Blame it on Prince Albert

by Debra E. Marvin

1837. The English loved their young Queen Victoria, but her mother? Not so much. She was German, a Saxe-Colburg, and many fretted about an increasing European influence on England when, in 1840, Victoria married her cousin Albert (Albert's father was Leopold, King of the Belgians).

Albert brought change, a stringent morality for one thing, as well as the holiday customs of his homeland--the Advent wreath, St. Nicholas, and hymns such as Silent Night. The new royal family, after all, was able to sing it in its original German. Perhaps The Prince Consort's best-known Christmas contribution was fresh cut evergreen trees. The first royal tree was set up and decorated at Windsor Castle in 1841. Within a few years, illustrations of their trees were published in London and New York. The practice had already come to the United States with German immigrants, but did not become widespread until it became ‘fashionable’.




Interest grew among the wealthy first, and over the next decades, nurseries began to grow trees specifically to supply this new market. (The 'monied' were also behind the darling 'new' practice of sending illustrated Christmas cards.)

Prior to this, Christmas was a quiet day celebrated with a church service and for some, a special meal. It was not considered a holiday until well into the industrial revolution when the new middle class began exchanging gifts and giving to the poor. Workers were given a day off. WooHoo! Factories made gifts affordable to all children and by the 1870s, Father Christmas began bringing gifts to children.

Of course, Victorian traditions grew out of the variety of established European customs. More on ‘Santa’ later.

The Victorians' love of music prompted a renewal of medieval carols. New, light-hearted songs such as “O Christmas Day” and “I Heard the Bells” became popular when family and friends gathered in the parlor after their meal. From this grew the practice of Caroling, as it was already customary for families to travel from house to house at Christmastime and the New Year. Do you have your wassail recipe handy?

One special Victorian tradition that hasn’t thrived in the US is the Christmas Cracker, invented in 1847 by Tom Smith, a baker who started making a version of the French BonBon, a sugared almond wrapped in a twist of fancy paper. To stay ahead of his competition in later years, Tom decided to add little gifts inside the twist and most importantly, a way to make the package POP when opened. Experimenting for years, Tom finally found just the right chemical compound that was safe, yet would still deliver the needed bang. In 1860 he achieved success and with the popping mechanism added, orders were flying out the door, or should I say “business was booming”?

I can’t leave two other 19th century gentlemen out of this post. Most responsible for our notions of a Victorian Christmas is Charles Dickens and his serial story, “A Christmas Carol”.

Dickens' later described the holidays as "a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of other people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys". Hmmm, I guess that hasn’t changed either.

Now, to 'round' out the holiday . . . Columbia University professor, Clement C. Moore, set the standard for Santa Claus when his poem “A Visit from St. Nicklaus”, written for his children, was anonymously published in an 1823 upstate NY newspaper. Please note this was before the Victorian era. His children included it in an 1840s anthology of his written works and the poem, better known as Twas A Night Before Christmas. set the standard for all 'right jolly old elves' to follow.

One hundred and seventy years later, our Christmas traditions are well-rooted in Victorian details. Thankfully, the ethnic flavors of our many cultures have only enriched the holiday.

Somewhere a gentle holiday celebrating the gift of the Christ Child to a fallen world went kaflooey. Too much Santa and not enough Christ! Too much stress and not enough joy. I see a new trend of simplifying, slowing down the spending and commercialization.

How have you found a way to simplify, without giving up all the traditions you enjoy?

What family tradition can you trace back to your ancestors?

I wish you a peaceful, old-fashioned "Happy Christmas" this year and a chance to rediscover the joy of Christmas Past.

When to Hang On and When to Let Go

Debra E. Marvin

I’m here to say, try some things while you’re still young (I'll let you be the judge of ‘still young’). Some of you may know I’ve gone parasailing (success--obviously or I wouldn't be writing this blog post), tried windsurfing (not) and done a few things on an extension ladder than no one should ever do. But today I’m sharing one amazing way to vacation that is truly unbelievable and unforgettable: Whitewater rafting. Not only do you have to know when to hold on, but when to let go!

A few years ago, when my bones didn’t give me so much ochita, one of my best friends and I decided to raft the Colorado while we were still ‘young enough’ to do it. She’d just broken up with boyfriend number…oh, I lost count, but let’s get on with the story.

