I was forced to stop working because I couldn't sit at my computer very long. For someone who averaged about ten hours a day of work, I was lucky to get three. Ice packs and heating pads and narcotics had become my best friends.

I sat at the dining room table one evening, opened my Bible, and laid my head on it and cried. When I was finished weeping, I looked at the words spread before me:

This is what the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says: "In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength, but you would have none of it."

The admonition found in Isaiah 30:15 wrapped itself around me like the sting of a father's belt. My salvation...my strength...was found not in working, but in repentance, rest, and quiet.

I knew the truth of this. I had taught it, for crying out loud. Many is the time I stood before a class or an auditorium filled with people and said, "Psalm 46:10 says, 'Be still and know that I am God.' The word still in Hebrew is raphah. It means to cease. Be still. Stop. Sink down and relax. Abide..."

Oh for the joy of just being with God! A whole day not worrying about working, but enjoying his gift of time. Of family. Of friends. Of the simple joys like watching the children play. Or taking a long walk. Or picnic-ing with loved ones. Watching that old movie.

And, of course, worship.

One thing I have noted. God said for us to "remember the 7th day" so that we "keep it holy." I believe we have confused what He commanded here. He did not tell us that nothing apart from God, worship, prayer, etc. should be enjoyed. He did not say, "If you lie on the couch and watch an old movie...or take your child to a matinee...or sit out by the lake and watch the ducks swim...you have broken my law." No...he said "remember"...

I do not worship God but one day a week. That is every day. He is with me constantly, praise Him! Even when I am at my worst, He stands by and says, "Get your hissy fit over with and then let's move on." And I praise Him for that!

Remember to rest. Remember to enjoy this precious gift God has given you. One day a week. One whole day. How marvelous is that?

Photos copyright Eva Marie Everson

Come Heal With Me

2011-07-19T11:04:00.006-04:00

Thou shalt not take the Name of the Lord They God in Vain

Notes from the Book, God's Psychiatry:

What a person thinks about determines what he is.

The secret desires of our hearts eventually show up in our very appearance.

A man is what he thinks about all day long.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Our life is what our thoughts make of it.

Marcus Aurelius

For as he thinketh in his heart, so is he.

Proverbs 23:7

Mother's Note in the Margins: Where are you Adam?

My notes: As I read the chapter titled "Thou Shalt Not Take the Name of the Lord in Vain," I grew confused. I flipped back and forth from the text to the title, back to the text. What, I wondered, did my thinking patterns have to do with taking God's name in vain?

Growing up, I'd always heard that saying "Godda**" was the ultimate sin. "God cannot damn," some teacher once told me. But the more I thought about it, the more it didn't make total sense to me. At the end of the book, it seems to me, God pronounces judgment, bringing some into glory with Him and condemning others to a life of "weeping and gnashing of teeth."

When I was a little girl, I dreamed that God could be seen high and lifted up, high above the whole world. There, standing in the front yard of my childhood home, I stood, looking up...looking at God. And, the whole world stood there with me (how we all got on that property, I'll never know.)

God was ready to pronounce judgment on the whole earth, on all mankind. He said, "I will separate the earth. Those on the right will come to heaven with me. Those on the left will go to hell with the devil."

The earth began to split, from just under the Almighty all the way down...toward me. I watched as some fell to the right, others to the left, and some fell into the great crevice. Just as the line approached me, I tried to judge it. To mark the timing. As it reached my feet, I reckoned, I would leap to the right.

But instead, I fell to the left.

I was going to hell??? This could not be right.

I looked up at God. "Can we have a do-over?" I asked.

And God granted it. Again, I positioned myself, ready for the great crack to come toward me, ready to jump to the right.

And again, I fell to the left. I looked up in horror. As I did, God said to me, "Eva Marie, this is just a dream. Mankind has been given chances time and again. But one day, the chances will run out."

Then I awoke.

I spent the rest of my childhood trying never to say a bad word (I was reared by parents who never cussed) and certainly not to commit the "unpardonable sin" as I knew it to be. But now I understand something even more: when we hold something in high esteem, we do not "take its name in vain." We honor it, both with our thoughts, our words, and by our relationship with it.

I. Love. God. Period.

I adore Him. Cherish Him. Worship Him. But do I ever take his name in vain?

Yes. Every time I get angry and say anything that would disgrace Him or my relationship with Him. Every time I don't take our relationship seriously and our time together seriously.

Mother wrote, "Where are you Adam?" God knew exactly where Adam and Eve were hiding. What He was asking was, "Where are you and I in this relationship, Adam?"

When we grieve, as I have grieved this past year--both for Mother and the other things I have lost (as this has been a year of loss)--I have both run to God and run from Him. Angry. Bitter. How could you? How could you have taken her...or her...or her...or it from me? Haven't I been a good daughter? Haven't I tried to live on the 'right' side of the crevice?

I took my eyes off the One I love and put them on my circumstances.

Don't get me wrong. It's okay to cry (even Jesus cried at the death of Lazarus). To be angry. To question WHY??? But in doing so, we should...we must...keep our eyes on Him. Become more like Him.

To live on the right side of the crevice.

Come Heal With Me; Week 14

2011-05-30T06:43:00.003-04:00

Thou Shalt Not Make Unto Thee any Graven Image

Notes from the book, God's Psychiatry, by Charles L. Allen: It is much easier to whittle God down to our size instead of repenting, changing our way of living, and being godly ourselves. When Horace Bushnell was a college student he felt he was an atheist. One day a voice seemed to say to him, "If you do not believe in God, what do you believe?"

He answered back, "I believe there is a difference between right and wrong."

"Are you living up to the highest you believe?" the voice seemed to ask.

"No," he said, "but I will."

That day he dedicated his life to his highest belief. Years later, after he had been pastor of one church 47 years, he said, "Better than I know any person in my church, I know Jesus Christ." when he began conforming his life to his beliefs, instead of making his beliefs fit his life, he was led to a realization of God.

Mother's Notes Found in the Margins: He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to Him. Nothing in His appearance that we should desire Him.

My Notes: God created man in His image, yet we are told not to create any image of God for the purpose of worship. So, we seek to find something within creation to connect with our Creator. We sit on the ocean's edge and marvel at it's power. We look out over a range of mountains and can barely speak. We gape in wonder at a forest of Sequoias. Why? Perhaps because in our effort to find God--to worship Him--we attempt to create Him in our image of what we think God is like.

We try to make God into what we want Him to be; not who He is. We know God wants us to live according to His goodness. Yet, when we want to sin, we create in our mind a God who is okay with that. We create a God who gives--health, wealth, prosperity--but we do not want a God who requires of us--thithes, offerings, acts of service.

We worship God by "picturing God" according to our own ideas and fabrications. but what if those notions aren't accurate? What if they aren't even close?

Philip said to Jesus, "Lord show us the Father."

Jesus replied, "He who has seen me, has seen the Father."

Those who walked with Jesus and went on to write about it failed to tell us anything about Jesus' physical appearance (almost as though they were commanded thusly). But they told us plenty about who He was.

How wonderful it must have been to look into the eyes of Jesus and know you are looking into the eyes of God! But we don't have that opportunity. We have no image, graven or otherwise.

Or do we?

It is us, you know...We are created in His image. When we look into our own eyes or the eyes of one another, we should catch a glimpse of His. We are to imitate Him, so much so, we become His reflection.

Lately I have found it difficult to worship because life has sucked everything out of me, leaving nothing but a shell and vacant eyes. My prayers of praise are spoken through tears and anguish. My example of Christianity has been anything but. When others look into my eyes, they hardly see God. They see hurt, betrayal, anger, anguish, confusion, brokenness. I fight to hold it all together for the sake of the call and if that is not apparent, then no one is really looking.

But maybe, what God really wants me to do is to stop pretending and start coming to Him from such a raw place, I am emptied of all of me and replaced with only Him.

John gave us the most incredible promise in the 22nd chapter of Revelation. He reminds all that those who are faithful "shall see His face" (vs 4).

No longer will we have to look to the mountains, the seas, the trees, or each other. One day, when there is nothing between us and God but the praise and worship, we shall see the glory of God by His own image.

Notes from the book: One thing more. After Thorwaldsen had completed his famous statue of Christ, he brought a friend to see it. Christ's arms were outstretched, His head bowed between them. The friend said, "But I cannot see His face."

The sculptor replied, "If you would see the face of Christ, you must get on your knees."

He is the perfect image of God; let us have no other.

Come Heal With Me; Week 13

2011-04-20T13:19:00.003-04:00

The Ten Commandments

Thou shalt have no other gods before me.

Notes made after reading the Book: before man can live rightly with each other, he must first get right with God. The 1st commandment is not "Thou shall believe in a god." We were created with the instinct to believe--to reach for something higher than ourselves. When we come into the world, it is with a natural desire to eat and drink. However, we must be taught to eat and drink the right things. God, as the creator of man, knows that man will reach for something, anything to worship. The moon, the sun, the stars. But God created all these, too. God's 1st rule is that none of the things He created for us to enjoy become something we bow to.

God also placed other desires within us: to gain knowledge, wealth, fame, pleasure, power. In and of themselves, they are not wrong. But when we put these things--or the acquiring of them--before our desire to know God, we have broken the very first commandment of God.

Mother's Jotted Notes in the Margins:

Not in God's Word

Starve

Traveler's Checks

What about me

Look nice

She also underlined a lot of the text, but she underlined twice: "One of our greatest temptations is to put pleasure before God."

I write: I have no idea what most of Mother's notes mean, but I do know what her first note in the margins means.

No where does the Bible attempt

to prove there is a God.

I have never doubted God's existence. Mother made certain I knew of Him from birth. But knowing Him has been up to me. My desire for Him must rise above all other desires.

Do I want to be smart? Of course. I am interested in a variety of things, some I wish to have more than a passing fancy over. Just this past weekend, while in Cedar Key watching the birds, I found myself wishing I knew more about the varieties of these fine feathered friends. Nothing wrong with that, unless I put the knowing about God's creation over the knowing the Creator.

Would I like to be rich? Perhaps not necessarily of the Bill Gates category, what with all it's responsibilities. But to be comfortable in my old age? Sure. To be able to help my children or grandchildren should they need my assistance? Of course. To be able to give to the children's charity I am affiliated with? Naturally! Furthering God's work is of paramount importance to me. Certainly nothing wrong with that. But if I put the gain of money ahead of the mission it may accomplish, then I am walking down a dangerous path.

What about fame? Is it wrong to want my books to do well? To be known for the hard labor of my hands? Certainly, I don't believe there is anything wrong with that at all. But what it I put my work, every day, before seeking God? What if I ignore the rest of the 7th day in order to get a little more done, go a little further, work a little harder? This would be wrong.

And pleasure? Sometimes I think, "I need to pray..." or "read God's Word..." and then I think, "Oh...this show is coming on..." or "I'm tired and I want to take a nap now..." A few weeks ago, our daughter, her husband and their children came to Orlando to visit the House of the Mouse. This is fun. This is pleasure. But they also came by and spent time with her father...her Daddy. And so I think of the times I spend sitting out on the dock over the lake behind our house. I look out on this magnificent vista...and this is pleasure...but while I am there, I am deep in conversation with the Creator. Sometimes I take my journal and write letters to Him. I love hiking in the cool of the forest or along the crags of mountains. Sitting beneath waterfalls, listening as it pulsates into a pool below. These are times when God's creation and my pleasure go hand in hand. I think of what Eric Liddell said: I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run, I feel his pleasure...

But what about power... oh to have it at times! To be able to speak one word and my will be done! To have the ability to right the wrongs! My thoughts wander down two paths: the power of evil and the evil of power vs. the power of prayer. Why do I spend so much time barking at the moon? Why not cry out to the One who has all power and waits for me to speak but one word? Abba...

I cannot think of a single thing that came before Mother's relationship with God. I cannot, in all honesty, say this about myself.

In this year since Mother died, I have been consumed with and by many things. Some are of my own making; others have been pressed upon me. To make heads or tails of this, I must list them--I think--so that I can identify them. And after this, I can--hopefully, prayerfully--see why they have gained a place--any place--above God.

(By clicking on "and when I run, I feel his pleasure, you will have the pleasure of seeing these powerful few moments from Chariots of Fire, 1981)

Come Heal With Me; Week 12

2011-04-11T09:32:00.006-04:00

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever...

This is week 12. In the book, it is headed "12."

Mother circled the number (it is one of the biblical numbers of completion) and wrote beside the word forever, "eternity."

From the Book: The author, Charles Allen, who hails from Atlanta, speaks of 5:00 traffic in the Georgia capitol city. He describes it as thrilling. The streets are filled with people, cars, buses... people are standing, running... and people are going home.

Be it ever so humble, he quotes John Howard Payne, there's no place like home.

But what about those who have nowhere to go? What about the homeless who inhabit the streets after dark, when the streets are devoid of all those who have left their work for the sanctity of home?

Mother Wrote: love, warmth, people

From the Book: David did not suggest that he might dwell in the house of the Lord forever but that he would. "I will," he penned.

David had never heard Jesus of Nazareth say, "I am the resurrection and the life" but David knew God.

My Notes: Da'at Elohim ... The knowledge of God.

Mother Wrote: I wonder, how intimately do we know God?

My Notes: As May nears, and with it Mother's Day and the anniversary of Mother's "going home" I am more aware than ever this concept of this not being our home. I imagine David writing or being inspired by "his 23rd psalm" in the lush fields where a shepherd boy may have led his sheep. For fodder. For water. For rest. Having been to Israel, I can picture the rolling hillsides, the deep blue of the skies, the bridal veil clouds. I know what it looks like to see the Golan Heights blush in the late afternoon sunlight. The land where David grew up, the land in which he ruled as king, was and is a magnificent sight.

But not so great as to keep him from desiring "home."

This earth is our place of rest. But 5:00 comes. For some of us, sooner than for the rest. But it comes. It's like that country hit, "It's 5:00 Somewhere."

Of course, I know that's about having a drink ... but it's also about coming to the end of the stresses, the labor, the dealings with people and problems all day long. It's about finding respite at the end of it all.

Mother has made it to 5:00.

When I was a girl growing up in her home, Mother liked to have a cup of coffee late in the afternoon. I suppose this was a lot like having a "spot of tea" were she in England. At times, friends came by and shared it with her. I used to watch them sipping from their cups, listen to them chatting. And I would think, "When I get to be a big girl, I can do this, too..."

When I was older, sure enough, it was my pleasure to share a cup of afternoon coffee with Mother.

Mother is having her 5:00 coffee with Jesus now. And my father...and her mother...and so many others who made it to 5:00 before her.

I'll be there one day. Right now, I'm still at work.

Come Heal with Me; Week 11

2011-03-22T09:40:00.002-04:00

(Blogger's Note: I apologize that it has been a few weeks since my last post... bear with me as I walk through my own Vally of the Shadow...)

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life..."

Notes from the book: Mary Martin (in South Pacific) sang, "I'm stuck like a dope, with a thing called hope, I can't get it out of my heart..."

David said the same with his word "surely..." when thinking about God's goodness and mercy.

Mother's Notes: Love and Grace

My Notes: I decided to look up the word "surely." David, in his native Hebrew, would have written 'ak.

An emphatic "indeed."

"Certainly."

"Without a doubt."

Notes from the book: Even with all the disasters of the world, when we walk with God long enough--as David did--we come to trust that God will get us through the darkest valleys.

Mother's Notes: See Psalm 37 for "young now old"

My Notes: Psalm 37:25 reads: I have been young and now I am old; yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken or his descendants begging bread.

Notes from the Book: Professor Endicott Peabody (1857-1944), headmaster of Groton School for Boys (Groton, Mass) and the Episcopal priest who founded the school said in chapel, "Remember things in life will not always run smoothly...the great fact to remember is that the trend of civilization is forever upward." One of his students went on to proclaim to a hopeless nation, "The only thing to fear is fear itself." (Franklin D. Roosevelt)

Stop thinking disaster into your life. Instead, say with the Psalmist, "This is the day the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it" (Psalm 118:24).

Mother's Notes: START

My Notes: Mother wrote "start" as a personal note where to begin her teaching of this small section of the book. But I thought it ironic that she wrote START right where Charles Allen (the author) wrote "QUIT."

I think this is all about perspective, then. Whatever is going on in your life...how do you look at it? Losing Mother, for me, was about extreme pain and loss. For her, it was about reaching Heaven's Gates, seeing her Savior, dancing on streets of gold. Seeing, for the first time in many, many years her own mother. Joy untold.

Untold joy.

So many disasters are upon us today. Even within the last two weeks... earthquakes, tsunamis, flooding, dictators rising against people, people rising against government, war added to war added to war...

The earth quakes at the presence of God, I believe. Perhaps, then, what we see as disaster is God's move on his creation. It cannot help but shake when he comes near. I don't know... don't quote me on that. We all try to make sense of what we have seen.

Mothers fear their sons and daughters heading into another land in uprising. But the people who wait for foreign soldiers--wait in fear of their own government--beg us to hurry.

Perspective.

No matter what...surely...

Surely God's love and grace--his goodness and his mercy--will follow me...

I remember a teacher from high school, Jenny Jackson-Adams, who had two cats she named Goodness and Mercy. "They follow me everywhere," she told me.

She could see these little furry reminders of God's love as they scampered behind her. And so she named them...Goodness. And Mercy.

If I look behind me, what will I see? Will I see that God has always remained faithful (I've never seen the righteous forsaken...)? Will I see his hand directing my feet upon the path he laid for me? Of course I will.

Goodness and Mercy follow me... all the days of my life.

Come Heal with Me. Week 10

2011-02-22T07:30:00.004-05:00

Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over...

Mother Wrote: Kaddesh

God, our holiness

God, our satisfaction

Toward the end of this section, which talks about how life can hurt and cut and bruise, Mother wrote "Start" where it says:

David says, "Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup... He didn't say "our heads" or "our cups."

It is the singular, personal pronoun.

All day long the shepherd is concerned with the flock. But as they go into the fold, he takes them one by one...

...He stand at the door of the fold and checks them one by one.

Mother Wrote: God has the power of the universe and the power to take care of me.

Mother Underlined Portions of: Remember how, as little children, we would bruise a finger or stub a toe. We would come running to Mama, who would kiss the hurt away. There was a mystic healing in her loving concern.

...a heart can be broken.

I Write: ...and so it can.

It's 9:35 p.m. This day has held more tears than I can imagine any day should. I took a shower not too long ago and cried more tears than I knew I had water within me. Certainly more than the spray splashing against my body and falling, along with my sorrow, to the tile beneath my feet.

Oh, my precious Jesus.

Do you see me at the gate?

Is there healing for my wounds?

Water for my thirst?

Rest for the tired and the weary?

If only life were about one day, one hurt.

If only we went out into the brutal world one time and return to the fold but once. Instead, we go out long day after long day. The path is familiar and yet still it's rocky. It rambles. It twists and turns.

If only...

Perhaps, I think, life hurts the most when we allow anything other than God to jockey for position of "satisfier."

Father, I am at the end of the day. I am tired. Broken. Bruised.

I am standing at the gate of the fold.

Do you see me?

Come Heal with Me, Week 9

2011-02-08T07:59:00.005-05:00

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.

Notes from the Book: In the pastures of the Holy Land, where shepherds lead their flocks, poisonous plants grow. Thorny thistles, whose needles penetrate the soft nostrils of the sheep, sprout up along the landscape.

If the sheep are to eat without the risk of pain or death, the shepherd must first prepare the fields.

A table, if you will.

Mother's Notes in the Margins: Nissi

Our standard of victory

school

My Notes: This chapter is more about the role of parents to keep their children safe (preparing the table for them) than anything else. Right now, it speaks to me loud and clear. How like God that I should read it now when my teen is up in arms over the boundaries we've set and closely guard.

Mother wrote "school." I don't know why for sure, but I can guess. For years she worked in food services at the schools in Screven County. She not only took part in the preparation, so to speak, of making sure no child went hungry, she also helped prepare their hearts. She loved them with her words. With her hugs. They loved her back.

"Hey, Mrs. P!" I heard over and over, from the very young she'd loved on the week before to the young adult she'd loved on years before.

"There was hardly a life in Screven County Mama didn't touch," my brother said after her death.

He had that right...

"Jehovan Nissi" she wrote.

"The Lord Our Banner." (Reference Exodus 17: 8-15)

I'm not sure why she focused on this name for God. Why not Jehovah Jireh, the Lord my provider.

Unless, of course, the point is that when rearing children, we truly are at war. Mother knew. She saw what was happening to society as a whole. She didn't like it, either. She did more than just feed and hug and love. She prayed over these children, whether they knew it or not.

I hear her say, "Don't forget, honey, to raise your arms to the Lord in battle for your children. Pray and take authority over the enemy, who wants to steal the young minds. The tender hearts. But our God is stronger than any enemy who wages war against us."

My hands are lifted, Mother. Do you see them?

There is another enemy. Death. Oh, I know... death is merely the portal by which we reach heaven's gates. Oh, then death, where is your victory? Where is your sting?

But it is my enemy because it took Mother and Daddy from me and my brother and all those whose lives they touched. But not death is not their enemy. No. For them, death was the shepherd, providing the table, clearing away the thorns, the poisonous flowers that are pretty to behold but oh so dangerous to nibble upon.

I wonder... as they breathed their last, could they hear the whoosh of the linen tablecloth as it fell over the table? The clink-clink of fine china and crystal? Could they smell the polish from the silver? The sweet mingling aromas of foods being placed around the table, and between the candelabras?

A table prepared for them that day.

A table prepared for me...one day.

Come Heal with Me, Week 8

2011-02-03T11:13:00.004-05:00

Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me...

Notes from the Book: The sheep is a helpless animal. It has no weapon with which to fight. It is easy prey to any wild beast of the field. It is afraid.

But the shepherd carries a rod, which is a heavy, hard club.

Mother's Notes: Word. It is written. Sheep pass under rod 2 B counted. Royal scepter. The HS in OT. Scroll & Prophets.

Book: Also, the shepherd carried a staff...

Mother: Spirit w/n us

Book: ... with his staff the shepherd could reach down, place the crook over the small chest of the [fallen] sheep and lift it back onto the pathway.

It is a comfort to know the shepherd will be able to meet any emergency.

Many times we feel helpless; then we find comfort in realizing the power of God.

Mother: Mighty.

Book: Thy rod and Thy staff...

Mother: Thy Word & Thy Spirit...our faith is our rod and staff.

My Notes: What is more helpless than lying in a hospital bed, brain not functioning, depending on tubes and bags and machines just to exist? What is more helpless than hearing your children call out, "I love you" and in hearing being unable to respond back with no more than the shake of a shoulder. What is more helpless than standing on a ledge, hanging in the balance between earth and heaven, steps away from the mountains that will lead you homeward? What is more helpless than standing at heaven's gate--like Esther before the king's presence--waiting for the royal scepter to extend to you, waiting for permission to enter in to the King's presence?

Mother always said that one of my greatest attributes is my faith in God. Believing Him, no matter what life throws my way. Believing in Him.

No matter what...

Life has thrown some curve balls my way. A cliche, I know, but it's true. Still I believe in God. I believe God.

So, then Lord...if what Mother said is true...if what Mother noted in the margins of this book is true, Your Word protects me. I believe that.

When Mother was lying in the hospital bed, I read Scriptures to her.

Praise God in His sanctuary; praise Him in His mighty heavens. Praise Him for His acts of power; praise Him for His surpassing greatness (Psalm 150:1,2 NIV).

I will bless You as long as I live; in Your name I will lift up my hands (Psalm 63:4 ESV).

Come to Me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest (Matthew 11:28 NLT).

May the Lord of peace Himself give you peace at all times and in every way(2 Thessalonians 3:16 NIV).

Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid (John 14: 27 NKJV).

No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love Him (1 Corinthians 2:9 NLT).

Over and over I read these verses. With each reading, Mother stirred. She recognized Abba's words of truth, even in her current state. No brain damage could take them away from her, so ingrained were they. They had been her guide for so long, they were not about to stop being so because of some silly little aneurysm. They were the stick she always crossed under. They were the rod by which she was counted.

Thy Spirit saves me when I slip and fall...

Yesterday I had a meeting to attend. As I drove to Panera (the meeting place), the events of this past year slipped into the car unnoticed, then crawled into the front seat with me. The tears I'd held back gushed from my eyes. No warning. No little trickle followed by a wave. They poured out like water onto sand.

I cannot cry now! I won't be able to drive...to meet...to continue on with this day with its many appointments...

The Hebrew word for spirit is "ruwach." It means, among other definitions, "breath."

The breath of God...

Yesterday, as the tears came and the traffic in front of me blurred, I heard a tender voice say, "Breathe in...breathe out...breathe in...breathe out..."

And so I did. And I felt God's Spirit wash over me. Calming me. Rescuing me with the Shepherd's staff.

This is not the front time I've slipped and fallen since Mother died. It won't be the last. But each time, there is a staff to draw me back to my Savior. There is a rod with which to count me among those who will live with Him forever.

A scepter extended that says, "Welcome home..."

There, I will stand with Mother...and Daddy...and all those I have loved and lost to Heaven (both now and in the future) and I will sing, "Worthy ... worthy... worthy..."

Great Shepherd. Mighty King! Everlasting Prince of Peace.

Amen!

Come Heal With Me; Week 7

2011-01-19T06:08:00.002-05:00

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

Notes from the book: There is, the book says, an actual place called the Valley of the Shadow of Death in Israel. It stretches from Jerusalem to the Dead Sea and is a dangerous place for leading sheep. The Valley of the Shadow of Death is literally "the glen of doom" and can be many things, not just death.

Mother's notes: Lily of the Valley... Go through the valley to the mountain.

My notes:I know this area. I have seen it. Driven through it. Walked in it.

Lovely to behold. Dangerous, perhaps, to walk through.

The sheep are oblivious to the dangers, but the shepherd knows. The sheep think, "I have the shepherd; why should I worry?" while the shepherd trusts in his instincts...trusts in God.

The valley is not just death, Charles Allen wrote. But is there any valley deeper to walk through than death? Perhaps for the one passing over the valley to Heaven's Mountain, it is a place of peace and joy. A looking ahead to the moment of seeing God's face, to bask in the Presence of His glory, His magnificence. But for the one left behind or to be left behind...

It is an odd thing to watch someone die. To want the suffering to leave ("Death, come!") yet knowing that once it is over, it is done ("Death, stay away!").

I held Mother's hand. I watched it swell with fluid. I listened for days on end as machines pumped, as they breathed in and sighed. I held my own breath as she struggled with hers.

Rattling in the chest... danger on the mountain.

Suctioning meant struggle. Hers, physical. Mine, emotional.

Notes from the Book: I have said to many people in "the valley of the shadow of death" to get off by themselves in a quiet place. Quit struggling for a little while. Forget the many details. Stop your mind for a little while from hurrying on to the morrow and to the next year and beyond."

Mother's Notes: Sense peace.

Notes from the Book: Just stop. Become still and quiet.

Mother's Notes: Not easy.

My Notes: No, it's not...

But like the sheep wandering along the dangerous path, I am not alone. The Shepherd is with me. It is time, I think, to find moments of respite wherever and however I can find it. In the quiet places of my home, in the cafe of a bookstore, before the sparkling waters of a wide lake.

Find the Lily of the Valley, Eva... Stop long enough to drink in His beauty, to drink in His perfume.

"Be still and know that I am God" is just that.

It's being still.

It's knowing...

Blessed assurance...Jesus is mine.

Come Heal With Me; Week 6

2011-01-11T08:50:00.003-05:00

He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Notes from the book: The book's author, Charles L. Allen, writes of God's direction. Like a shepherd, He guides, he does not "drive" His sheep as would a cattle rancher. When decisions have to be made...which road to take, which path to choose...the shepherd guides.

Mother's Notes in the Margins: Tsid Kenue. God, our Righteousness.

My Notes: When I was in Israel in 2007, my dear friend and coauthor of Reflections of God's Holy Land; A Personal Journey Through Israel, Miriam Feinberg Vamosh pointed to the circular paths that wound around verdant hills. She said, "These are circular paths, made by the shepherds leading their sheep in a safe manner."

The paths don't lead up or down. The poor sheep, with their poor vision, would become afraid. Or worse, fall to their deaths.

Miriam said, "When David wrote about paths of righteousness, he was talking about circular paths."

Wherever God leads, there is safety.

I think now of that moment when my brother Van and I were led into that little, nicely-decorated room and given the bad news of Mother's current and future condition and what the doctors expected, which was the worse. I remember how I felt as I walked behind the doctors and in front of Van. It didn't seem real, and yet it was very much so.

I had gone online the day before and studied everything I could about Mother's condition and about the signs and symptoms I'd recorded from the medical personnel. I already knew about the Glascow Coma Score. I knew the brain damage was severe.

What I didn't know was why. Why had God brought us to this place, to hear this news. Would God, I wondered, lead us down a path in which Mother, who loved life and the living of it, could be solely dependent on one of us for her every need?

I said to my brother, "What I fear more than her dying, is her living."

For two days, we continued to allow God to guide. The path chosen was that he would take her Home to be with Him. And now, without her as our maternal and spiritual guide, we continue to follow Him in the days, weeks, months and years we are left without her.

I re-read that passage after taking my notes. He leads me in circular paths for righteousness sake.

Tside Kenue, Mother wrote. God, our righteousness.

So what if God leads us down those circular paths in order to bring about his own plan of righteousness or for righteousness sake? What was gained out of all this?

Mother reached her eternal reward, yes.

But Van and me? We are a little more spiritually wise, a little more spiritually broken. But I don't think we will fully know for a while yet all that God had/has in mind.

After all, the sheep don't know they are on a safe path or where that path will lead. They only know to follow their shepherd; that he will care for them, guide and direct them, along the way. We can ask for no more from our Shepherd, can we?

Proverbs 3:6: In all thy ways acknowledge him and he will direct they paths.

Come Heal With Me; Week 5

2011-01-03T13:29:00.002-05:00

He restores my soul...

Notes taken from the book: When the sheep leave the sheep pen, they march out in an order they will keep the whole day. But sometimes the sheep wander away from the path. Some will walk away from the shepherd and he, in turn, will go after the one. Other times, the sheep will walk toward the shepherd, looking for a touch, a whisper, and a way back to the fold. The shepherd guides the anxious fellow back to the path for his day.

Mother wrote in the margins: Rapha-- healer.

Protected by God with giant and Saul.

Psalm 32 & 51.

Mother is referencing David's affair with Bathsheba. David had walked away from God and was wounded in his soul in the process.

My notes: When David sinned with Bathsheba, and after he was caught, he ran to God and begged for restoration. But sometimes it is not our sin that drives us off the path, it's life. Living holds all sorts of elements that will suck all life from our lungs.

And life is air.

Air is life.

Impossible to breathe moments.

Without the ability to inhale fully, we are left without enough oxygen to sustain life. We cannot go forward on the path because we are nearly lifeless.

When God breathed air into Adam's nostrils, he (Adam) became alive. Fully alive. Awakened to all there was around him. Blinking in the bright life of the Father's presence, he stared then into the face of his Creator.

Life, for Adam, was new and full of possibilities.

When Adam sinned, he was driven away from the Garden. But he was not driven away from God. God, his Shepherd, never turned his back on Adam. God continued to love and guide him, throughout all his joys, throughout all his sorrows.

When life sucked the air out of Adam, God was walking alongside him, waiting for this one sheep to come over for a touch, a whisper, a nudge.

Restoration.

Holding Mother as she had her first hemorrhage was a life-sucking event. The look in her eyes--the lack of life within them--haunts me still. The immediate knowledge that this was more than being sick to her stomach and a headache.

Seeing her second seizure.

Her head shaved.

Studying the symptoms online to gain better understanding of her illness.

Listening while doctors and nurses gave the news, always bad...never good.

Letting her go...

Her release of life was my release of life. But the Shepherd stands close by. I can choose to walk away from him or toward him...

...For a touch.

A whisper.

A nudge...

Restoration.

Come Heal With Me; Week 4

2010-12-15T06:11:00.005-05:00

He leads me beside still waters.

Notes taken from the book (God's Psychiatry): Sheep are afraid of moving water. This is based on instinct; because of their thick woolly coats, they cannot swim. When sheep are thirsty, they will drink only from still water.

If there is no still water around, this presents a problem for the shepherd. So, while the sheep are resting (He makes me to lie down in green pastures), the shepherd gathers rocks to form a watering pool of still water.

The shepherd understands the fear of his sheep and provides a way of peace and safety.

Mother's Notes Written in the Book: Jehovah shalom (written not once, but twice in the margins). God of peace. God of still waters.

My Notes: After reading these words, I walked into my home and realized--for the first time--that as soon as one enters, the peaceful view of the lake is there. When the water is still, it looks like a pool of ink laying on the canvas of the world. It calls to me from nearly every room...but how often do I go out, sit, and drink of its beauty? Of its respite? Of its peace?

Not often enough.

But I have come to realize that long before I lost Mother, long before I began my struggle with "why?", God was at work gathering stones to form a place of peace where I can heal. The wound of losing Mother to heaven will never be fully healed until I join her there and stand before the Throne of Grace & Mercy with her, shouting "All glory and hallelujah" to the Prince of Peace and to his Father, Jehovah Shalom. But until then, God has prepared a place for me, where I can "drink" of His peace.

My notes to you: Where is your place of peace? Where can you go to find respite, to drink from God's goodness, from His Word, from the quiet he whispers into your soul? You may not have a dock jutting out over a lake. Your place of peace may be the shower, the commute train or the car. It may be your closet or the walk from the front door to the mailbox. Like Suzanne Wesley, mother of John & Charles, you may have to sit in a corner, throw your apron over your head, and demand a moment of peace (most mothers will relate to this). Even if only for a moment each day, find a place where you can be quiet. Take a short walk. A long walk. Whatever you need to do...but make a time of quiet. Of stillness.

My dear friend Robert Benson once told me, "Eva Marie, the only person who knows what God has whispered into your heart is you; but you won't hear him if you don't hush."

A famous line (misquoted) by Emerson goes like this: Let us be silent that we may hear the whisper of God.

Find the place God has prepared for you. It's easy to do. Just look for the rocks...

Come Heal With Me; Week 3

2010-12-06T09:36:00.003-05:00

He makes me to lie down in green pastures.

Notes from the book, God's Psychiatry: The books tells me that a shepherd will wake his sheep at 4 in the morning and walk them until about 10, when he forces them to lie down.

He forces them...

As they walk, sheep eat. By 10, they are full of undigested grass; they are hot and tired. If they drink water--even though they may want to keep going toward the water--they will become sick.

The shepherd knows this.

My notes: Remember the Sabbath, the Lord said, and keep it holy. But there's even more to this.

1) The sabbath was made holy by God (Ex. 20:11)

2) Keeping the Sabbath shows we are set apart, sanctified (Ex 31:13).

3) "If you keep your feet from breaking the Sabbath and from doing as you please on my holy day, if you call the Sabbath a delight and the Lord's Holy day honorable, and if you honor it by not going your own way and speaking idle words, then you will find your joy in the Lord and I will cause you to ride on the heights of the Land and to feast on the inheritance of your father Jacob.

"The mouth of the Lord has spoken" (Isaiah 58: 13-14).

4) The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath (Mark 2:27).

I think it is vitally important now more than ever that I keep the Sabbath day set apart. I work, I stay busy, I don't think. That's the plan, isn't it, when one is grieving? Just. Stay. Busy. In time, you'll forget the immenseness of the pain. Isn't that the way of it?

But, if I'm reading God correctly on this, I need this time to rest. To ponder the things of God. To read. To nap. (Mother always napped on the Sabbath!) To worship, most of all.

And to grieve the lost of my beloved mother...and of my doting daddy four years ago.

Mother wrote this remarkable sentence at the end of the chapter: To a person not content, their pasture can never be green. Only with God in their heart can they ever be content.

My additional thoughts: How can I be content if I don't rest? If I don't remember? How can God heal me, if I don't allow myself to grieve? It's like not allowing a wound to bleed...without the bleeding, the impurities cannot flow out. Keep the impurities in, and just watch what happens.

My notes to you: If you are in a season of grief right now (and even if you are not), take at least one day a week to rest in the Lord. Be still and know that I am God," the Sons of Korah wrote in Psalm 46:10). Do you know what "be still" means in Hebrew?

It means...be still.

Stop.

Cease from your labor.

Rest.

A verse from Isaiah that shook me to my core last year (when I read it for the 100th time) is this:

“This is the resting place, let the weary rest”;
and, “This is the place of repose”—
but they would not listen.