My friend and I, who shall remain nameless here, arrived at the PHX airport and drove to her aunt’s house in Prescott AZ. (There, in a small restaurant, we saw a waiter who was quite possibly the most handsome young man I’d ever seen and I’m sure he was a wealthy duke, on the lam from his family who had arranged a marriage for him that would forever part him from his true love…but I digress, and apparently read too many Barbara Cartlands as a teenager.) Prescott is a lovely place. You must visit!

I can’t get into every detail of the five night rafting trip, so I’ll stick with the highlights. Yup, that’s right. This ain’t no theme park ride. This is living between a rubber raft and mile-high stone walls. Cold, cold nights, scorching hot days and freezing water 24/7. Welcome to the Grand Canyon.

There are multiple rafting companies using a variety of rafts: from mechanically powered pontoon boats, to the typical paddle boats. Paddle boats employ paddlers. Duh. Think about a little arm fatigue, then think about the fact that every muscle and bone in your body comes into play.

Some companies have oar boats manned by a guide. They carry supplies and sometimes guests—easier for younger/older guests. It's amazing to watch the guide, sitting high up in the middle of the boat, maneuver through rapids with big monster-length oars. Incredible!

The trip is nothing less than other-worldly. You can’t really take in its immensity when you view the canyon from its rims. But to start down river from Lee’s Ferry and gradually descend into that massive beast not knowing what you’ll encounter before it spits you out at the other end? It’s like reading a great book. Only you can die from it.

The camping is great and I can’t say enough about the food. (And I love to talk food, but the water’s ‘the thing’ here.) We took turns helping with meal preparation and dishes but it felt good to be involved and walk around a bit before crawling back onto rafts or into our tents.

Before I get into the best of my ‘running the rapids’ stories, I have to tell you about a hike we took one day after a lunch break. We walked into a green place you'd never expect to find in a canyon owning hundreds of colors of stone, and were thrilled with the number of flowers, patches of wild orchids and primrose off the bloom. Lovely. We even saw a Collared Lizard betrayed by the black and white spotted skin on his head and neck.

The air was different. It smelled green under the canopy--an anomaly in the otherwise humidity-free canyon. Suddenly we stood only yards from a waterfall. White on gray, framed in greens and pinks. A miniature paradise. The water’s power was mesmerizing that close--so different than the silence of the river we’d just walked away from. The canyon holds many such secrets!

Did I tell you how mind-numbing, not-to-mention flesh-freezing that river is? Whooda Thunkit. Air temps in the eighties, nineties and more—this is Arizona, of course—do not mean the water’s warm. I might say, even colder by comparison. Owing to deep, deep water release from the dams upriver, the Colorado is stinkin’ cold!

We’d heard the guides discussing our run at Hance Rapids, coming up next. We’d managed to do well each day but that day, even the guides’ voices seemed full of tension. I remember straining my neck to peer ahead. There are right and wrong ways to enter rapids. The oar boat ahead of us seemed to be going in sideways. Could that be the best thing? They seemed headed for sure disaster, the boulders were monstrosities in their path. I watched a couple in their forties thrown from side to side, and the whole raft disappearing at one point, only to reappear on the crest of a roller. Their guide, Blade (that’s another story) stood as he fought with the giants, cranking down on an oar. As we watched, we all felt our bodies twist and turn as if to help him in his Herculean efforts.

When our guide, Duff, shouted, “Get out of there!” the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Sort of a 'we who are about to die, salute you' moment.

All color drained from my buddy’s face and I started giggling uncontrollably, an alternative to crying, I suppose. My little fit of hysteria ended and I took a deep breath, prayed and pretended this was all a scene in a book I was reading. Writers are weird like that.

Duff called out, “Go, Go” and we started to dip, dip, churning furiously. The boat snapped and bent, twisting one hundred and eighty degrees in the other direction, then rode a crest of a wave that left me paddling Arizona air only. My heart was lodged in my throat; my body was heading toward a boulder the size of a pick-up truck.
The boulder disappeared—I guess we intimidated it—before I had the sickening feeling that we were flipping. We threw our body weights to counter it, without thought, and I closed my eyes as the resulting wave of water washed over us. So deep it muffled the roar of the rapids. Emerging from the water, we churned that water like cartoon characters.