But they would not listen... Will you make the Shepherd force you to lie down? Or will you lie down because you trust his leading? Think of the Sabbath as 10 in the morning.

Stop.

Rest.

Listen.

You just may hear the whispers of God as He breathes healing words over your soul.

Come, Heal With Me (Week Two)

2010-11-29T11:36:00.001-05:00

We begin with the 23rd Psalm.

We begin, specifically, with the first verse:

The Love is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

Notes taken from the book (God's Psychiatry):

As the sheep in David's flock laid down in the fold, night after night, able to find sleep without care, so can I. They (the sheep) do not worry about tomorrow. What they know is simple: today, I was cared for. Tomorrow, I will also be cared for.

Mother's notes in the margins:

Wealth? Tithes?

My Notes: Mother believed in tithing! She was taken care of financially by her mother and father until she married my father. From then on, she was taken care of by him.

Like so many women of her era, Mother made homemaking and mothering her full time job. Every morning, we were served a full breakfast, hot, right off the stove. The house was kept immaculate. One of my favorite old photographs of Mother shows her with a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. The expression on her face reads, "Beware dust and grime! I'm on the warpath!" Homemade cookies awaited my brother and me every afternoon after school. When my father walked in the door at the end of his workday, he was greeted with a kiss, followed by a hot supper on the table no latter than 6:30 p.m. Mother loved what she did, and she did it well.

But, in 1979, after 24 years of marriage, my mother and father separated (they would not divorce for another five years); Mother had to step into a new role, that of employee.

Finding work in a small town is not easy, especially for a middle-aged woman without "skills," but she managed. Between a part-time job and the sewing she took in (along with spousal support), Mother was able to eek out a living. She shared with me often that, "If I make $3 hemming a pair of slacks, I put 30 cents in the offering plate on Sunday." She also shared, "I don't know where the money is coming from, but God is providing for me." Eventually she went to work for the Board of Education, full-time, but never making more than just a little over minimum wage.

When Mother died, her "checkbook" proved two things:

1. She tithed faithfully

2. God faithfully provided.

On the way from Asheville, NC (where Mother died) to my hometown (where she would be buried), my brother said to me, "Not to be nosy, but what are you going to do with your half of the money?" Part of me thought, "What money?" But another knew that Mother had been tithing ...and ...investing. It had all come together to work out very well for her.

Now, Mother did not live as someone who had the amount of money she had. She didn't over-spend nor did she want for anything. God always provided.

And, she trusted that He always would. Now, I hope to carry that tradition forward with my own children. I hope they, too, can one day look at my checkbook and see how I tithed and, subsequently, how God held up his end of the bargain.

This is also not about how much money was left to my brother and me in Mother's will. This is about God's provision to Mother and how her trust in Him (proven by her tithe) always led to that provision.

Mother also wrote: Put your name; and, Personal.

My Notes: Mother knew something more valuable than any monetary inheritance can give me; belonging to our Heavenly Shepherd is personal. When Mother spoke of the Lord, tears came to her eyes. When she heard songs of praise and adoration lifted up to Him, she wept openly. She loved Him so much, she quivered whenever she felt His presence...when she prayed...when she sang hymns. If Mother did not love her Lord, no one ever has!

The Lord was most definitely Betty's Shepherd.

The Lord is Eva Marie's Shepherd; Eva Marie shall not want.

Now, you try it: The Lord is [INSERT NAME HERE] Shepherd; [INSERT NAME HERE] shall not want.

God has not left me alone to face a lifetime of tomorrows without Mother, lonely and grief-stricken. God will provide all the encouragement, friendship, and laughter that went to Heaven with her. All I need.

He--because of mother's faith, shown in her tithing--has blessed me financially. If I have learned anything from her at all, I can look forward to a future continuing in ministry and not wearing a blue vest while repeating, "Welcome to Wal-Mart" (Not that there is anything wrong with that!) to a parade of shoppers.

So, today I will concentrate on these words: The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

What about you? How has God shown you, through your grief, that He is indeed your

Shepherd? How has He provided for your needs in the midst of your heartache?

COME HEAL WITH ME; THE BASICS

2010-11-23T06:35:00.005-05:00

Notes I took after reading Section One of the book (God's Psychiatry, by Charles L. Allen)

"Psychiatry" comes from two Greek words:

1. psyche: the person

2. iatreia: treatment, healing, restoring

David, the beloved Psalmist, wrote that the Lord "restores his soul."

This is God's Psychiatry.

When we look at "the person," we must think of the whole person: mind, body, and soul. A doctor can heal the first two, but only God can heal the soul.

The author of God's Psychiatry, Charles L. Allen, begins the books with "How to Think of God," using the 23rd Psalm. Allen tells the story of prescribing to a successful but unhappy businessman the prescription of reading Psalm 23 five times a day for seven days. In reading it, the man was to concentrate on the words.

Mother's Notes in the Margins:

In the margins, Mother wrote:

23 Psalm

Powerful

Writing n existence (I take this as "the most powerful writing in existence.")

7 days.

From My Journal:

Mother's prescription for God's healing of my wounded soul, I think, is to read the most powerful 118 words ever penned. Allen says the words are powerful because they send a positive, hopeful, faith-approach to life.

I need that.

"A man is what he thinks about all day long." (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

"Change your thoughts and you change your world." (Norman Vincent Peale)

"As a man thinks in his heart, so is he." (Proverbs 23:7)

Beginning today, I change my thoughts. I shift in thinking about what I lost in Mother's passing and start thinking about what I've gained in the Lord. What I've gained because she was my mother. What blessings her life bestowed on mine.

She was with me the first 53 years of my life. In that time, I received so much more than I could ever repay God for. I thank you, Father! Thank you that you gave to me such a WONDERFUL Mother! A godly example. A gift to all who knew her. Help me to start with that. Instead of seeing what I lost, I must look at what I had when I had it. Such a treasure. I will not wallow in the pity of losing her but rejoice in the gift of having had her for a time.

Come Heal With Me:

What have you lost that has left you feeling so empty you sometimes think you cannot breathe for the losing of it?

What about the "having it" was so special? What treasure was within?

Thinking more about the treasure and less about the losing, what treasure are you then left with?

For the next seven days, read The 23rd Psalm (see below) at least three times a day, five if you can. Don't just run through it. Say it slowly enough that the words penetrate your very core. Think of this recitation in terms of a prescription from your doctor. If he told you, "Take three times a day," you'd place the pill bottle somewhere so you would not forget. Do the same here.

Until Next Week,

Eva Marie Everson

Psalm 23 (New King James Version)
Psalm 23
A Psalm of David.
¹ The LORD is my shepherd;
I shall not want.
² He makes me to lie down in green pastures;
He leads me beside the still waters.
³ He restores my soul;
He leads me in the paths of righteousness
For His name’s sake.

⁴ Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil;
For You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

⁵ You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You anoint my head with oil;
My cup runs over.
⁶ Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
All the days of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the LORD
Forever.

COME HEAL WITH ME; DAY ONE

2010-11-21T09:20:00.008-05:00

Today marks my mother's 75th birthday. I had planned a huge surprise party for her. In January I talked with a caterer friend of mine who lives near Mother. I started informing family and friends from back home. It was supposed to be a surprise, so I asked everyone to stay on the hush-hush.

The surprise was on me, I guess. Mother unexpectedly went to be with Jesus in May, six months before her 75th.

To say I didn't see it coming is an understatement. But Mother was more than ready. She'd been commenting to family and friends that she was so ready to "go home." I think she was discouraged with the world in general; she didn't like what was happening to our country, she hated the lack of commitment she saw from those who called themselves Christian, and she was saddened by the state of the church in general. She was ready for Jesus to come to her or her to go to Him.

She got her wish, but I was left with, "What in the world just happened?"

We were together the day she became ill. She literally collapsed into my arms. When I looked into her eyes so close to mine, I saw nothing. I remember thinking "This can't be happening" and "I've got to get help" all at the same time. I screamed her name over and over, hoping that if she was slipping away, she could hear me well enough to fight and stay with me.

And she did. For a little while. Then came the day when she leaped over the mountains skirting around Asheville, NC (where we were) and into the wide opened spaces of Heaven. She was free of the world's troubles...and I was left, with my brother, to wonder why.

In October, while continuing to clean out and sort through her things, I found a book she'd been teaching her Bible study circle of women from. It was an old book, dating back from the 50s. It was filled with the author's wisdom but it also held little treasures: her notes written in the margins.

The book is titled GOD'S PSYCHIATRY. I remember seeing it in my childhood home since ...well...childhood. I never opened it, I don't think. I supposed I didn't think I needed psychiatry (which I'm sure could be debated...). But I have to say now that the title is misleading. This is about recognizing the wounds of life. This is about making sense of it all. This is about healing.

The book was written by Charles L. Allen (1913 – August 30, 2005), a Methodist pastor from Atlanta. It was published by Fleming Revel, ironically who I am published with today. It's not a big book and it can still be found on Amazon. It takes the 23rd Psalm, the Ten Commandments, the Lord's Prayer, and the Beatitudes and breaks them down, line by line, to promote emotional healing.

What I want to share with you is what I'm learning from the book, from my mother's notes, and from my own journaling as I progress toward understanding and healing. So, beginning tomorrow and then once a week, I ask that you join me on this journey. Whether you've lost someone to death, are in the process of loss of any kind, in the midst of emotional wounds so deep...

Come. Heal with me...

Eva Marie Everson

The Life of a Tekton

2010-11-12T09:03:00.007-05:00

One of the things I particularly enjoyed about being at The Nazareth Village was watching the ins and outs of the tekton trade. Jesus was a tekton, as was his father Joseph. A tekton is someone who is a craftsman, whether with wood or stone.

The ancient world was not without its resources. For example, tektons of Jesus' day developed their own "power drill":

They developed a way to press the oil from olives:

Not an easy day's work, to be sure.

The men were not the only ones contributing...not by a long shot! Among the many daily tasks, their women worked laboriously over the loom:

VERSE/VIDEO OF THE DAY 11/15

2010-10-13T06:57:00.015-04:00

VERSE OF THE DAY: http://www.thedailybibleverse.org/bible-verse-before-i-formed-you-in-the-womb

VIDEO OF THE DAY:(And oldie but a goodie!) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aAYWWsaXZeg&feature=related

Baghdad Prayer Patrol Assignment of the Day:http://baghdad.prayercentral.net/?page_id=7

Second Lesson: The Nazareth Village

2010-09-30T07:28:00.004-04:00

It's a simple lesson.

...about a simple life.

As the tiny group of us gathered in the area recreated as a first century home, our eyes were drawn to the little room. Everything about it, simplistic. Nothing there that couldn't be or wouldn't be used in everyday life.

But no television. No remote controls lying all over the place. No Wii. No overhead lighting or surround sound speakers. Not a single sofa setting with matching pillows. No fine art hanging on the walls...or family portraits...or proud displays of newborns in arms.

Just living.

So why were we drawn to it? I think I know. Because in spite of our comforts and guilty pleasures and in spite of our need to make our immediate world pretty...deep down we desire a different life. A simple life.

Have you ever heard someone say, "I can't hear God anymore. Wonder how they heard Him so much back in the Bible days."

Is it that God no longer speaks? No. But you see, it's easier to hear the whispers of God in the quiet than in the madness we call "everyday." Maybe that's why we work so hard to buy the "lake house" and the "mountain home" and the "beach condo." We need a place to get away. To find the quiet. We even tell our loved ones that what we like most about these 2nd homes is that they don't have cable for television, no satellite service, scarce cell phone coverage ... "I can barely get radio..."

Author and contemplative Robert Benson, who I admire with a vengeance, said to me many years ago, "Eva Marie, the only one who knows what God has whispered into your heart is you. But you won't hear him if you don't hush."

Those two sentences rocked me to the very fiber of my being. I have, since, learned to appreciate silence.

So, I dare you. Turn off the TV. Walk away from the cell phone. Find the simplest place in your part of the planet and sit quietly for a minute. Or a half hour. Try an hour (you probably won't make it...).

Okay. Now hush.

Do you hear Him?

Video Here: Nazareth Village

The Eye of the Needle/Nazareth Village

2010-09-02T07:39:00.007-04:00

Today's Nazareth is a far cry from the little village Jesus grew up in. The city of Nazareth today is just that, a city.

Tucked away along one hillside, however, is an amazing stretch of land that, for years on end, was left untouched. Then a brain-child occurred. Take the land--complete with winepress and other natural elements of First Century Nazareth, and re-create the original.

The result: The Nazareth Village.

I'd never been to TNV, though I'd certainly heard about it. Videos featuring my beloved Miriam had been made here, teaching others about the life Jesus knew. The every day. Even the mundane...which, to my way of thinking, isn't so mundane.

My journalistic comrades and I entered into TNV and into another world. One of the first things we noted was a door. A door within a door (see photo). But it turns out this is no ordinary door. According to our guide, this is the eye of the needle.

Doors opened inward. If a friend came to visit, no problem. But what if a visitor was not a friend at all? This left the homeowner defenseless. However, having a small door within a larger door, gave the homeowner a method of preparation. In order for the visitor to enter, they had to stoop. It's difficult to be pushy when you're all bent over.

We were fascinated by this door. A sudden understanding as to the words of Jesus:

Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God" (Matthew 19:24)

A camel...stooping? There are those humps to deal with!

Have you ever watched a camel stand from a "kneeling" position? Once, while I was in Jerusalem, an acquaintance of Miriam's stood near the Mount of Olives Overlook with his camel. A ride was $2. When Miriam introduced me to her friend as a "true friend of Israel," the man wanted to give me a complimentary ride on "Kojak."

I wanted to ride the camel (but I also paid for it!) so I handed my camera to Kojak's owner (for the photo you see here) and then climbed on top of the kneeling animal. As Kojak stood, my mouth fell open (a moment Miriam caught on film. No doubt, she knew this was coming!). While the camel is somewhat graceful in the standing and sitting, he is without question ... awkward. Awkward grace. That's what he is!

Now, standing before the eye of the needle in TNV, I fully understand what Jesus is saying. I'm not so sure a camel can get through the eye of the needle.

So then why is it so difficult for a "rich man" to get into heaven?

I have rich friends and loved ones. Are they without hope? Can they not enter heaven?

No and yes. They are not without hope and they can enter heaven. Providing...

The problem with the rich young ruler was that he wasn't willing to let go of his possessions to follow Jesus, which Jesus knew and tested him with.

When this rich man came to Jesus, it was to ask, "What one thing must I do to inherit eternal life?" (Notice the words one thing and inherit.) Our very wise Jesus asked, "Why do you ask about one thing? Keep the commandments."

Now remember...there were a lot of laws to be kept but only ten had been set apart to be written in stone by the Finger of God (see Exodus 31:18). Ten. But Jesus only mentioned six:

1. do not murder

2. do not commit adultery

3. do not steal

4. do not give false testimony

5. honor your father and mother

6. love your neighbor as yourself

So why not all ten? What was so special about these six? Perhaps because, out of the ten, these six which deal with man-to-man (and/or woman-to-woman. I'm using man as in mankind). The other four deal with man-to-God.

1. have no other gods before Me

2. make no idols and worship them

3. keep God's name holy

4. keep the Sabbath holy

The rich man told Jesus straight up, "I keep all those![the six]" Oh, how excited he must have been. Not only was he rich on earth but he would also be inheriting eternal life. He really could have his cake and eat it too!

"But anything else," he wisely asked.

Well, here came the caveat. "Sell everything," Jesus said. "Give the money to the poor. Don't worry, you'll have treasures in heaven and--unhindered--you can follow me."

This now, was between the rich young man and God.

The Bible tells us that the young man went away sad. The price of following God was not as great as all his wealth. What a shame, what a stinkin' shame.

And so now Jesus makes his famous declaration about camels and needles (low doors).

In Nazareth Village, we have seen a life-lesson come to life.

VERSE/VIDEO OF THE DAY 10/11

2010-08-23T08:01:00.022-04:00

VERSE OF THE DAY:http://www.thedailybibleverse.org/bible-verse-we-have-here-only-five-loaves-of-bread-and-two-fish/

VIDEO OF THE DAY: (A powerful song I dedicate to Mother and Daddy...) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbsBUf9VKyc&ob=av2e

Baghdad Prayer Patrol Assignment of the Day:http://baghdad.prayercentral.net/?page_id=7

The Church of the Annunciation

2010-08-19T12:51:00.007-04:00

In spite of the fact that it towers over the city of Nazareth, I went to Israel twice before seeing the Church of the Annunciation. After being in the quiet holiness (even with the cranky overseer) of St. Gabriel's, I wasn't sure if I even wanted to go. But go I went ... and I found it to be an absolute "must see" when traveling to the Holy Land.

While the Church of the Nativity is the oldest church in Israel, the Church of the Annunciation is the largest. The outside is arranged with walkways -- both covered and not -- filled with paintings, statues, and other pieces of artwork, all created to honor Mary, the mother of the Christ. Inside, on the lower level, the Grotto of the Annunciation is the focal point below. This is the place where, tradition holds, Mary lived with her parents and where she received the words of her future from Gabriel. The upper level's focus is not only the dark wooden pews shining high with years of polish and patina, but also the continued memorials to Mary. The floors are marble, within them depictions of angels.

I looked forward to my friends coming to see what I'd seen years earlier. Together we walked among the pilgrims outside. Below the church, in the grotto, we sat quietly at thought of what it must have been like to have been the young girl -- her whole world ahead of her, a natural world, a world of marriage and children -- to be called to such a task. Above, as we walked under the lily dome and as we listened to visitors below singing "Hallelujah," we marveled at the gifts in honor of this woman/child.

When there was nothing left to do, we returned to the real world, where beneath the church is found remnants of 1st century Nazareth. A reminder, I suppose, that life truly existed here once upon a time, and that Mary's life -- and Joseph's and the little boy Jesus -- was not a fairytale in a book we call the Bible.

Inside the Grotto (video)

A new article posted at CBN.com

2010-08-05T16:28:00.002-04:00

For the latest article written for CBN.com about Israel (The Fifth Gospel Chronicles), go to: http://www.cbn.com/spirituallife/inspirationalteaching/Everson_Israel_Capernaum.aspx

Going Back to Israel

2010-07-25T18:55:00.006-04:00

It's official ... and in more ways than one. I'm returning "home" to Israel in 2011.

And, in 2010 ... as I am going to return to my journaling about the Land of the Bible, God's Holy Land. When last we spoke of Israel -- before my mother's untimely death -- I wrote to you of my adventure in St. Gabriel's in Nazareth. Now, I want to tell you about something completely (sort of) unrelated to the Bible but sooooo much fun for me.

In 2007, after Miriam and I had gone to St. Gabriel's, we stepped out into the open courtyard and I purchased some gift items from a kiosk vendor nearby. I then declared to Miriam that I was a little fatigued and wished we had time for a cup of coffee. It was now mid-afternoon, the winter air was pleasant, and we'd walked a good ways just to get to the church. Miriam pointed to a restaurant called Bayat (The House) and said, "How about over there?"

We were seated at a table outside, just beyond the front door. Miriam suggested cappuccino and I nodded in agreement. Minutes later, two cups of divine with adorable hearts swished into the foam along with little bisciottis were placed before us. I declared the coffee to be the best anywhere that I'd ever had in my whole life.

In 2009, with my fellow journalists along for the journey, I said to the group that after St. Gabriel's we had to go to the cafe for afternoon coffee. Everyone agreed. YES!

Bayat's was exactly as wonderful as I remembered it. This time we sat indoors, the eight of us around a long wooden table in a sunken dining room with old stone floors and walls, giving the aura of old world Israel. We ordered different things off the dessert menu -- our intent to share -- and individual desires for drinks such as cappuccino, hot tea, and Coke.

We laughed and told jokes, Ellie Kay entertaining us with more impersonations of her mother, who is from Spain. And then the food came ... and we nearly died right there on the floor! We ate. Oh, did we eat! We shared! Oh, did we share!

Too soon it was time to leave. To be full and happy, this is the way of travel in Israel. One taste and pilgrims know why so many of the Bible's stories happened around a table.

It All Happened So Fast...

2010-06-15T23:06:00.003-04:00

...not just Mother's sudden illness and the passing on to Glory.

The last 53 years went by so fast.

Oh, if I'd only known! There would have never been a moment of disobedience from the five-year-old. I'd been a more gentle, appreciative teenager. I would have cherished every moment even more than I already did as an adult.

I would have written more letters. She loved letters.

Email had taken them away, really. She just wasn't that keen on the Internet.

We would have laughed more. She loved to laugh. And I would have recorded her telling stories as I'd done Daddy's mother. My mother also had some great stories to tell ... of growing up ... and of her mother and father and brothers and extended family. She grew up in a lot of love.

I never ended a conversation without "I love you" but I would have thrown it in to a few conversations as well. What would it have hurt?

If I had known ... on her last healthy day ... that it would be her last healthy day ... I would have never left her side. Or I would have taken her to the hospital right then and there. And told them what I somehow knew. And they would have made it all right again.

But it all happened so fast.

A Brief Explanation

2010-06-10T08:48:00.003-04:00

It's June 10, 2010. It's been two weeks and one day since the most difficult, easiest day of my life.

The day my mother passed on to Glory.

We were together near Black Mountain, NC when she had the first hemorrhage from a brain aneurysm. She had the second hemorrhage in the hospital.

Over the next couple of days, I'll tell you a little bit about all this. Then, we'll go back to talking about Israel.

But I'll tell you this: heaven is all the more lovely because of a little lady I know living there. I miss her more than words can say, but I know she is exactly where she has always wanted to be.

Thank you for your patience with my blog.

Eva Marie Everson

Nazareth's First Century Spring

2010-05-02T13:36:00.006-04:00

I've sort of waited for this day. And, before I begin, I want you all to know what I am about to tell you, I say in all serious jest.

There's a mean old man sweeping the floors of the Church of St. Gabriel in Nazareth. I've encountered him not once, but twice. But before I warn you ... um, tell you ... about him, let me tell you about this marvelous place and what it is built over.

According to the Orthodox tradition, Mary -- the mother of Jesus, before she was his mother -- was drawing water from the first century well when she received the call on her life from none other than Gabriel. The spring leading to the well remains, as does the well, but several years ago, during renovation, the water supply was cut off to the well.

As a young girl and as a woman living in Nazareth, this is the only location Mary would have and could have gone to daily to fetch water for her family.

The Church of St. Gabriel was originally built circa 600-700 AD and was and is dedicated to the archangel, Gabriel. The chapel of the church we are able to see today is from the Middle Ages with the church itself built in 1750.

Inside the church one finds distinguished iconostasis, highly-polished pews, paintings honoring God and His story told beneath this location, deep golds and rich reds. It's quite dark, really. Warm by its nature but stand-offish in a way. Come but don't touch, it seems to say.

Or maybe that's the crotchety old man ...

At any rate, directly ahead of the front door from which light spills in from a courtyard where street vendors sell their good and several cafes offer culinary delights, are seven worn steps leading to the Chapel of the Spring.

And there, trickling below a low-burning lamp and surrounded by numerous depictions of Mary, is the source of the water.

Of course I have to share with you the funny part of this story. We wanted to take pictures (we managed to get a few) but the man yelled at us. Sharon and I sat in one of the pews, hoping to hear from God in the opulence and silence of the church. Eyes closed, we both managed to drink in a drop or two of Living Water.

But, the old man fussed at us and told us to get up. So we did. Feeling pretty rejected, our team of six journalists, one guide, and one IMOT rep, went out into the courtyard. It was then I found my courage. I wanted footage of the spring, by Golly. I tucked my video camera into my purse, left my other camera equipment and carrying case with my comrades, and headed back into the ancient building.

"What do you want now?" the man asked from just inside the door.

I hadn't expected a question. I answered, "I'm going back in" in the most firm tone I have.

The man stepped aside; I marched toward the barrel-vaulted chapel, descended the steps, slipped the camera out of my purse, prayed the man didn't hear the little bell that sounds when I turn the camera on (he didn't, I suppose) and ... voila! Film!

Enjoy!

And In Other News...

2010-05-02T07:42:00.003-04:00

If you love singing praises to the King of kings, check out:

http://www.thefish.com/music/worship/11631011/

http://www.crosswalk.com/spirituallife/worship/11631011/

At the Church of the Beautitudes

2010-04-19T11:33:00.005-04:00

This is truly one of the most beautiful landscapes in all of Israel and one I couldn't wait to see again. Not to mention that my friends would have the opportunity to see it for the first time. They were impressed, of course, but possibly none so much as Larry.

Maybe impressed isn't the right word.

Moved. (That's a good word...)

You see, unbeknownst to me, Larry had a dream before we came to Israel. I won't get into the details of it because it's not my place to do so. But it was here, at the Church of the Beatitudes, that Larry realized the dream as reality. It was, quite simply put, the "I am walking where Jesus walked" moment.

There's really nothing like that feeling, that sudden knowledge that you are where He was, where His Spirit continues to hover and wait. Where it inspires and excites.

It is said that here is the place where Jesus -- gathered by countless listeners -- gave the famous "blessed" sermon. Blessed are the peacemakers, blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the meek ... Personally, I like walking around the gardens -- this time I went alone -- and imagining being one of those listening to Rabbi Y'eshua. A gentle sloping toward the shoreline of the Galilee makes a perfect spot for sitting ... listening ... pondering ... learning more about God and what he expects from me and what He desires to give to me.

There is peace in this location. landscapes, rolling hillsides, bold cliffs standing guard in the distance. reality, Jesus was being pretty gentle in many ways with his teaching here. These were the poor who listened, the ones who daily had to make peace with Rome, the ones who lived meekly ... teachable, as it were. The time had not yet come for some of Jesus' more difficult teachings ... He was just getting started.

And perhaps that is what spoke the loudest to Larry. The gentle Jesus. The rabbi ... teaching in ways beyond words to ears ... but lessons to hearts.

"I was here... this is my land ... these are my people ... my Israel ... "

Mensa Christi

2010-04-04T14:48:00.013-04:00

In 2002, on my first trip to Israel and during one of our first days in Galilee, we went on a boat ride on the Sea of Galilee.

We were not allowed to lean over and touch the water.

Oh, how I wanted to! I wanted to so badly. But there were safety issues.

Later on, as we neared our last day in Galilee, I said to Miriam, "If only I could dip my hands and feet into the water of the Sea of Galilee." Miriam said something in Hebrew to our driver and the next thing I knew, we were pulling off on the side of the road next to an arched gate which read: Mensa Christi.

Mensa Christi: the table of Christ. The church standing boldly against the water of the Sea of Galilee, is built over what some say is the rock where the resurrected Jesus served the disciples a meal of fish. The shoreline, that day in 2002, was lined with small seashells, many of which I brought home as a memento.

In 2007, it was a different site awaiting me at the shoreline upon arrival. This time, fish -- like those Peter caught after Jesus told him to throw the net to the right side of the boat -- were in a feeding frenzy. It was an amazing thing to watch.

In 2009, I was bringing my friends here. To the peace of Mensa Christi. Inside the church was humming with tourists. Outside, several people stood along the shoreline in silence as the water lapped at their feet.

While my comrades listened to the Holy Spirit speaking to their heart, I took a walk away from the rock-strewn shore, to the little prayer garden where a statue depicting the restoration of Peter to Jesus. Jesus, arm stretched out. Peter, broken. Down on one knee.

Closer than I've ever been to the statue -- I don't know why -- I snapped a photo. Then I zoomed in a little closer. Closer and closer until I was focused only on Peter's face. "I know how he feels," I thought. "I know exactly how he feels."

Sometimes, we just doubt. We deny the work of God in our lives. We think we can get along without him and we make silly statements like, "I'm going fishing." In other words, "Forget this. I'm going back to what I knew three-and-a-half-years ago."

For the first time, standing in the shade of the stone garden, I thought more on the words of John 21. Jesus called out the disciples in the boat. "Brothers, have you any fish?"

Of course they didn't.

"Then throw the net to the right side of the boat..."

That worked. Now they know who he is.

Then Jesus suggests that they bring their fish and add them to the flame of the coals where he was preparing other fish. And bread. For Peter, this moment must have been both exciting and terrifying. The Jesus he had denied is offering him something to eat. A warm fire to shake the night's work off. And now, I'm totally recognizing the moment for what it is to Peter. Without Jesus, Peter cannot catch any fish. It was his life, for crying out loud, and he can no longer do it successfully without Jesus! He drags the net to the shore -- this very shore I am looking upon -- and Jesus says, "Add some of yours to some of mine, why don't you?"

Peter sees now. Jesus can do it without him, but not the other way around. And, Peter realizes, he doesn't have to do it alone. It's not about his strength or even his know-how. It's just about trusting Jesus.

"Come and have breakfast," Jesus says. Almost like an afterthought. "Wanna have some breakfast?" And so they eat. I wonder how much Peter ate. Did he just nibble? Did he gobble it down nervously? And then, breakfast consumed and the fish bones tossed in the fire, Jesus casually (it seems) turns to Peter and says, "Peter, do you love me?"

Not "Simon." Not his given Hebrew name. Not to start this dialogue. No.

"Cephas." The name Jesus had given to him. "Rock. Petra. Peter."

What must the worn out fisherman have thought? Did it bring him relief? Or make him wonder all the more ... what matter of love is this? And who am I that he loves me so?

The camera zooms in one more time and I snap the shot. "Yes, Peter," I think. "I know exactly how you feel."

The Town of Jesus

2010-03-17T09:40:00.017-04:00

I went to Israel in 2002, there was hardly anyone there. Oh, sure ... the people who live there were there. But no visitors. We kept bumping into another group of six journalists -- these being male -- but other than that ... no one.

When I returned in 2007, there were significantly more visitors. Tourism had returned to Israel, praise God!

But 2009 showed a completely different level of tourism altogether! People people everywhere! Not just one tour group, but many at most sites.

Capernaum -- the town of Jesus -- was no different.

Wait, I hear you say. Wasn't Nazareth the town of Jesus? Yes, it was ... until he began his ministry. Then, to fulfill Scripture's prophesy, he moved (See Matthew 4).

Capernaum of today is beautiful to behold. Tour groups have the option of sitting in shady gardens while hearing of Jesus' ministry and the miracles performed here. Or, they can stand along the border walls and stare out to the Sea of Galilee dancing in the day's sunlight. They can enter the church (I call it the giant spaceship that came to earth and managed to land on top of Peter's house) and worship quietly or partake of a service. Or, for a taste of what it would have been like to worship in a synagogue in Jesus' day, they can walk through the ancient White Synagogue, a fourth century structure built over the 1st century place of worship where Jesus drove out the demons plaguing a demoniac.

Okay, let me just tell it like it is. You could spend ALL DAY here. Few do, but you could. It is a worshiper's holiday. An archeologist's dream. A photographer's delight. A historian's mecca. Capernaum draws the person as a whole -- spiritually, emotionally, aesthetically. Flowers that grow in Capernaum are vivid in color, full of bloom.

If you read that line one more time, you'll get a sermon.

In 2002, after visiting Capernaum for the first time, I read in the Bible that here, when the demoniac approached him, the evil spirit cried out, "What do you want from us, Jesus of Nazareth?" (see Mark 1). I wrote in my journal, "Yes, Jesus. What do you want from me?"

The answer to the demonic was "Be quiet." (Although, according to Scripture, Jesus didn't say it very kindly ... to me, he whispered, "I want you to hush now ...")

I can be quiet in Capernaum.

But there's another story about Capernaum that ministered to me in 2007. Jesus and the disciples were in his town and he was asked, "What must we do to do this work of God?"

Jesus replied, "...believe ..."

I wrote in my journal. "I am asking you to believe."

In 2007, my husband and I were in a legal battle for the rights to raise a little girl. She is not a blood relative, but she'd been "ours" for a long time. We fought and fought hard -- against all odds, against what the legal eagles said was possible -- to make her "ours" legally and not just ours in our hearts. My battle in the States was near the forefront of my mind every moment of my time in Israel and so, in Capernaum, I asked, "What must we do to do the work we believe you have given us, Lord?"

Jesus whispered, "Believe."

In Capernaum, believing is easy.

In 2009 I was overwhelmed by the groups who'd made their way there. To worship. To hush. To believe.

So, Capernaum was his town. I keep trying to picture him visiting the local real estate office, shopping for just the right house ... and I wonder why we've identified the place under the Great Spaceship as Peter's house but no one has ever pointed to a cluster of stones and said, "Jesus' house." Then I remember. Jesus said if I should invite him into my heart, he would dwell there.

In Capernaum, finding Jesus' house is easy.

It stands right inside of me.

Coming Back to Where It All Began

2010-03-14T14:31:00.009-04:00

I was excited to return to Tel Hazor, the place of the archeological dig in ancient Hazor. The city Joshua burned to the ground. The city Deborah and Barak later conquered. And later still, one of Solomon's cities, complete with a gate attributed to him.

Not to mention, the place where I first "fell into the Bible."

I wrote about it in my book Reflections of God's Holy Land; A Personal Journey Through Israel. This monumental event in my life was the starting point for my article "Falling Into The Bible" written for Crosswalk.com in 2002. This is the place where a Hebrew speaking man named Hsein el Heib whispered to me in perfect English, "You are touching the Bible." This is the place where my life changed.

Now, I get to share it with my friends.

We arrived shortly after a picnic lunch eaten in the courtyard of a small shopping strip. Most of us had falafels. I say "most of us." Robi managed to find a McDonalds, of all things. Then we piled back into the van and headed to Tel Hazor. Mr. el Heib -- who knew of our coming -- stood just outside the visitor's entrance/his office. I couldn't wait to see him again (this being our third meeting). I opened the side panel door and stepped out. "Shalom!" I said.

"Shalom, Eva!" he said back.

Photos of the reunion were snapped, and then I asked him to show my friends what he'd shown me in 2002; the wall which holds the remains of (what is believed to be) Joshua's fire.

But he was unable to walk with us. He had been in a fight with a bull, he explained, and the bull won. His foot and leg were still beat up but he would wait for us to return and speak to us more then.

We walked on. Past the old entry into the city and toward the gate near what is the old "palace."

To the wall.

Robi said, "Wait! I have to get a photo of myself with Miriam and Eva here; I've heard so much about this one spot in Israel!" And so someone took our picture. Then, each of my friends approached the wall, touched its sooty surface, and poised while I snapped their image.

I hated saying goodbye. We were so rushed; we had to move on quickly. But we said our goodbyes to Mr. el Heib (Robi made friends with his dog.), then piled back into the van so we could head to the Sea of Galilee.

We were about to run where Jesus walked!

(For the full story of what happened to me at the wall in Tel Hazor, go to: AMAZON BLOG )

The Dan Reserve

2010-02-22T21:02:00.010-05:00

The Dan Reserve is one of the most beautiful places in the world ... at least as far as I am concerned. Walking along paths that meander through lush foliage and crossing bridges arching over wildly rushing water is about as close to heaven as I can possibly imagine. There's a spot just off from the welcome center -- a bridge -- that I declare is one of my favorites in all the land. There, water which was at one time snow fallen on Mount Hermon, barrels its way toward the Jordan River. It sounds to me like the sound of 10,000 armies. It is cold. Invigorating.

But then there is this other spot. Just a ways up a path where sunlight and shadow dance as if they are old lovers and birds whistle the sweetest of tunes for them, we come up on a place called The Garden of Eden.

Ironically, we saw a man and a woman sitting on a bench there. Miriam turned to me and said, "Hey, Eva. It's Adam and Eve."

We gathered there in the coolness of the location. Sharon got a wild idea to take off her shoes, sit on a bench perched on the water, and stick her tootsies in. Ellie and I decided to follow suit.

The water was cooooooold; we shared a laugh together. Not to mention a few photos.

Miriam explained to us why this area is called The Hill of the Judge. We listened intently ... and the story was so wonderfully put. I couldn't help but notice the sound of water trickling over pebbles. It was like music. God's symphony.

We kept going, though I could have sat there for hours. But there was more to see. The High Place of Dan, where man worshiped against the expressed wishes of God. The altar is no longer there, of course, but the steps to its highest point are. We sat upon them and listened to Miriam teach us. Then a couple with two small children arrived. We asked the husband to take our picture and he did. Finally we climbed the steps and stood on what once was the "storage unit" for the priests. I pointed northward and said, "That's Lebanon."

"Where?" Larry asked.

"Throw a rock," I answered with a smile. "We're that close."

Everyone was amazed. We took some more pictures and then we climbed down. We continued on the path until we came to the ruins of what was once the city of Dan. It's high fortress walls. It's gates. It amazes me each time I come here. People lived here. They fought here. They raised their children here and they died here. And now, here we are, just passing through.

I guess, in a way, they were too.