Suddenly the ride was over and we came to rest in the eddy, that peaceful place of prayers where everyone who’d gone before us became praying people: Thank God we made it.

So I suggest for your next vacation, you try something big. You won’t know freedom until you’re willing to let go and fall . . . or fly. But God is always there to catch you. This doesn’t have to be about vacations. It can just be about that decision that’s keeping you awake at night. Fears are not all bad. They keep us from doing too many stupid things. But they also hold us back from the amazing.

Do you trust Him?

Then let go.

debraemarvin.com

I wish these were my photos but I've borrowed them from a great photographer--check out Al_hikesAZ courtesy of Flickr for many more. I didn't...ahem...have my camera that week, and it was before digitals and waterproof were available, anyway.

Victoria and All Her Charms

by Suzie Johnson
Alluring, romantic, breathtaking, sparkling, quaint…words just can’t describe her.

Before we go any further, you should know I’m not speaking about Victoria the Queen. Rather, Victoria the city on an island in British Columbia.

If you’ve never had the opportunity to visit this one-of-a-kind sparkling little gem of a city, you simply must.

Step back from your well developed small town or city and enter a place reflective of quaint old world England. Ivy covered buildings, hidden courtyards, old-fashioned iron street lamps heavy with overflowing baskets of flowers.


Named for the queen herself, Victoria was actually first home to the Coast Salish native people. Over a hundred-and-sixty years after it evolved from Fort Victoria, the city still retains its charm.

Like most tourist destinations, Victoria has tourist activities. The wax museum features members of the royal family, including all of Henry the VIII’s wives. It’s the coolest wax museum I’ve ever been in. The first time I visited, Diana wasn’t there. But two summers ago, I was happily surprised to see Diana and her young princes as part of the exhibit.

When my husband and I went to Victoria on our honeymoon, he discovered Miniature World, a museum with miniature scenes from history. Great fun!

A couple of years ago, when I went with my friend, Diane, we toured a Scottish castle called Craigdarroch, which was built by Robert Dunsmuir in 1887. The woodwork in this Victorian masterpiece is stunning. The staircase that winds all the way up to the top of the castle is a work of art and features incredible stained glass windows and an amazing view of the San Juan Islands. The stories you learn as you roam the castle are inspiring. Because my pictures can’t do it justice, I’ve included a link so you can see for yourself. Click here for pictures of Craigdarroch Castle.

On my first trip to Victoria, I came across an out of the way little courtyard where I relaxed at an antique table with pastries and cup of Earl Grey tea. Its charm was something I never forgot, and on both of my return trips I searched for it. Unfortunately, I never did find it again.

A place that shouldn’t be missed is the Empress Hotel. The ivy covered hotel, built in 1904, is a tourist favorite that has hosted royalty and movie stars alike. But in my opinion, the most alluring draw for tourists simply has to be the English-style high tea that is served every afternoon.


Across from the Empress is another must-see, the Provincial Museum. The exhibits include lessons in the geography of the island as well as the historical native culture. Across from the museum are the Parliament Buildings where my husband saw Queen Elizabeth when he was a kid on a school field trip.

If you’re lucky enough to stay on the harbor, you can spend a lazy day watching seaplanes take off and land, tourists head out for whale watching trips, and giant ferries as they bring tourists to town. An extra treat on the harbor is a dock that leads out to the most adorable boat houses I’ve ever seen.


On a personal note, I’ll choose to stay on the harbor instead of a Bed & Breakfast. On my last trip to Victoria, my friend Diane and I stayed our first night at a B&B. Um, I can’t really say it was the quaint and charming experience I expected. Instead, it was strange and uncomfortable, and I don’t ever plan to stay at one again. B&Bs might work for some people, but not for me.

Your trip won’t be complete until you visit the one of a kind Butchart Gardens. A gardener’s dream. I’m not a gardener, know next to nothing about flowers, but I felt like I found my way to heaven. Acres upon acres of beauty can only be described as amazing, breathtaking, fabulous. If you’re lucky enough to make it to Victoria, but don’t see the gardens, you truly will have missed out on the experience of a lifetime.


The small city named after a queen is a city fit for a queen.
So what are you waiting for? Bring out your inner queen. Head up to Victoria and enjoy high tea, a Scottish castle, and the most magnificent gardens you’ll ever see.