Just outside the gates I turned and looked up the road. My eyes climbed high and higher until they rested on an old Crusader fort called Nimrod's Fortress. I'd gone there in 2007. Impressive, indeed. But now ... now we had somewhere else to go. First lunch. Then ... my return to the place where I once fell ... and my life changed forever.

Masada/the Fifth Gospel (CBN.com)

2010-02-04T11:40:00.003-05:00

The second installment of The Fifth Gospel for CBN.com is now up. Just click on "The Fifth Gospel" now.

A Friend Of God

2010-02-03T12:15:00.003-05:00

My latest article for Crosswalk.com includes a photograph I took in Israel.

Can anyone name that spot? (And I hope you'll read the article, too!)

http://www.crosswalk.com/spirituallife/worship/11625777/

The Galilee, Day 1

2010-01-21T08:15:00.015-05:00

It would be a full day. A day that proved to myself as well as to the team that pilgrims too often "run where Jesus walked."

If I had the time -- if we'd had the time -- we could have easily spent three to four days in this area. Easily. And still not done everything I'd like to do. For one, we missed going up Arbel ... but that was due to a race in the area (and on our 2nd day, so let's not go there yet).

I was excited that morning. Truly. We were going to the Bet Yigal Alon Museum at Ginosar to see the remains of a 1st Century wooden boat which had been found in a most remarkable place back in 1986. According to tradition, the Primacy of Peter (also known as Mensa Christi, or Table of Christ) is where the resurrected Jesus cooked breakfast for the disciples who had returned to fishing (at Peter's encouragement). After being reinstated by Jesus, Peter (who is now known by a variety of titles, such as the First Pope and Prince of the Apostles) went on to preach the first sermon. In other words, he left the boat behind. The Primacy of Peter Church rests on the spot where tradition says that happened. But what happened to the boat?

Perhaps it is the boat discovered in 1986 by Moshe and Yuval Lufan, two brothers who were -- of all things -- fishermen! (Can you say "Peter and James," boys and girls?) The true miracle of the find was not just the discovery but the double rainbow that appeared in the sky over the Sea of Galilee.

Excavation of the boat was no easy feat. Conservationists, archeologists, volunteers, and the Powers That Be worked side by side. They wrapped it in a polyurethane coat to avoid disintegration. It took twelve days and nights -- and then it was soaked in a chemical bath for seven years before it was placed on exhibition at the Bet Yigal Alon center at Ginnosar. Amazingly, the boat has tested to date back between 100 BC and 100 AD. Could this be the boat Peter left behind?

I was thrilled that we were going to the centerfor two reasons. 1) I wanted my teammates to see the boat. 2) I wanted my teammates to meet my dear DEAR friends who manage the gift shop.

We were met by a young woman named Marina (who I'd met previously). She talked to our team about the center, then escorted them to a a wall of glass which opens upon sensing someone standing before it. The team was ahead of me. The door opened. I hear the ooh's and aah's. Just as I was about to follow, I turned toward the store and saw Tova, my friend. "Tova!" I said.

"EVA!" she said. Her arms spread wide in greeting. We hugged. She called out, "Naamah, it's Eva!" Naamah and her husband Ohad walked over. Lots of hugs were shared. I told them I'd be back shortly, then joined my team.

I couldn't wait to introduce everyone to my friends (minus Tova's husband, Alex, who had gone out on an errand). I left Tova and went behind the sliding glass doors to the place where the boat is housed. I took some photos. Talked to my friends in hushed tones. Then told everyone that my friends from the gift shop were looking forward to meeting them.

The next hour (at least!) was spent shopping. Robi outdid everyone! I was surprised to see the book Miriam and I had written on a shelf. "You have the book!" I declared to Tova.

"Of course!" she said (a common Israeli saying ... in Hebrew "Betach!") Tova took the books off the shelves and had Miriam and me sign the copies. It was the first time she and I had ever done that together! What a thrill!! A lot of pictures were taken amongst much laughter. But then it was time to go ... With sadness and kisses, we said "shalom" and "goodbye."

But not forever. They know I'll be back as soon as I can. And, until then, I hold the good people at Bet Yigal Alon in my heart. Now and always.

The Fifth Gospel

2010-01-14T15:59:00.004-05:00

Encouraging all of my blog readers to shift gears and go to CBN.com to read about The Fifth Gospel

And yes, I wrote it ... :)

Shalom Aleichem!

Eva Marie Everson

Mr. Bear Goes to Israel

2010-01-12T17:07:00.017-05:00

My traveling buddy is a stuffed pillow in the shape of a bear that I call "Mr. Bear." I bought Mr. Bear in Canada during a trip there to speak at a women's conference. There -- for the umpteenth time -- I lost my neck pillow. You know, those expensive pillows designed to wrap around you neck and to keep you from getting cramps when you sleep while traveling.

Anyway, another $12.99 down the drain.

I was traveling a lot during that period but just didn't want to buy another pillow. Still, it is a long way from Canada to Florida. My hostess and new friend Catherine Ryan said we'd go to the mall to see if we could find them for less. (I was also looking for a little souvenir or two for my baby girl.) Just after we walked into the mall, I saw a bin of bear-shaped pillows at a store akin to a Bed, Bath, and Beyond. They were $3.99 (US Dollars).

Mr. Bear was not chosen willy-nilly. I looked at quite a few of those bears before I picked the one worthy of the name (not to mention good enough to be my traveling buddy). When I took Mr. Bear in my arms, I looked at him, then tossed him. I can't explain it really. There was something in his eyes that followed mine. Something that said, "Now what did I ever do to you? Don't I deserve to be loved? Aren't I just the cutest thing you've ever seen?"

So, I bought Mr. Bear. (I couldn't lose him if I tried!) I have found that he fits perfectly between me and the window of a plane. He's worked wonders for my back when it starts to ache. And he's fun to cuddle with at night when I'm missing my real snuggly bear, Dennis (the huggy hubby).

So here's the thing. Mr. Bear has become a little famous. When I am traveling through the airport, he rides along in my carry-on, typically peeking out and waving at all the little children who exclaim, "Look, Mommy! It's a lady with a bear!"

But also he's become that little man who can be found resting on my hotel room pillows during the day. When others happen in (you know, those gals I work with -- no men in my hotel room!!!) they say, "Oh, who is this little guy?" Last year at the Blue Ridge Christian Writers Conference -- the one where I was assigned one room but had to sleep in another (long story) -- Mr. Bear was often seen trekking down the hallways and in the elevators until I reached my "sleeping room," which was actually the room of Ramona Richards (who took the photo of Mr. Bear in the BRCWC backpack!). (Another long story!)

At my website, Mr. Bear has his own section. Why wouldn't he? It's called Travels with Mr. Bear (I show my latest trips through photography.)

Of course, Mr. Bear accompanied me to Israel. He got up early one morning to see the Sea of Galilee, which he thought was quite pretty.

He thought the rooms at Ein Gedi Kibbutz were quite comfy. In fact, he and I enjoyed watching Israel's version of Dancing with the Stars together the night we were there.

There was one night that Mr. Bear managed to make me laugh, though. and it was a much needed laugh. It had been a physically grueling day. We'd climbed to the top of Herodian and then back down again to see the recently discovered tomb. After that we climbed right back up and then back down again to see "home sweet home" of Herodian. After an ice cream, which we all needed desperately by that point, we drove back to Jerusalem stopping long enough to see the the ruins of a church built around what is traditionally the rock where Mary rested before reaching Bethlehem. Then into Jerusalem to visit the Jerusalem Archeological Park (Southern Wall Excavations), the Davidson Center, the Kotel, or Western Wall, the Arab Market, the Jewish Quarter and Cardo and finally the heart-breaking Yad Vashem (the National Memorial and Museum of the Holocaust). When we left the building of Yad Vashem it was to discover that our driver was not there and would not be back for 20 minutes. But honestly, none of us were upset at the news. We needed the time to reflect and to collect our emotions.

Finally back at the hotel (where we had to get ready for a dinner out), we rode the elevator up to the sixth floor, fell out without saying a word, then walked to our rooms. My room was first in the hallway. I opened the door ... and the site before me caused me to burst into peels of laughter! Soon my comrades in distress were coming into my room (okay, this time there WERE men in my room ... but the door was open and we were ALL in there) to see what had me so hysterical.

It was Mr. Bear, tucked in by housekeeping for the night.

The folks at Ramat Rachel Kibbutz had no idea that day as they carried about their duties and as I carried about mine that this one little act -- adorable as it was -- would be the balm I needed on my weary soul and body. It carried me to the next moments.

And that night, when I cried for all I had seen and heard that day, it was Mr. Bear who accepted those tears.

Goodnight, Mr. Bear.

The Night I Had Waited For

2009-12-25T22:03:00.014-05:00

On our third night we stayed at Maagan Guest House. This was the first time our luggage was unloaded for the night that we would actually dare to unpack a little. Tonight and tomorrow night, this was "home."

And what a home it was. The landscape is so lush and green you'd think you were teeing off rather than sleeping in (not that we slept in!). Palm fronds rustled in the evening breeze as we checked in and then were escorted to our suites. Yes, I said suites. Guest suites made up of living rooms with little dinette areas, a small kitchen, a nice double bedroom and a bath. At the entry way to each suite was a picnic/patio area. One could conceivably kick back and with friends and listen to the ripples and waves of The Sea of Galilee not more than a few yards away.

That evening we were dining at Decks. YES!!! DECKS!!!

So, why the excitement, you wonder. Well, I'll tell you. Everyone who travels to Israel has a favorite.

Favorite site.

Favorite guide.

Favorite moment.

Favorite hotel ... kibbutz ... hostel. Favorite food.

Favorite restaurant.

My favorite site -- well, I'm torn between Tel Hazor and Ein Gedi. Favorite guide. That's easy. Miriam. Favorite moment -- which time? First time was when I fell in Tel Hazor. Second time was watching a Bar Mitzvah at the Western Wall. Third time was a fleeting moment when I realized two of my dearest friends had experienced a healing from their emotional wounds.

Favorite hotel ... has to be Mount Zion in Jerusalem. Favorite kibbutz -- well, I'm torn there too. I love Ein Gedi. Nof Ginnosar, and Maagan. Each are unique in their own way. My favorite food in Israel is the pita bread with hummus. Hands down. You can't get it like that anywhere else. Not to mention the fruit. Fresh squeezed juices.

Favorite restaurant?? Decks, in Tiberias.

My first trip to Decks was in 2002 during my first visit to Israel. During my second trip, I insisted that we return. Miriam called ahead and told the owner, Vered, that I wanted to come back ... how much I'd enjoyed dining there. I expected that Miriam and I would dine quietly on the beyond delicious food. But instead, we were wined and dined and personally entertained by Vered and her wait staff. At one point, four of the servers came in and danced to We Are Standing On Holy Ground. (Okay, so this is my other big moment during my second visit.)

So, I couldn't wait to go back! I told everyone with me (and Joe concurred) that they would never have food like this ever again in their lives. (I bet they'd tell you I was right, too!)

And so we went. There was a possibility that Benjamin Netanyahu would be there, so security was tight. Pretty interesting having to answer intense questions just to go eat! (Turns out he was at the restaurant next door eating Chinese food!)

We were served by -- I am not kidding you -- the prettiest thing I've ever laid my eyes on. I'm talking one BEAUTIFUL Middle Eastern gal. There really are no words to describe her. The food was -- as always -- out of this world. I kept telling our group to pace themselves. "More is coming," I said.

And then more did.

The joy of my night came when the lights were dimmed. I stood. I knew (or at least I thought I knew) what was about to happen. Larry was standing now, too ... on the other side of the table. I motioned for him to come to where I was. I pointed out. Out over the sea to where fireworks were going off. Then, up to the outer porch came a boat, lined in tiny white lights. Men stood on the outside and -- in the utter darkness -- set off sparklers as, inside, a woman announced a welcome to Israel and to Decks.

Then she mentioned several folks who were special guests. This person. That group. Applause went up all around us. And then I heard my name. My name in Israel. As fireworks exploded and people applauded ... Israel was speaking my name. They were calling me "a friend."

I burst into tears. Larry wrapped his arm around my shoulder, then Joe came up and I sobbed, "I love this country so much!"

Someone took our picture ... then one of Joe, Miriam, and me.

It was a night I would never forget. Will never forget. I will never forget Israel. Her name is forever in my heart and on my tongue.

And now, they also know my name.

To the Sea

2009-12-24T11:44:00.011-05:00

(Day 2 continues)

After our trip to Masada, but before we dipped our feet into the Jordan in the wilderness, we stopped at what is known as Cave #4 in Qumran. The most significant find of all the Dead Sea Scrolls was done here. And, if you are watching videos or looking at photographs about the Dead Sea Scrolls, this cave is the one most photographed.

After Qumran and our Jordan River experience, we headed up to the Galilee region. We rambled along for some time ... a few of us chattered ... a few of us slept. Cheri was sleeping so hard, she actually missed the excitement of coming out of the West Bank via checkpoint.

One of the places Miriam has always wanted to take a group of writers was to the grave of Israel's beloved "Rachel the poetess." So loved are her works, her headstone has a special place to sit, retrieve some of her works, and read them by her final resting place -- which is next to the Sea of Galilee.

Miriam was getting her wish. We were heading toward the Sea and the grave.

As soon as I saw the blue water sparkling in the late afternoon sun, I reached over the back of the front seat, placed my hand on Larry's shoulder and said, "Hey, Larry! You're at the Sea of Galilee." (This would end up being something I did a lot to Larry ... "Hey, Larry ... you're at the Dead Sea ... Hey Larry, you're in Jerusalem ... Hey, Larry ... you're in Israel."

Before walking into the cemetery in Kinneret, we jaunted across the street to watch Christian pilgrims decked out in flowing white robes as they were baptized in at Yardenit (the part of the Jordan at the mouth of the Sea of Galilee).

I'm not sure what everyone else was thinking, but I couldn't help but compare our very private moments at the water in southern Israel to what seemed almost commercialized. Then again, not everyone -- I thought -- gets a private IDF escort through mine fields to the water's edge and not everyone can understand the spiritual implications of what I just wrote.

We left our places at the bridge overlooking the baptisms and into the cemetery. It had been raining before we'd arrived. The ground was spongy. The air cool. The sky darkening. The Sea of Galilee lapped at the shoreline nearby as we, canopied under thick trees, made our way to the grave, walking behind Miriam -- our mother (Ema) duck. A breeze rustled the palm fronds as Miriam sat by the grave honored with small stones. We, her students (ducklings), sat across from the grave and watched as she opened the small compartment holding texts, then listened intently as she read to us.

I watched Miriam's face intently. This was a moment for her. Miriam, as gifted a writer as anyone I know, reading words that stirred not only her heart, but the heart of a nation ... not only a nation's heart, but our hearts as well.

Earlier in the day -- having left Ein Gedi -- we each penned our own thoughts, moved as David must have been moved to write some of his great psalms of praise to God. When Miriam had finished reading, I said, "Now it is time to take out what you wrote today and read."

Each of us read ... words so beautiful! Mine went thusly:

I look back at where I've been.

The heights. The valleys.

And I think that you knew all along.

You see where I am. And you see where I am going;

it is no mystery to you.

So why then do I fear?

Do the conies shudder?

Do the ibex stand on unsteady feet?

Do they run along well-worn paths with care?

No.

They seek the safety of the rock with confidence and there they find God.

When everyone had read (Ellie had written a special song to Robi, which nearly ripped my heart out), and had cried enough to fill the sea beside us to overflowing, we stood. We took a few photographs as best we could in the near-darkness. Then we returned to the van where Tzvika awaited to take us to our next destination.

Day 2 Continues ... Land Mines and Healing Waters

2009-12-22T22:45:00.011-05:00

We left Masada after two or so hours of exploration and learning. It was now time to do something I'd been excitedly waiting on for months. We were going to the Jordan River.

But not just any location along the 156 mile ribbon of water known as one of the most sacred bodies of water in the world. No. We were heading toward the historical site where Joshua and the early Hebrews crossed the muddy and rising waters to the Promised Land ... the place where Elijah and Elisha crossed over ... but only Elisha returned ... the place where John the Baptist cried out, "Repent!" and the place where Jesus came to be baptized.

Bethany Beyond the Jordan is in Jordan. And, it is the location of a lot of historical evidence, having been written about as far back as the 5th century. Churches have been erected here, crosses discovered, and -- in fact -- a church marking the spot where (it has been said) Jesus laid his clothes before being baptized.

Most modern-day pilgrims to Israel, when desiring to be baptized in the Jordan, do so at the mouth of the river where it spills out from the Sea of Galilee in the north. While it is no where near the Bethany beyond the Jordan mentioned in the Gospels as being where Jesus was baptized, it has been -- at least -- a place without conflict.

Until recently. Thanks to renewed relationships with Jordan, conflicts have lessened. Still, with the exception of special dates and occasions, one must obtain special permission to visit Kasr el Yehud (Possibly: The Castle of the Jews), which is on the Israeli side of the site.

We had special permission!

Our driver pulled the van just inside a narrow strip of road, which was blockaded. A call was made. We sat, waiting somewhat patiently for our military escort to arrive. Around us was nothing but land and sand, boundaried off by barbed wire and large yellow-gold signs reading "Danger! Mines!" in not one but three languages. Minutes passed. I don't think anyone said a word. Except maybe for Robi. By now Robi was talking 100 miles an hour. (Praise God!) The rest of us just watched and waited. Then, a humvee approached. Stopped. An Israeli soldier got out, came to the driver's side of the van, spoke Hebrew to Tzvika, and the returned to the military vehicle. Soon enough we were jostling along the road behind it, each of us wrapped in our own thoughts.

We were in an extremely militarized zone. We were in the West Bank. We were heading toward the Jordan escorted by a specially ordered team of soldiers with AK47s.

Wow.

We came to a stop and climbed out of the white van. We said "Shalom" to our new friends (the guards) and then slowly made our way toward the newly constructed building and a platform with steps leading down into the water.

Across the way, Jordanian soldiers stood guard. We were so close, we could have whispered and they would have heard us. Instead, we waved. They waved back. I think I may have giggled, even.

A look at the river told us a few things. 1) it's just not that wide. If you tried to skip a pebble, it may only hit the water twice. 2) it's muddy as all get out. 3) no one was up for going any deeper than our ankles.

But the platform was covered in about two to four inches of creamy mud. Someone mentioned it might be too slippery to reach the water. But nothing was stopping me. I slipped out of my shoes, rolled up the legs of my jeans, and forward I went.

"Be careful ..." I heard.

I was. Trust me, I was.

And then my feet slipped into the cool water of the Jordan River. For a moment, my breath caught. How beautiful the feet of those who bring the good news, the Bible says in Isaiah 52:7.

I turned now to see each of my fellow journalists taking one easy step at a time. When Cheri reached the water, she choked and then cried openly. Larry was so moved, he could hardly say a word. Robi gathered water in a jar for the purpose of baptizing her new grandchild (who was born a month later...). Sharon and Ellie held back for a while, then Robi and I helped Sharon to the steps amid a lot of laughter. The next thing I knew, Ellie had joined us and Cheri was "sprinkling" everyone as a form of baptism ... including our IMOT rep.

I don't think a single one of us was ready to leave when it was time. But the soldiers grew weary and -- appreciative -- we knew our time had come to say goodbye. (It was about this time someone walked up who Sharon actually knew from the States! Only in Israel!)

We had washed our hearts by dipping our feet into the water ... now it was time to wash our feet of the mud.

On the way back to the gate, we were all talking, laughing, chirping away like caged birds set free. And in a funny and beautiful way ... I believe we now were.

Healing at Masada

2009-12-01T09:32:00.013-05:00

Day 2 continues. After our climb at Ein Gedi, we ventured back to the van, then drove the few miles from there to Masada.

Masada is the 1800 feet by 900 feet plateau where, in 66 AD a group of Jewish radicals (called Sicarii) overcame the Romans. In 71 AD, after the destruction of the temple, the rebels and their families left Jerusalem and settled in what was once the "get-away" palace of King Herod the Great. The following year, the Romans marched against Masada. They failed to overcome the zealots and then built a rampart, using 1000s of tons of stone and sand. This rampart was finished in 73. The Romans could now take control of these Jewish men, women, and children. But when they finally made it to the top of Masada, they found that a mass suicide had occurred. Flavius Josephus records that 960 in all were dead, but that two women and five children hid inside a cistern and were therefore spared.

Today, Masada is a national park. One does not need a good pair of hiking boots to reach the top (although a snake path makes getting there possible for those willing to spend the time and energy). The most common method of reaching the summit is by cable car.

Just before we reached Masada, Larry asked me, "How long does it take inside the cable car?"

"A few seconds," I replied. I thought nothing of the question or my answer.

Then, once we'd reached Masada, had watched a video, and then exited the theater to the cable cars, we all boarded.

Well, all except Larry and Robi.

Larry, I was told by Cheri, was afraid not only of heights, but of closed spaces. "Don't worry," Cheri said. "Robi is talking to him." (Robi is a Masters student of psychology. And, she'd just finished a course on anxiety!) Though I was concerned about Larry, I trusted Robi. And God.

Then I heard someone say, "Larry made it in."

I breathed a sigh of relief. (I fear Larry wasn't breathing at all!)

When we reached the end of our ride and the doors opened, Larry was the first off. When I walked up to him, he was looking straight ahead, not to the left or right and certainly not down! We continued on the path to the extreme top of Masada where we saw a group of people who'd just celebrated a Bar Mitzvah coming toward us. It was a delightful processional, which we were all swept up into.

When they'd gone past us, I looked at Larry.

It was as if he were seeing the beauty of the whole world for the first time. Looking to the east, a picture of the Dead Sea and the hills of Jordan. To the west, the Negev ... naked and rugged. All around, history. Millennium of history.

By the end of our time on Masada, he was practically leaning over the edge of the ancient stone walls, just to take photos!

"My wife won't believe this," he said. "So many things we have not been able to do because of this issue I have ... and now ... I honestly believe I've been healed."

And so do we.

Larry and I spoke of it later ... how fear must have wrapped itself around those who eventually took the lives of their wives and children ... then killing each other until there was only one left. He alone fell on his sword.

Fear can do horrible things to you. It not only cripples, it takes away the joys God has in store for you. Larry grasped all of that and so much more on Masada ...

But there was more healing to come. So much more. And not just for Larry. We just didn't know it yet.

Day 2 Continues (Part 2)

2009-11-29T06:33:00.019-05:00

Have you ever seen or heard something and thought, "That'll preach ...?"

When I was in Israel in 2007, the fabulous photographer Doron Nissim said to me (about photography), "Always shoot for the light. If you go for the light, you can't go wrong." To which I said, "That'll preach..."

Yesterday, my 2009 Israel traveling companion Larry Leech and his wife Wendy came over to visit with my hubby and me. Naturally, Larry and I talked about our many adventures in Israel. Larry made an observation about one of the days we'd spent there (can't remember it now...) to which Wendy replied, "Larry, that will preach."

It seems to me that everything in Israel will preach. Every chance meeting, every landmark, every holy site, and every rock ...

We were climbing Ein Gedi, heading toward the upper waterfall when I spied a rock in the cliffs. It seemed to me that it was standing alone, unsupported, and yet not budging an inch. I said, "Wonder how long it's been standing like that?" to which someone else said, "And I bet it's not going anywhere."

When David wrote about God being his Rock and Fortress, he wrote of unmovable rocks like those in Ein Gedi and a fortress which was a castle of defense against those hunted. David knew all about being hunted. This -- Ein Gedi -- was his hiding place against Saul. The place where he hid in the cave (the caves are apparent all along the way) which Saul entered to relieve himself. The place where David cut the corner of David's robe and then made peace with Saul. The rocks in Ein Gedi cry out this story and remind me that no matter my foe, to the safety of God is where I run!

Jesus said that if the people didn't cry out, the stones would. Ein Gedi proves that. The only difference is, is that in Ein Gedi (the Spring of the Kid/Goat) man does not need to speak. It's hard to speak. The beauty is breathtaking (so is the climb!).

My favorite spot in Ein Gedi is the lower waterfall. It's tricky getting to it at times. The first time I saw it, I climbed over a few boulders and crossed a stream without hesitation. This year, however, having spent so long in bed with my back, there was a little trepidation. Everyone else had gone on ahead, walking toward the upper waterfall. But this was my "spot." The place where God spoke and speaks to me in life-changing ways. I knew I had to take the chance and go to it ... and so I did. It was as glorious as I remembered it; the only thing pulling me away was Miriam's insistence that I "come on up!" (Photo above taken by Miriam Feinberg Vamosh, 2007.)

When I reached the upper waterfall, Robi -- who leaned against a boulder staring up at the impressive waterfall -- started singing "Oh Lord, my God ... when I in awesome wonder..." Little by little every voice joined in (except mine. I was now recording the moment on my camcorder.)

You see, Robi has just gone through the most difficult season of her life. She has climbed the mountain of heartache ... just as she had just climbed the sometimes difficult paths of Ein Gedi. Ein Gedi was teaching her (I think ...) and me that when we are faithful in the climb, the Living Water waits to bless us. To heal us. To draw us as we draw water.

Which reminds me of what it was exactly that Larry said yesterday. "Any time we found water," he told us, "we found things growing."

Here in Ein Gedi, the rocks and water, the cliffs and caves, tell me, "we have to climb difficult mountains to find the water."

But when we do ... Oh my ...

Day 2 Continues

2009-11-21T07:01:00.011-05:00

After viewing the wilderness from David ben Gurion's grave, we embarked into the desert where the canyons rise high on both sides and where a stream eventually leads to water pouring from a rock, spilling down several yards and into a pool below. An amazing place to tell the story of Moses and his drawing of water from a rock ...

As expected, the cries of delight from my travel-mates was music to my ears. Miriam had turned me on to this Negev beauty in 2007 ... now I was sharing it with others. Every so often, I'd turn back to see one of the other reporters staring up at the canyon walls ... or enjoying the play of the ibex nearby.

The weather was warm, the shade a respite. But one cannot stand still long in Ein Avdat (the spring of Avdat). One is drawn by the water and its source, which is -- from what I read -- still open for scientific debate. Just what causes the water to spill from the rock -- could it be rainfall that builds up until there is no where else to go but out? -- is up for interpretation.

I say that perhaps Moses left the tap on. And, of course, I say this with a smile.

I heard someone say, "I'm staying here. Come back and get me in a few days." I wish I could now remember who. Perhaps it was Robi ... Tempting, yes, I think. But then that would mean missing the beauty that is the rest of Israel. No such doing! Not here. Not today!

What stands out at me as I read these verses of Scripture and as I stand in the canyon looking at the water and the rock is that the people didn't grumble against God. They grumbled against Moses. No good deed goes unpunished. Moses has led them out of physical captivity, but they'd rather have that than be thirsty.

Water From A Rock

Exodus 17

¹ The whole Israelite community set out from the Desert of Sin, traveling from place to place as the LORD commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink.² So they quarreled with Moses and said, "Give us water to drink."
Moses replied, "Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you put the LORD to the test?"
³ But the people were thirsty for water there, and they grumbled against Moses. They said, "Why did you bring us up out of Egypt to make us and our children and livestock die of thirst?"
⁴ Then Moses cried out to the LORD, "What am I to do with these people? They are almost ready to stone me."
⁵ The LORD answered Moses, "Walk on ahead of the people. Take with you some of the elders of Israel and take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. ⁶ I will stand there before you by the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it for the people to drink." So Moses did this in the sight of the elders of Israel. ⁷ And he called the place Massah and Meribah because the Israelites quarreled and because they tested the LORD saying, "Is the LORD among us or not?"
New Thoughts
This leads to two new thoughts.
1. That leaders are often called to go forward while everyone else grumbles behind them and with only what they have in their hand. In Moses' case, it was a staff. Moses had already seen that with the staff in his hand, God proved faithful.
2. How like the early Hebrews I am. Jesus brought me out of captivity ... yet sometimes I actually look back and yearn for the days when everything was about "me." Walking the path of God is not always easy. It's filled with awe and wonder and miracles abound, but it's not easy. Eventually the path becomes familiar; we know what to expect. Still, the rocks can be difficult to climb.
One thing is for sure. The Rock doesn't move. I'll show you how I know ... tomorrow.

Israel Day 2

2009-11-20T06:54:00.009-05:00

I am beyond excited to share the Wilderness of Zin with my friends and fellow writers. Joe says he has never been where we are going either, which really surprises me. This has been the big mystery: how anyone could possibly come to Israel and skip the desert. After all, this is a metaphorical event of leaving behind the desert and coming into the promise. This is also where Jesus began his ministry, near where he was baptized. Where John called out for repentance and where Elijah and Elisha crossed the Jordan one way and Joshua crossed it the other.

But so many Christians want to begin their pilgrimage in Galilee where Jesus spent the majority of his ministry, they totally forget where it all began. Miriam introduced me to this concept years ago, I introduced it to Joe (IMOT) and now we are going to introduce it to these five journalists traveling with us.

Nahal Zin/Ein Avdat is also the place where David ben Gurion is buried. We stop at his grave first. Several groups of IDF (Israel Defense Forces) grads are about to have their ceremony. Family members gather near ben Gurion's grave. Flags fly. Young people decked in green mill about. Young men stand in attention with the mountains of the desert as their backdrop. Before them is a table with M-16s and Bibles. A gun and a sword. How can they go wrong?

Our group feels privileged to witness this. We are also surprised to know that male soldiers have female soldiers for superiors. "If they can deal with this," Miriam quips, "they can get through anything."

Our group places stones on ben Gurion's grave -- the Jewish equivalent to flowers -- then walks over to a stone wall where we take photos of the land before us ... the land we are about to venture in to. I hear declarations of how impressive it is.

They have no idea.

(photo at bottom shows David ben Gurion's grave in foreground with graduating soldiers between it and the Desert of Zin.)

Reporting from Israel

2009-11-18T09:48:00.011-05:00

Internet reception at some of the kibbutz's being what it was, we were unable to post the words of our journey as we wished. Jerusalem was better, but by the time we got there, I was too tired to post. But I kept regular notes so that once I was settled in at home again, I could share with you the magnificence that is The Land of the Bible.

Day One

It was the result of years of praying -- Miriam and me. Months of planning -- Miriam, Joe Diaz, and me. Now the time had come. The Florida team -- Larry Leech, Cheri Cowell, Robi Lipscomb and I -- boarded Delta's 12:17 flight for JFK. Robi and Larry were seated together and Cheri and I sat directly behind them. Cheri spoke to our other seatmate. While she got the scoop on the fact that he and his wife were on their honeymoon and that she was seated near the back and the others on that aisle would not change with them, I was zeroing in on his accent. "Where are you from?" I asked.

"Israel," he answered.

It was like a gift we were given. Already God was telling us this would be a special trip. Cheri agreed to change seats with the wife so that they would be together and for the rest of the trip I was treated to photos of their wedding and the first leg of their honeymoon.

Mazel Tov!

We arrived at JFK on time. As the four of us left the jetway, I saw a man standing near the gate holding up a piece of paper with our names on it.

Wow.

He gave his name -- Shim W. Lew -- and told us he was Chief of Protocol for Delta at JFK. By him we were escorted to the Sky Club near our departing gate for Tel Aviv. We settled in then left for some lunch at a nearby restaurant. As we nibbled on food and talked about our hopes for the trip, Sharon Decker from North Carolina joined us. After lunch, we returned to the Sky Club where each of us did our own thing until our flight was called.

At Gate 14, Ellie Kay met us, making our group nearly complete. Upon arriving in Tel Aviv, we would be met by Joe Diaz (Israel Ministry of Tourism, Atlanta office), my coauthor Miriam Feinberg Vamosh (who would serve as our guide) and Tzvika, our driver. I could hardly wait.

But wait we would. The flight from JFK to Tel Aviv is a long one. We were fed an okay dinner (for airline food) then catnapped the rest of the flight. At some point I stood up to walk around. From the shadows of sleeping figures I saw a hand wave at me. It was Larry, about six rows back. Next to him, Cheri slept. Across the aisle, Robi did too. I walked to Larry and received the news that we were landing a good deal ahead of time, thanks to a tail wind.

The Ben Gurion International Airport is absolutely spectacular to behold. Ellie and I seemed to walk faster than the others but still took in the sense of being "home." At the end of a long hallway called the connector I spotted a pretty woman holding a sign that read: Eva Marie Everson's Party.

That was us!

I greeted the woman with a smile and a handshake. We gathered everyone together. She escorted us through border patrol, then to get our luggage, then through customs. Because we were early, there was no one to meet us in the Arrivals Hall, a disappointment for sure. But it gave us a while to turn our dollars into shekels and grab a much-needed cup of coffee.

Of course all I could think was "Where is Joe" and "Where is Miriam?" A few minutes later, Joe arrived. We hugged, said, "We did it! We made it!" then waited a while longer.

Someone from IMOT reported that our driver and Miriam were waiting outside for us. My heart flipped. MIRIAM! I grabbed my luggage, slung my camera bag and purse over my shoulder, and headed for the outside doors.

I spotted Miriam across the way. She was on the phone. Next to her was the man I assumed was Tzvika. We made our way across. Miriam ended her call and looked up. Our eyes met -- having not seen each other for nearly three years -- and we both smiled. I ran the remainder of the gap between us. We hugged -- it had been TOO long -- and Miriam said, "It feels like just yesterday ..."

Crazy. She was right.

Tel Aviv greeted us with gray skies and rain. Miriam declared that this was supposed to be the last day of such weather -- although they were grateful for it -- and we all lifted a verbal prayer that the weather would be kind to us.

Our first night was spent in Ma'ale Hachamisha Hotel outside of Jerusalem. We were led to our rooms where a plate of fruit and a large bottle of water waited for us. I pulled back the heavy drapes and flung open the window.

The rain had stopped. The sun broke through the clouds. God was speaking. We were about to spend seven unprecedented days.

At dinner we were treated to a visit with Miriam's husband Arik. Arik and Miriam are Israel. Arik's father and mother were Holocaust survivors -- while other family members were not. Arik fought in the Yom Kippur War in which he was hit with shrapnel, which left him paralyzed from the waist down -- not that it has stopped him from living a full life. Miriam grew up in New Jersey but came to Israel at age 17 to see her brother, a Rabbi in Jerusalem. She fell in love with the country and decided to call it home. Shortly thereafter, she made aliyah.

This couple is like family to me. I love them, their family members, and their children as though I were born into their fold. I know they love me in this way, too.

She's Writing Again

2009-10-02T06:22:00.007-04:00

Can you believe I sat on my novel for nearly a month? According to the writing log I keep, the last time I wrote was September 5th.

In wondering why, I went back and re-read the entire 11,000 words I'd written up until this point. In doing so, I realized that the final scene penned had nearly done me in and I had needed time to recoup.

The final scene written is a courtroom scene. A courtroom scene in which the destiny of two children is decided. In my personal life, and in the course of a decade, I spent nearly five years in a courtroom, fighting for the right of one child, a child my husband and I now raise as our own. To write the courtroom scene in my novel, I pulled out a DVD I'd purchased of one of the old hearings. I watched it over and over, looking for tiny movements, listening for legal terms and the legally proper moments of the hearing. I was swept back into the angst, the fear, the relief. I relived every brutal moment.

Now, as the author of a fictitious work, I had to place my protag in the same skin I once wore. But in her case (pardon the pun), she lost.

My worst fears became Kimberly's reality.

But, you see, I know something Kimberly doesn't know. I am her creator ... the story's creator ... and I know I have to get her from Plot Point A to Plot Point B where she will be blessed beyond what she has even begun to imagine. To gain something she doesn't even realize she wants, she must be forced to loosen her control on something she thinks she cannot live without.

It took me a month to realize this. Writers often use the events of their lives as inspiration for scenes or stories. But we mix them up, change them around (lest we end up in court ourselves!). Still, we have to revisit old wounds and sometimes wonder what may have happened had things not turned out as they did.

And that takes the wind out of our sails. So, for a month, this writer -- with a reopened wound -- had to sit in a corner and lick it. Now, having a better understanding of God's grace and His plan, she can continue to write.

And so she shall. And so she has. Return to Cedar Key is now at 16k words.

Until next time ... write on...