All photos copyright Suzie Johnson

It's Victoria Day

by Anita Mae Draper

It's Victoria Day in Canada today! Ah, the freedom. But it's not political freedom we're talking here. Canada attained independence in 1982 although it's still a member of the Commonwealth of Nations and has the reigning British monarch as a figurehead.

In Canada, we use Queen Victoria's and our present monarch, Queen Elizabeth's birthday for a celebration which stands for a whole list of things that start this weekend and all mean one thing...

SUMMER!

Yes, Victoria Day in Canada means:

- Freedom from clothes! Leave that outerwear behind and feel the breeze on your bare skin. Yeehaw!

- Freedom to plant! It doesn't matter where you live in Canada, you can safely plant your garden on or after Victoria Day and you don't have to worry about frost.

- Freedom to camp! Yes, campgrounds open this weekend and quickly fill with exuberant party-goers who've shed their clothes in their eagerness to become mosquito bait.

- Freedom to suntan! Canadians suffer more sunburns on Victoria Day weekend because of all those clothes they've left behind in the house.

- Freedom to go to the beach! Regardless of how cold that water is, all beaches in Canada open for public swimming and scantily-clad bodies show off their ghastly white skin*.

- Freedom to open the cottage. Highways are jammed as cottage country owners leave their urban homes to spend the weekend mucking dead moths, flies and rodent feces out of their chosen home-away-from-home.

Need I say, Canadians thrive on Victoria Day.

Victoria was born in 1819. She took over the throne in 1837 at the young age of 18 upon the death of her uncle George IV. She ruled as queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and empress of India until her death in 1901, when her son Edward the VII became the King of England.

Here's a Canadian 5 cent piece from 1899 and yes, that's a young Queen Victoria you see there.

As a member of the Commonwealth of Nations (British Commonwealth), the current British monarch is displayed on the reverse of all Canadian coinage.

Back in 1845, the Legislature of the Province of Canada declared May 24th, the queen's birthday, a national holiday. In 1952, an amendment to the Statutes of Canada established he Monday preceding May 25 as the actual holiday. That means Victoria Day is the 3rd Monday in May.

Here are some little know facts about Queen Victoria:

- Her image was used on the first postage stamps ever printed back on May 6, 1840 in the United Kingdom.

- Young Victoria was taught to keep her chin up by placing a prickly holly sprig under her collar.

- Although she ruled for 64 years, Queen Victoria never learned to speak perfect English because her mother only spoke German at home.

- Queen Victoria was the last teenager to rule England.

 

Victoria Day is always the weekend before the U.S. Memorial Day.

 

 

So, what are you doing either this long weekend or next weekend for Memorial Day?

*This is not to imply all Canadians are caucasian because we aren't. Canada is made up of a diverse ethnic population. It's just that pale skin which hasn't seen the sun in 9 months looks . . . ghastly.

A Poet...And a Saint?

Friends, meet Wilda Morris, a writer soulmate who will join me as staff at 2010 Green Lake Writers Conference (http://www.glcc.org/glcc/files/conferences/Writers%202010.) Wilda answered the call to share her gift with us today! Here's a poem from a saint--her mother--that just might change your life:

When I was a child, Mother, my sister Dorinda and I lived with my grandparents in a home where faith was highly valued, everyone active in the First Baptist Church.

I’m thankful that poetry was also valued. Zam, as my sister and I called our grandmother, had memorized a number of poems in school, and often recited them to us and our cousins. Three of the poems she often recited were “The Blue and the Grey,” a poem about Confederate women putting flowers on the graves of soldiers of both armies after the Civil War; “Lasca,” a dramatic (and tragic) narrative of the old West; and “Abou Ben Adhem,” a poem in which service to others is reckoned as service to God.



Mother didn’t often recite poetry from memory, but she sometimes wrote poems. She also read to us from A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson and other books. As we grew, she read poems appropriate to our age. The one poem I most associate with Mother is “The Touch of the Master’s Hand,” by Myra B. Welsh, a poem about the grace of God, and the change it can make in a person’s life.