Guest Blogger Gail Pallotta

2009-09-09T10:32:00.002-04:00

In the Wilderness by Guest Blogger Gail Pallotta,
Author of LOVE TURNS THE TIDE

In my new inspirational romance, LOVE TURNS THE TIDE, twenty-six-year-old Cammie O’Shea takes a job in Destin, Florida, and simultaneously suffers a heartbreaking split-up with her fiancé. Moving one week early to keep an appointment with an important client, Vic Deleona, she goes to his office to interview him before she even meets her new boss at The Sun Dial newspaper. When she enters, Vic has his back to her, so she pushes the door shut to make a noise. He turns and glares at her with angry green eyes. Then, he takes a call, excuses himself and leaves Cammie standing alone in the middle of the floor.
I thought of Cammie a few weeks ago, when I heard a sermon about the hungry Israelites wandering in the wilderness grumbling that at least they had had food, when they were slaves in Egypt. As soon as the minister pointed out that we too can find ourselves in a wilderness with no one but God to turn to Cammie came to mind. She leaves her family and friends she’s known for years and ends up in a place where she knows no one. Not long after she settles into her apartment in Destin she visits the shore.
When she sees the beauty of the water and miles of white sand dotted with sea oats blowing in the breeze, she stops in her tracks and thinks, “What a sight it must have been for the disciples when they saw Jesus upright on the lake. The Bible said they were frightened and thought it might be a spirit instead of Christ until he told them “…Take courage. It is I. Don’t be afraid.” Then Peter walked on the water. As long as he stayed focused on Jesus he never faltered, but when he became skeptical and turned his attention to the wind, he sank. In Matthew 14: 31, when Jesus caught him he said, ‘You of little faith, why did you doubt?’” While still staring at the sea Cammie ponders why she doubts.
Now when she needs God most with her life spinning out of control, for some reason she doesn’t understand she feels more estranged from him than she ever has. “If only he would take the weight of the failed romance, the new job, and a new home off her shoulders. She was saying her prayers and reading her Bible every day. What more could she do?” she asks herself.
Being in the wilderness is like being in a jungle with a forest too dense to let in a ray of sunshine and underbrush so thick one couldn’t walk through it even if there was a visible way out. One can stroll into it so easily, so unexpectedly. One day life’s humming along; the next, the dark curtain falls. A number of events can create a wilderness, joblessness, controversy, disagreements, illnesses, separation from loved ones, loss of loved ones. When I’m in my next one I’ll try to think of the part of the minister’s sermon when he reminded the congregation that God sent the Israelites manna in the wilderness.
The minister also claimed that the time spent in a desolate, lonely place would strengthen one’s faith. Even though I know such words can dissipate into jumbled letters that make no sense when gray clouds hover over a person day after day, I’ll cling to the thought and know that God is with me. If I keep believing and follow his lead I will find my way out.

Matthew 17:20: “…I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

ABOUT LOVE TURNS THE TIDE
To find out what happens to Cammie look for LOVE TURNS THE TIDE on the Awe-Struck E-Books Web site. To locate the site Google Awe-Struck E-Books; then look for Genres on the Home Page and click on the Inspirational Bar. For a while Awe-Struck will offer a discount on the New Releases page. Available in a variety of formats for PDA readers, laptops and computers, the book costs $4.99. Read more about LOVE TURNS THE TIDE on Gail’s Web site, www.gailpallotta.com.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
The granddaughter of a minister and niece of several English teachers, Gail inherited their interest in storytelling and her mother’s love of people. Her first writing appeared in a grammar school newspaper she and a friend put out about their classmates. Many years later she worked in Atlanta, Georgia, as an editor and copywriter. After she married while helping her husband with his business she published poems and freelance articles. While some of her articles were selected for anthologies two historical pieces ended up in museums. Gail published her first book, NOW IS THE TIME, a Christian novel in 2004. That year the American Christian Writers Association named her a regional writer of the year.

ABOUT DESTIN:
The Beginning: Once dubbed the “World’s Luckiest Fishing Village” Destin dates back to seventh century A. D., when American Indians lived there. It’s named for Leonard Destin, who moved from New London, Connecticut, about 1845. For years he and his descendants fished and navigated the only channel passage to the Gulf of Mexico between Panama City and Pensacola, known as Destin’s East Pass.

The White Sand: Destin’s sand originated 20,000 years ago during the Ice Age, when temperatures warmed and ice caps started melting. Quartz particles from the Appalachian Mountains were swept into the water and carried by the Apalachicola River to the Gulf of Mexico, one-hundred twenty-five miles east of the area that became Destin. As the sea level rose, the quartz sands formed a new shoreline. The process continues today.

Destin Currently: A tourist area, Destin’s activities include fishing, golfing, boating, snorkeling, kite boarding, and scuba diving. For more information visit www.destinfl.com; www.destin-ation.com; www.destinchamber.com.

A Very Brave Thing

2009-09-06T16:52:00.007-04:00

It was with much trepidation that I picked up the phone to call my friend, Larry Leech. Earlier that day I'd been at a Word Weavers meeting. I heard a couple of writers talking about their "novel group." It was then I remembered that Larry also has such a group, a place where writers in the throes of a novel can bring portions of their work for critique.

It takes a lot of nerve. Especially for me.

First of all, because I am published I fear putting other non-published writers ill at ease. Secondly, as a published writer, I am putting my work out there and saying, "See??? NEEDS WORK!" That's humbling. Not that I think I don't have work to do ... but my fear is that others will not feel as if they can honestly critique me.

Well, Larry didn't answer so I left a message. Later that afternoon he called back. As we were chatting -- exchanging pleasantries -- I wondered if I should just say, "Well, I called just to say hello."

But I didn't. I came clean. I told him I wanted to join his novel critique group, if there was room. He assured me there was.

He sent the email addresses of about the eight to ten writers in his group along with the general rules. I sent the first 2500 words of "Cedar Key" to them and then waited three days until the evening of the meeting.

I'd struggled with the opening of this book. Was it good enough? Compelling enough? Did it hook the reader? Did it raise the Major Dramatic Question that would be answered in the climax of the book?

Larry put me in the hot seat first. Of course. I listened as each one of the group's members gave me their honest opinions. One thing in particular had jumped out at each of them (so I immediately came home and took out the artistically offensive lines). For the most part, the group's members "got it." They loved it. They gave wonderful suggestions and pointers.

It's a very brave thing to do but I'm glad I did it. Next month I return with 2500 more words having been placed before them. Scary but I'm ready.

WORD COUNT: So far I have 11,415 words of the 95,000 contracted. I'm on Chapter Four and I'm still in the "first day."

(Photo is of --right to left -- Larry Leech, Cecil Murphey, and myself. Photo taken by Loyd Boldman)

The Bump in This Writer's Road

2009-08-19T07:08:00.005-04:00

I hit a bump in the road.

It happens, okay ...

I was typing away on my next great masterpiece. In this particular part of the story, Kimberly -- the protagonist -- is taking her ex-husband to court over his summer visitation with their children. It's not that she doesn't want him to see the kids ... or vice-versa ... it's just that he's been reportedly hanging out in too many bars, with too many leggy women who may (or may not) be spending the night in his hot new bachelor's pad. Kimberly is concerned, as any mother should be, about the welfare of her children.

So she goes to court.

I know the family court system well. (See my post about our adoption of our little one...) and I know how the legal system can work against you as easily as it can work for you. I also know how the system works here in Florida. Some issues go before the judge -- the grand master who sits behind the big high desk donned in flowing black robes (the grand master, not the desk) -- and some go before the General Magistrate.

They don't wear robes but they do sit behind big high desks and sometimes they are more frightening than the judges they are there to represent.

The feel of being in the courthouse ... the smells ... the sounds ... the sight of it. This is know.

So, Kimberly is taking her request for a more controlled summer visitation to the G M. She is not bringing legal counsel with her (also sometimes the way it goes).

As I am typing away -- impressing even myself on how well the words are flowing from my fingertips --I have a sudden thought. Would she, I questioned, have an attorney for this or no? Should she? Could she represent herself (often the case with a G M hearing...)?

This, I don't know.

So I called a friend of mine who works within the family court system. She didn't answer, so I left a message. I waited for a return call. I didn't get it. I called again. Still, nothing.

Could she be out on vacation, I wondered ...

My main character is sitting in the courthouse waiting area with her sister Heather by her side. Her ex-husband is across the way, standing with his attorney. The sister remarks, "I thought you didn't need an attorney for this hearing ..."

"I don't," Kimberly replies.

And that is when it hit me ... I don't know for SURE!

Thus the call and the waiting and the not getting any writing done for days. This, as any writer will tell you, presents a dangerous problem. Getting out of the heads of the characters, out of the flow of the story, out of the mood entirely! Dangerous!

Finally, I had another thought. Hey! I'm a FICTION WRITER! HELLO! I can make this up until I know for sure. For absolute certain.

"So then," Heather now says as my fingertips return to the keyboard of my computer, "why is Charlie with his?"

And then story begins to flow again. And I'm liking it!

Here's hoping they don't need an attorney for this ... 'cause that's the way I wrote it.

Writing on ...

Research, Research, Research/Location, Location, Location

2009-08-09T18:39:00.004-04:00

There is an old saying in the world of real estate. It goes like this:

Location, location, location.

But what does it mean? Primarily, that the LOCATION of a property is vitally important to the buyer, therefore to the seller. It is repeated three times so as to be remembered.

We, those of us who call ourselves writers, use that same line. "Location, location, location."

Without location we know little about our characters. A girl growing up in the 1950s rural South will have a different characterization than one growing up in the new millenium, New York City. Or, New York State for that matter.

Location also becomes a character. People who have read Things Left Unspoken
and who have emailed me about the book's setting (Cottonwood, GA), have declared Cottonwood a character unto itself. This is because I worked hard as a writer to make it come to life through word pictures and through the characters who live there.

The same sentiment goes for Summit View, Colorado, which is where the Potluck Club books are set.

I am currently working on a new series, which has a working title of "Return to Cedar Key." Unlike most of my "locations," this one is real. The others are
based on real places, but are, in fact, fictious.

Cedar Key is located on the west coast of Florida, near the panhandle. I found it a few years ago, more or less by accident. A friend of mine, Janice Elsheimer, and I were looking for a place to "get away" and write. I lamented my problem to my hairdresser, who told me about Cedar Key. When I shared the idea with my friend, she said, "Let's load up!"

And so we did.

I fell in love with Cedar Key almost instantly. For one thing, in those days, once my car drove off the mainland and onto the island, cell service was nonexistent. If an emergency occurred, my family would have to call the hotel and ask for my room number. Otherwise, I was O U T. Don't call me, I'll call you. Maybe.

But there was more than just the being able to get away from it all. There were the sunrises on the east side of the island and the sunsets on the west. There was the incredible cuisine. The people -- easy going, laid back, good folk. There was the history. The boat rides through the Gulf and the marshlands, dolphins dancing behind us in the wake of water. There were the birds -- scores and scores of varieties of birds -- and the local artists with their crafts for sale. There was sitting out on the baloncy with Janice in the cool of the evening, watching the moon's reflection as it dipped and swayed on the ripples of the inky water. Two friends sharing the night, conversation, secrets kept forever. That's what friends do.

And so we returned. Time and again, we returned. It was during one of these trips that I was flipping through a magazine. I stopped, drawn by an ad that featured five young women sitting together in a beach house, all wearing white. Four of them looked alike. One was markedly different.

I ripped the page from the magazine and showed it to Janice. "There's a story here," I said. And I went on to explain what I saw as a novelist.

In June 2009, Janice and I returned so that I could begin the research and development of my next novel series, currently called Return to Cedar Key.

It's about five women ... four who look alike and one who is markedly different.

I am going to ask you to join me on an exciting adventure. I am going to take you through the next six months of my journey as I write Book One of the Return to Cedar Key series. Join me, won't you? Invite your friends, too. I look forward to sharing this most marvelous gift with you ... of creating a world within a world and people who live within our imaginations.

The Orphan

2009-07-28T15:08:00.006-04:00

Warner Bros. new horror movie Orphan proclaims that it must be hard to love an adopted child as much as your own. Let me tell you about how an orphan changed my life...

My "fourth child" is not an orphan, exactly. Her biological parents -- who warred against their own personal demons -- could not take care of her the way this child -- any child -- deserved to be.

My husband and I started "sitting" for her when she was 2, when her mother wasn't getting child support, and was working long hours to put a roof over her head. Over the years, "Miss Priss" spent more and more time with us, becoming more a grandchild than just a little one we "took care of."

She calls us "MrsEya" (Miss E-ya ... For Miss Eva) and "Dennis-Daddy." She always has, mainly because that's what her mother calls us.

In 2005, realizing that her mother's demons had reared their ugly heads in such a way that they demanded to be reckoned with, we attempted to get "Mom" some help. We made a definitive ultimatum. In the process, the courts got involved and -- shock of all shocks -- awarded us temporary custody of this beautiful (then) 8-year-old.

For the next 2.5 years we fought an unsual court battle. I say we "fought." Actually God fought it. We just ran behind him waving our banners. At one point I organized over 100 people who volunteered to pray daily for our little girl, for those who worked within the courts, for the biological parents, for the family members. The mother's family worked diligently beside us to continue raising this precious vessel. We felt and feel as much a part of that family as if we were born of their blood.

Eventually the parents signed off on their rights and we were awarded permanent guardianship. Many of our friends -- who, like us, are now grandparents, enjoying all that comes with it-- thought we'd lost our minds. "What?" they said. "Why would you want to raise a child again? DON'T YOU REMEMBER THE TEEN YEARS???"

But nothing could change our minds. We knew -- in our hearts and spirits -- that God had brought us into this world, brought us together, brought us our own biological children, just so we could rear this child. This beautiful, wonderful, funny, adorable, loving child.

She is now nearly 12. She is the bright spot in our day. She is the "sister" to our children and the "daughter" of our home. She fills this house with love and laughter. And, sure, there are times when we have to discipline, speak firmly, guide and direct. But, I have to tell ya ... she takes it all in stride. She grows from it.

And she loves Jesus with her whole heart.

"When I talk about my parents," she told me recently, "I'm not talking about the two that brought me into the world. I'm talking about you and Dennis-Daddy." Then she paused. "They gave me life," she said. "But you gave me A life."

For us, she just makes life so much more FUN! So much more rewarding. Enriched.

Sometimes I think about what life would be like -- what freedoms I might have -- were Jordynn not our daughter. But then I think, "Are you kidding me??? I'd rather NOT get to do something and rear Jordynn than to GET to do something and NOT rear Jordynn." She's worth everything we've sacrificed. Every day. Every hour. Every minute.

Rearing her is one of the top 7 honors of my life:

1. Being a vessel chosen by God to relay his message.
2. Being the daughter of my parents, the sister of my brother.
3. Being the wife of my husband.
4. Being the stepmother to my two wonderful stepchildren.
5. Being the mother to my biological daughter.
6. Being a grandmother to my grandchildren.
7. (Oh, yes ... Lucky 7!) Being "MrsEya" to my "Punkin."

If you have the opportunity to bless the life of a child, do it! It won't cost you anything at all, believe me. Because, in the end, you'll get back SO much more. No horror story here!

Eva Marie Everson
Jordynn's MrsEya

Going Home

2009-07-19T09:16:00.009-04:00

Last week I "went back home."

My hometown of Sylvania, Georgia -- about an hour outside of the coastal sprawl of Savannah -- has managed to maintain or recapture so much charm from its earlier history. Many of the old stores remain, while a few of them have been renovated to become something entirely different.

The old pool hall is now an antique store, its main room -- narrow and long -- filled with mementos of bygone eras. The old appliance store, where my neighbor made his living, is now a gift shop/drug store. The old soda shop, where I ventured with my buddies in the afternoons after school for a BLT and Coke, is now an artist's gallery.

The town square boasts a fountain for sitting around, chatting, relaxing, contemplating. Just beyond it is a patch of grass where teens used to park on Friday and Saturday nights (just to hang out). Now crepe myrtles bloom and an American flag stands proudly guarding two Napoleon cannons from the Civil War (AKA The War of Northern Aggression). Just beyond the cannons stands the church I walked into week after week, Sunday after Sunday, Wednesday night after Wednesday night.

Of course, while visiting back home I went to church on Sunday. I parked the car on the far right side of the building, under the shade of some old trees. We climbed out -- my mother, brother, daughter, and I -- and walked toward the front of the Sunday school building. I looked at my feet, thinking about the number of times I'd stepped on this sidewalk, inching my way toward the House of the Lord. My eyes cut to the main parking lot and had a vague memory of jumping rope "right here" during VBS one summer and realizing I was pretty good at it.

My mother now stepped ahead of me. I focused on the 1/2 inch heels of her shoes and recalled the 3-inch spikes of her pumps "back in the day." For a moment she and my father were walking just in front of my little brother and me -- Daddy dressed in a dark suit and Mother in spikey shoes, a sleek dress, white gloves, and a small hat. I thought about the fact that it was these heart pictures taken in my childhood that formed my opinions about adulthood. And what proper Southern ladies wear to church.

Of course not too many women wear all that to church these days. I missed the boat by about 20 years.

Figures.

The familiarity of "home" rushes back at the oddest times. Walking along the cracked sidewalk in front of some of the storefronts and remembering this person or that moment. Even in my mother's home -- the home of my childhood -- waking in the warmth of the summer's morning and having that "sense" of the same time of day during summer vacations from school. Lazy mornings. Stretching beneath yellow and green floral sheets, wiping the sleep from my eyes as I planned the whole live-long day. Watching "Concentration" or "Captain Kangeroo" on television while eating cereal swimming in whole milk. Getting dressed and then calling my best friend to see if she wanted to meet between our homes and, by that afternoon, going to the recreation department's olympic-size pool where we'd glide like eels under water for hours on end.

Not that I get to do that anymore, of course. None of it.

They say you can't go home again and maybe a part of that is true. But in some ways you can ... you really can. You just have to close your eyes and inhale a little. Breathe in a memory. Bask in the glow of what was and what could have been. Think, "You know, it really was a good life..." and mean it.

And it's nice if someone comes along and restores that which was beginning to crumble, the way the Downtown Development Authority of Sylvania has done.

Which leads me to another point ... about a cook book and some book signings.

But I'll write about those later.

Research, Research, Research/Location, Location, Location

2009-07-02T17:04:00.010-04:00

There is an old saying in the world of real estate. It goes like this:

Location, location, location.

But what does it mean? Primarily, that the LOCATION of a property is vitally important to the buyer, therefore to the seller. It is repeated three times so as to be remembered.

We, those of us who call ourselves writers, use that same line. "Location, location, location."

Without location we know little about our characters. A girl growing up in the 1950s rural South will have a different characterization than one growing up in the new millenium, New York City. Or, New York State for that matter.