(Wilda's mother)

When my grandfather was dying, Sister Rosemary, a Roman Catholic and member of the Sisters of Mercy, visited his hospital room regularly and prayed for him. She and Mother became friends. In addition to her ministry at the Hospital, Sister Rosemary had a weekly ministry at the County Jail. She invited Mother to assist her in that ministry.



Mother had had many experiences of grace in her life, but she also had difficult memories to deal with. She wasn’t sure she wanted to get involved with people who were incarcerated. After much prayer, though—and with much trepidation—Mother agreed to give it a try. In jail ministry, Mother not only extended God’s love to the inmates; she also felt “the touch of the Master’s hand.” I tell part of the story in a poem first published in the Summer-Fall 2008 issue of Rockford Review.


(Wilda's mother)
Woodye Kessler at the County Jail

She tried to hold fear
in her hands but it spread
like melted butter
from her white hair
to the soles of her arthritic feet.
Even the Bible she carried
trembled as the sheriff
locked her in with Sister Rosemary
and a dozen inmates.

She shuddered when Eddie
opened his vile mouth,
cursing her, Sister Rosemary,
God and his cellmate.
But she came again each week,
studying scripture with the men,
sitting as close as she could
to the locked door,
as if it might provide escape,

till the day Eddie asked,
Why do you come here?
Without thinking, she replied,
Because I love you.
At that moment her fear
took flight and she knew
she did love him, knew
he was a child of God

and Eddie began a long journey
back toward the self
he’d abandoned in the pain
of abuse, disrespect,
dehumanization.

My friends, have you been resisting a call to share God’s love and grace? God has promised to be with you!
Wilda Morris, sharing her life journey at wildamorris.blogspot.com

Where Does a Novel Come From?

Where does a novel come from? What mysterious amalgamation of reality and whimsy come together to form the nucleus of a tale that creates a world of its own? A place that the reader can enter, like Dorothy opening the door of her Kansas home, to reveal Munchkinland in all its Technicolor brilliance.

For me the process often begins with a stray fact. One little image or concept or sound byte that revs up the “What if…” machine in my brain. I write historicals so let me share some of the stories I've come across that offered fertile fields for my imagination:

Did you hear about the Jacksons?

When General Andrew Jackson, the hero of New Orleans married his wife, Rachel she was still married to her first husband, Lewis Robards. The couple always claimed that Robards told them he had submitted the divorce papers. He, of course, denied it.

Jackson remarried Rachel in 1794, but the scandalous accusations of bigamy scuppered his bid for the presidency when he ran in 1824. By the slimmest of margins, Jackson managed to win the popular vote and even gained the most electoral college votes. But without a clear majority it fell to the House of Representatives to name the new president. After only one round of voting, John Quincy Adams was named the sixth president of the United States.

Four years later, the same ugly stories once more reared their heads. It’s said that throughout his life Andrew Jackson fought thirteen duels. Many of them over his wife’s honor. This time, however, Jackson had the satisfaction of soundly thrashing Adams in the race for the presidency. Unfortunately, just two weeks after the results were known, and before her husband took office, Rachel Jackson died. Andrew Jackson blamed the scandal mongering and never forgave John Quincy Adams or his party.

Betsy Bonaparte

Did you know that Napoleon Bonaparte had American relations? It’s true.

In 1803 Napoleon’s younger brother, Jerome was a naval officer fighting in the Caribbean. To escape captured by the English he retreated to America. While visiting a friend in Maryland he met Miss Elizabeth Patterson, the daughter of the wealthiest man in the state. After a whirlwind two-month courtship, he asked for her hand in marriage. Neither side of the family was enthusiastic about the arrangement, but Elizabeth, known as Betsy, did manage to obtain her parents’ permission. Napoleon Bonaparte wasn’t so accommodating. The wedding went ahead anyway.

The couple were married on Christmas Eve, 1803 by the Archbishop of Baltimore. Betsy’s beauty was legendary and she had no problem with flaunting it by wearing fashions that raised many an eyebrow.

At the news of the wedding, Napoleon immediately ordered his brother home. They ignored the summons for as long as they could, but the time came when they had to respond. A now pregnant Betsy set sail with her husband, hoping to arrive in time for Napoleon’s coronation. When they came within sight of the coast in March of 1805, their ship was boarded and Jerome was taken off. She never saw him again.

Betsy was denied entrance into France, and Napoleon exerted his influence to ensure that other ports were closed to her as well. She finally found safe harbor in England and gave birth to a son, Jerome Napoleon Bonaparte, in July of 1805.

Jerome tried to reason with his brother, but Napoleon would not listen and declared the marriage null. He then demanded that Jerome marry a German princess Catharina of Württemburg. Jerome caved to the pressure and married the German, without having his marriage to Betsy legally dissolved.

Napoleon sent a letter to Betsy requesting that she stop using the Bonaparte name, and offering her a small stipend if she would drop her claims, and those of her son. She promptly replied that she had come by the name honorably and had no intention of dropping it or any other right or honor which she was due. After the Battle of Waterloo she returned to Europe and was feted across the continent for her beauty and wit. She finally secured a divorce from Jerome in 1815 by a special act of the Maryland Legislature.

Queen Elizabeth’s Fantasy

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots was at odds with her Tudor family from the day of her birth. Proclaimed queen of Scotland when she was less than a year old, she also had a strong claim to the English throne. Her mother was Henry VIII’s sister.

When the English throne devolved to Elizabeth Tudor, her mother’s marriage to Henry had already been annulled and her legitimacy denied by the English Parliament. Henry tried to fix the problem by unequivocally stating the line of succession in his will, but that patch was too little too late.

Thus the stage was set for a battle of wills between these first cousins, both of whom were reigning queens. Unfortunately for Mary, Elizabeth had the upper hand. England at the time was more prosperous and more populous. It was strong militarily and had the advantage of a centralized government that made its sovereign less dependent on her conniving Lords.

One of the major sanctions that Elizabeth imposed upon learning that it was Mary’s intention to marry again, was a demand that she have a say in the selection of husband. The last thing she wanted was for Mary to form an alliance with a Catholic prince and thereby gain preeminence. When asked whom she had in mind, she actually suggested that Mary marry Robert Dudley. And this is where Elizabeth’s world began to dissolve into fantasy. He was her favorite courtier, and a man most historians assume to have been her lover. Gossip was as rife then as it is today, and Mary was more than offended at the suggestion, but for political reasons acted as if the match might work.

Elizabeth’s delusions seemed to know no bounds. It seems she regretted her suggestion, but could hardly tell Mary not to marry Dudley when it had been her idea in the first place. Her solution? She sent a letter to Mary, with the proposal that, once married she and Dudley should move to England and live with Elizabeth! Elizabeth would, of course, support them.

Can you imagine such a proposal made to a reigning monarch? Not only was she supposed to leave the governing of her country to others, in order to mooch around Elizabeth’s court, but she was also, apparently supposed to share her husband with her first cousin. Yikes! I guess no one ever accused Elizabeth of not being a gutsy broad.

Needless to say, this bit of fantasy on Elizabeth’s part was not fulfilled. Mary went on to marry an Englishman with a claim to the English succession that nearly matched her own. An alliance that produced an heir, but eventually led to her downfall.

For some reason we often think of history as genteel and the people of previous angels as something different than full-blooded men and women. But human nature hasn’t changed. People were as complicated and conflicted then as they are now.

Writer question: What sort of things spark a story for you?

Reader Question: Have you ever thought you might have found the snippet of idea in a book that sparked the whole story you were reading?

Everyone Question: If you were Mary, would you have wanted to shove that letter down Elizabeth’s throat?

You're the Inspiration

by D'Ann Mateer

“You’re the inspiration.”

How many times have you said those words? And singing Chicago’s lyrics doesn’t count!

As Lisa reminded at the beginning of the week, inspiration moves beyond admiration. Inspiration compels us to take action, to move forward, to surge ahead. And as Debra brought to light yesterday, often this is someone whose life intersects with ours.

One of the most inspirational people in my life isn’t a well-known personality. She isn’t a missionary or an actress or an athlete. She is an incredible musician, but relatively few have heard her sing and play.

She balances her roles as mother and wife and teacher and friend with amazing acuity. And in doing so, she inspires me. She makes me want to deepen my relationship with the Lord, my husband, my children. Her example urges me to excellence in all that I do, but demonstrates a desire for integrity and holiness and the glorification of God over and above everything else.

For almost 18 years, she has been my friend, sticking around even when I wasn’t the most likeable woman in the world. And because of that, I am able to revel in others’ friendship, to love them in spite of their flaws.