Location also becomes a character. People who have read Things Left Unspoken
and who have emailed me about the book's setting (Cottonwood, GA), have declared Cottonwood a character unto itself. This is because I worked hard as a writer to make it come to life through word pictures and through the characters who live there.

The same sentiment goes for Summit View, Colorado, which is where the Potluck Club books are set.

I am currently working on a new series, which has a working title of "Return to Cedar Key." Unlike most of my "locations," this one is real. The others are
based on real places, but are, in fact, fictious.

Cedar Key is located on the west coast of Florida, near the panhandle. I found it a few years ago, more or less by accident. A friend of mine, Janice Elsheimer, and I were looking for a place to "get away" and write. I lamented my problem to my hairdresser, who told me about Cedar Key. When I shared the idea with my friend, she said, "Let's load up!"

And so we did.

I fell in love with Cedar Key almost instantly. For one thing, in those days, once my car drove off the mainland and onto the island, cell service was nonexistent. If an emergency occurred, my family would have to call the hotel and ask for my room number. Otherwise, I was O U T. Don't call me, I'll call you. Maybe.

But there was more than just the being able to get away from it all. There were the sunrises on the east side of the island and the sunsets on the west. There was the incredible cuisine. The people -- easy going, laid back, good folk. There was the history. The boat rides through the Gulf and the marshlands, dolphins dancing behind us in the wake of water. There were the birds -- scores and scores of varieties of birds -- and the local artists with their crafts for sale. There was sitting out on the baloncy with Janice in the cool of the evening, watching the moon's reflection as it dipped and swayed on the ripples of the inky water.

And so I returned. Time and again, we returned. It was during one of these trips that I was flipping through a magazine. I stopped, drawn by an ad that featured five young women sitting together in a beach house, all wearing white. Four of them looked alike. One was markedly different.

I ripped the page from the magazine and showed it to Janice. "There's a story here," I said. And I went on to explain what I saw as a novelist.

In June 2009, Janice and I returned so that I could begin the research and development of my next novel series, currently called Return to Cedar Key.

It's about five women ... four who look alike and one who is markedly different.

I am going to ask you to join me on an exciting adventure. I am going to take you through the next six months of my journey as I write Book One of the Return to Cedar Key series. Join me, won't you? Invite your friends, too. I look forward to sharing this most marvelous gift with you ... of creating a world within a world and people who live within our imaginations.

What Inspired Things Left Unspoken

2009-07-02T14:53:00.002-04:00

I've been asked a lot lately what inspired my new novel, Things Left Unspoken.

Rather than repeat myself (because, really, who has time for that?), I thought I'd direct you to the answer I gave to author Denise Hildreth when she asked that very same question for her blog/website: DeniseHildreth.com

It reads:

Well Eva, you know I love your new book. But I also loved your Potluck Club books too. You just make me laugh. But your new book, though it still has your charming wit, is a little more serious I think. Can you tell us how the story of “Things Left Unspoken” came to you?

I’d be happy to … when my great-uncle died, he left my great-aunt (they had no children) in the house she’d grown up in. She was unable to live alone so she came to live with my mother. My mother sold the house — now in a dying town — to a land developer who was going to restore not only the house, but the town. (It didn’t happen … ) Anyway, it snowed the day we buried Uncle Jimmy. Fleeting snow. Years later (about 10 years!) I was sitting on my back porch, rocking in one of the front porch rockers given to me from my great-grandparent’s estate. It was cold. February. Very gray. And I thought, “It snowed the day we buried Uncle Jimmy.”

I knew immediately I had written the first line of a novel. So, I ran inside and typed one sentence, then saved it. It snowed the day we buried Uncle Jim.

A few weeks later I wrote some more, then more, and then — as I thought about the restoration of the town that didn’t happen — a story formed. I wrote about five chapters and put it away. Some time later I was talking to my editor at Baker/Revell (Vicki Crumpton) and shared with her three ideas I had for a new line of Southern fiction. The story we now know as Things Left Unspoken was one of them …

The main character is on a search for herself in so many levels. You’re in those middle years of living, (can I say that without you writing me into the next book) do you find that you went through a season of self-discovery as well? And if so, when did that happen for you and what did it look like?

In part, this book had everything to do with my self-discovery, so to speak. I had been writing The Potluck Club books with Linda Evans Shepherd. These are great books, full of things that Christian women deal with. Though the subjects were deep, sometimes the approach to them was light. I’d been reading some deep fiction on my own and really wondering “what I wanted to be when I grew up” as a writer. I knew I was searching for deeper things. I wanted to write things that made a difference (not that TPC doesn’t!) and were more literary. Things Left Unspoken is my first stab at that.

There seem to be a lot of secrets that have been clung to with your characters. Any thoughts on why we can hold so tight to our stuff and cling to our secrets?

Because we are lied to. Call it the devil or your own self esteem issues … we hear the lies and we believe them. We think we are the only ones. Or that we are protecting someone, even putting ourselves at risk to do so. One of the characters — Stella — is holding on to more than one family secret. One, she thinks she is protecting someone she loves more than life itself. The other, the same … For Stella, it’s not about her, but about them. Then there’s the main character — JoLynn. Her secrets are so deeply engrained, even she doesn’t know what they are. She’s missed out on something she wants so desperately … so many things … but her silence will harm her spiritually and … in the end … maybe even physically!

Reviews and Such

2009-06-16T09:21:00.004-04:00

Writers love reviews. Most of the time. Okay, to be a little more detailed, we love getting reviews when they're Good! Or, when the reader "gets us." We hate it when they don't.

I was reading some of the reviews for Things Left Unspoken last night and came across one that interested me on a number of levels. First, the book was given four out of five stars. This was good. But then the reviewer said that the book was "not what I expected." Reading on, I discovered that what she expected was another Potluck Club book.

I had to smile. The reader/reviewer stated that because this was first person point of view but not multiple first person points of view, she was disappointed. When Linda Evans Shepherd (my coauthor for the Potluck books) sent out the first proposals for the book/then series, we were told that multiple first person points of view would be a problem. Or, so the editors thought. Eventually, of course, Baker/Revell took a chance. Some reviewers said that "at first it was hard to distinguish the character speaking" and things like that. But that "after two or three chapters I was hooked."

Linda and I were thrilled! And, perhaps we "started something new."

I'm starting something new again. No, Things Left Unspoken is not a "Potluck Club" book. There is some humor in it but the underlying feel is not that of tongue-in-cheek to address serious issues within the church. Rather, my new focus with this new line of Southern Fiction for Baker/Revell is to draw people into the lives and the places of the people I know best: southerners.

So far I have received two emails telling me that there was some concern when the plotline went to a dark place in Southern history and they didn't want it to go there. Well, I understand. I wish it didn't have to go there either. And I wonder if perhaps Margaret Mitchell felt the same way when she wrote Gone With the Wind. Or, Kyle Onstott when he wrote Mandingo (which will forever remain one of the most haunting books I've ever read.)

Now, for anyone who has yet to start reading Things Left Unspoken, allow me to assure you that this is not a "slave and plantation" book. We don't discuss the "War of Northern Aggression," either.

Even if it were, it would be about more than that. It's about Southern Legacy. It's about leaving something to the generations that come after you. It's about family history (a huge to-do in the Southern lifestyle). It's about believing in yourself and what you stand for.

And it's about secrets. Every family has them. Some are best left unspoken and some -- when they eek out -- become freeing agents.

But enough of the negative elements of reviews. Do you want me to tell you my favorite reviews? The ones that read, "I stayed up all night so I could finish it." I like those because I used to read that kind of book and I always wanted to write that kind of book! I also like the reviews that say, "I felt like I was the character." This tells me I have done my job. And have done it well.

So far, my favorite review was from a dear, dear friend who told me privately how much I've grown as a writer. If I haven't, then I truly have not done my job well. That meant more to me than all the five-star ratings the book could possible receive!

Well, now it's time to write some more and to scan the Internet in search of more reviews. I can't wait!

Have you ever been to the Garden of Eden?

2009-05-15T11:56:00.006-04:00

I have.

Okay, not the actual Garden of Eden; no one knows for sure where it's located. But I have been to a place so tranquil, so lovely, the natives there call it The Garden of Eden. Even in the hottest time of the year and at that time of day when the temperature reaches its peak, it's a cool spot of respite and relaxation. It seems to me that even the water dares not to move. It stands in contemplation of the One who might come walk in the "coolness of the day."

It's in Israel, specifically in the northern portion, in the region known as the Wilderness of Dan. I fell in love with it the very first time I saw it and couldn't wait to return. What I wanted to know above all else was whether or not it was truly as I had remembered it or if my romantic notions had taken hold and rewritten my memory.

It was the former, not the latter. It was as tranquil and as lovely as I'd remembered it to be.

As I stood and beheld its beauty, I wondered if my "mother," (Eve) had ever thought back to the real Garden of Eden. If she and Adam had -- in the cool of the day when work had ceased and family had gathered -- spoke of the way it had been. Before. When there was no sin. Nothing to separate them from God. When listening for His footsteps had brought about great anticipation, hearts fluttering, minds anxious and filled with questions thought of during the day.

Or ideas.

"I meant to ask you about this," Adam might have said to his Father. "This right here. I thought I'd call it a rose. What do you think?"

"Rose," God would have mused. "Rose ... rose ... rose ..." and then He might have smiled and said, "By any other name would it smell as sweet?"

Adam and Eve would have been confused and God would have said, "That's for another day ... another time ... oh, well ... another millennium!" And together they would have laughed.

There would have been so much to say. To share. To go over.

I wish I could go to the Garden of Eden in the Northern part of Israel every day. I wish I could skip along the paths leading to it, listening to the rustling of the leaves in the trees and the water rushing from the heads of the Jordan toward the river that snakes down the country. I wish I could sit on its cools banks and speak to God ... share with Him ... go over things. Things which are important to me.

To Him.

But I cannot.

I can, however, find my own Garden. My own place of respite and relaxation. My own place of prayer and conversation. Of laughter with God.

How You Can Win!

2009-04-29T10:31:00.003-04:00

There is nothing quite like having a new book release. No matter how many times an author experiences it, each time is like the first time.

My newest novel, Things Left Unspoken (the first in a line of Southern Fiction from Baker Publishing), is soon to be released. I know because the author copy landed in my anxious little paws just two days ago. I've danced around the living room enough times to qualify for Dancing With the Stars. :) Or, So You Think You Can Dance.

Product Description: Jo-Lynn Hunter is at a crossroads in life when her great-aunt Stella insists that she return home to restore the old family house in sleepy Cottonwood, Georgia. Seeing the project as the perfect excuse for some therapeutic time away from her self-absorbed husband and his snobby Atlanta friends, Jo-Lynn longs to get her teeth into a noteworthy and satisfying project. But things are not what they seem, both in the house and within the complex history of her family. Was her great-grandfather the pillar of the community she thought he was? What is Aunt Stella hiding? And will Jo-Lynn's marriage survive the renovation? Jo-Lynn isn't sure she wants to know the truth--but sometimes the truth has a way of making itself known. The past comes alive in this well-written and thoughtful novel full of secrets, drama, and family with a hint of Southern drawl.

From the Back Cover: Every family--and every house--has its secrets. Jo-Lynn Hunter is at a crossroads in life when her great-aunt Stella insists that she return home to restore the old family manse in sleepy Cottonwood, Georgia. Jo-Lynn longs to get her teeth into a noteworthy and satisfying project. And it's the perfect excuse for some therapeutic time away from her self-absorbed husband and his snobby Atlanta friends. Beneath the dust and the peeling wallpaper, things are not what they seem, and what Jo-Lynn doesn't know about her family holds just as many surprises. Was her great-grandfather the pillar of the community she thought he was? What is Aunt Stella hiding? And will her own marriage survive the renovation? Jo-Lynn isn't sure she wants to know the truth--but sometimes the truth has a way of making itself known.

So!!! Would you like to know a way you can win your own personal copy PLUS receive a special gift from me? Here's how:

1. Gather your friends and...

2. Form a book club. (Already have a book club? Good ... you are two steps ahead!)

3. Pick Things Left Unspoken as your book of the month selection. (To hear more about the book, go to the author interview at Christianbook.com.)

4. Find questions for discussion at Christianbook.com.

5. Let Eva Marie know when your group is gathering. If her calendar allows, she will place a call (which you can put on speaker phone) to answer any questions your group might have and to participate in general. (Especially if you are serving chocolate!) OR: if you are in the Central Florida area, she'll try to pay you a visit!

6. Let Eva Marie know how many you are expecting. She'll pre-send autographed bookplates.

7. Send a photo of your group holding the book to Eva Marie at her email address (EvaMarieEverson@aol.com) for a special gift to the hostess!

That's it! It's just that simple ... and just that fun!

Writing Out of Experience

2009-04-17T07:28:00.007-04:00

I am currently working on the final of the Potluck Catering Club novels with Linda Evans Shepherd. This is the third in a three-book series ... which is part of a two-part series of books:

1-a The Potluck Club

1-b The Potluck Club: Trouble's Brewing

1-c The Potluck Club Takes the Cake

2-a The Potluck Catering Club: The Secret's in the Sauce

2-b The Potluck Catering Club: A Taste of Fame (see photo at right)

2-c The Potluck Catering Club: (No additional title yet)

(There is also The Potluck Club Cookbook, to be released sometime this summer)

So anyway, all that to get back to the point at hand: I am working on the third of the second series of the books.

In this book, someone has died (for our fans, I won't say who) and someone is mourning that loss.

Grief is a personal thing; everyone responds to it in their own way. Some people appear to be handling the loss of a loved one as though their pet goldfish died. Others fall into a stoic day-to-day existence. Everyone, however, will experience the five stages of grief at some point, each in their own way.

The other night I broke down and dusted the master bedroom in our home. Goodness knows it needed it. The room stays clean -- don't get me wrong -- it was just dusty. Antique mahogony furniture gets both dusty and thirsty, so I choose a product for dusting that includes an oil, beneficial for the furniture's longevity. As I set about my task, I found two bottles of after shave that had belonged to my father. Two bottles that, three years ago, previous to his unexpected passing, had been taken with him to the hospital so he'd smell nice for the nurses (I suppose) :).

I picked up one of the bottles -- I'd almost forgotten it was there -- sat on the floor and gingerly twisted the cap. I held it to my nose but I held my breath, unsure if I was really ready to inhale its fragrance. I waved the bottle back and forth, back and forth, until -- when I thought my lungs would explode -- I took in the scent of the after shave.

The scent of my father.

I closed my eyes. For a brief moment, Daddy was in the room. He was still with me. If I had so wanted, I believe I could have spoken and he would have heard me.

Maybe.

I have long come to the fifth stage of grief: acceptance. But my character has not. She is somewhere between three (bargaining) and four (depression). After the dusting of my room was finished, I walked back to my home office and wrote a scene in which "Name Here" (for I will NOT give her name away!) finds a bottle of after shave, opens it, and breathes in his scent. As a writer, I felt every moment of this chapter. I had -- by opening Daddy's after shave bottle -- experienced for myself the emotions of the character. Now, as a writer, I pulled on those emotions. I depended on them totally for expression.

Sometimes we writers can write out of an experience we have not had or have yet to have. But for the most part, I think, this is why we hear that real writers are born after their 40th birthday. We have to have experienced life in order to write about it with any deep sense of emotion.

When we do, we take readers to the deepest part of themselves. They experience -- again and again -- their own life moments as they walk them out with our characters. This is, what I call, bleeding on paper for the sake of our reader. It has to be done. It's rarely easy. In fact, I would have to say that it is never easy.

But it's worth it when we read -- and our readers read -- the end result.

Reflections of God's Holy Land: Mount Arbel

2009-04-11T12:08:00.001-04:00

Miriam had pointed it out earlier that morning. We were standing on the plain below the Church of the Beatitudes. She pointed forward, toward a range of mountains, one with a rocky face on its edge. "See that tree waaaaay up there?" she asked me.

I said that I did. It was hard to miss, in spite of being so tiny against the gray of the early morning sky.

"That's Arbel," she said. "Tonight, at sunset, we'll be up there."

"Will we drive?" I asked, already aware that for all the walking I'd done for exercise, it obviously hadn't been enough for treking all day in Israel.

Miriam laughed (or maybe she sighed...). "We will drive part of the way."

For the rest of the day, I kept my eye on that cliff, excited to know I would see the sun setting from its heights. Finally, the end of the day began to descend around us. Miriam and I were in the car, whipping around curves on roads leading upward. Along the way she pointed out various sites and places. After arriving, we parked the car near several others -- apparently being here at sunset was a popular thing to do -- and then began to walk the steep backside of the mountain. My heart pumped pretty hard. Every so often I had to stop. But, not wanting to miss the sunset, I kept pushing myself upward and onward.

The climb was worth every moment once we arrived! The sun was a fiery red and yellow ball, dropping lower, casting pink hues over the countryside, the Galilee. Families stood in clusters. Lovers hugged and kissed. I dared myself to look down. Miriam said, "Along here we can imagine the path Jesus might have taken as he walked from Nazareth to the Sea of Galilee, toward the discipes and his ministry."

Wow! I'd never thought in terms of Jesus getting from Nazareth to the Galilee! I don't know how I imagined him getting from A to B, but walking along the way, wasn't it. Sure, I'd pictured him walking from the Jordan to the desert, from Galilee to Jerusalem ... but I'd never thought about those miles between home and heart.

As I thought about it -- as the sun contined to set and families continued to gather and lovers continued to hold each other close -- I contemplated my own ministry, recalling the days in which I prayed to God, asking him to open the doors for me, should it be his will. I remembered the day I, as a 12 year old 7th grader, told my class and teacher I wanted to be a writer when I grew up and how I'd been laughed at. I thought of the days as a church-going teenager who wore her faith on her sleeve (in spite of her shortcomings) and about the sneers and jeers I received time and again. I thought of the often rocky road I'd walked as an adult -- a road not unlike the one below, stretching and curving from Nazareth to the sea. Somehow I'd always known, deep down, that God would bring me here. To this ministry. To this place. To this cliff.

"Miriam," I said. "Take my picture." I handed her my camera.

Miriam aimed my Canon toward me. Joy flooded over me. I threw open my arms -- stretching them as far as the east is from the west (or at least in my heart) -- and grinned as wide as the land behind me and the sky around me.

As the camera snapped my photo, I thought, "This is one of the happiest moments of my life."
And it was true. So very true. The climb had been worth it. Has been worth it.

Will always be worth it.