Her journey has now taken her to a rural life, one she has embraced with amazing willingness for a city girl! And even in that I am inspired. I want to do as she has done and seek the joy and blessing in unexpected turns in the road, to create new dreams instead of mourning the old ones.

So as we close our week of “Inkspirations,” I want to know: has anyone ever said you inspire them? If so, why did they say that? Was because of something you consciously did or said or something you didn't realize you did or said? How did hearing that from someone else impact your life? And if you can't think of anything else to say, you can tell us your favorite Chicago song, instead!

Looking through God Glasses

Who Inspires You?
by Debra E. Marvin

This week, the Inkies have been talking about people who inspire us. I'm going to bring this down to a micro-level, because I've chosen someone most of you won't know. I want you to think of someone in your everyday life that could be your "ink-spiration"!

This past week our church lost a man who was an inspiration to everyone who knew him because of his intense love for Jesus and the deep, unbiased love he had for others. He desperately wanted everyone to know the life changing, life saving love of Christ. Though I could write about Pastor Tim Kirkey, my heart was made up months ago when this theme came up. One person came to mind immediately.

I’ve had a group of close friends that goes back to elementary school. Imagine the kind of history that comes along with it. There’s nothing we haven’t been through together. We are true sisters.

One of my friends, Linda Marie, is the type of person who loves to meet people. Now, I can say a friendly hello and chat for a moment or two, and then I’m ready to go. I love solitude. I could travel across country, smile and say hello to 100 people along the way. Linda could talk 100 minutes with each of those people. She genuinely finds them interesting and worth her time.
On a "girls" trip a few years back, we were sitting in our rental van waiting for Linda Marie to come out of the gas station (no doubt with a pepsi, a chocolate bar and a lottery ticket!). She came out the door and proceeded to converse with a man who looked____________(fill in the blank). One of us said, “There goes Lin, talking to anyone!”














I was so convicted right then it has never left me. Our Linda WILL talk to anyone-- with a caring voice, a smile, an attitude that they are worth her time and are no worse or better than she is.
What is your FILL IN THE BLANK? Do you judge people by their looks, clothing, possessions, attitude? How I wish I could say I don’t. I can blame the ‘don’t like to talk’ part on my extreme introvertedness, but I can’t blame the judging on it.

Mind you, Linda is not perfect. I have four red-headed best friends. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S LIKE? I’m judging redheads here. Passionate in their feelings and I wouldn’t have it any other way!

Once, when I was serving communion, I had a glimpse of what God sees when He looks at us. I felt so overwhelmed by the love He has for each person that came up to take their cracker and juice, I could hardly breathe. For one blessed moment, I saw each of them with His eyes--through God glasses! Another moment I’ll never forget.
We are all judged by our looks, our actions, our history through the eyes of others. Except for one. THE ONE who sees us as the valuable, irreplaceable, special creation He made despite what we’ve done with ourselves.

My inspiration is my friend Linda Marie Bridget Nagel Serenka, who takes the time to give value to others in a way I only hope to attempt. I’m blessed to have known her for over forty five years.

Do you have a Linda in your life?
Perhaps a Tim Kirkey? I hope so.

Who inspires you? Do they know how you feel?
Tell them.
Today.
Share with us if you will.

Luke 18: 9-14 Then Jesus told this story to some who had great confidence in their own righteousness and scorned everyone else: “Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and the other was a despised tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed this prayer: ‘I thank you, God, that I am not a sinner like everyone else. For I don’t cheat, I don’t sin, and I don’t commit adultery. I’m certainly not like that tax collector! I fast twice a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.’
“But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, ‘O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.’ I tell you, this sinner, not the Pharisee, returned home justified before God. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

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Welcome, Bethany House author Julie Klassen!

Inspired by…Jane Austen

I fell in love…What can I say? I fell in love with Jane Austen.

And even before I was smitten with the author, I was smitten with her leading men: Mr. Darcy, Colonel Brandon, Captain Wentworth…. Sigh. And as anyone in love would do—I spent a great deal of time with—and learned everything I could about—the object of my affection. I watched every Austen adaptation big screen and small, have listened to each audio recording (and have never so enjoyed my lengthy commute), and have read the books themselves. Jane Austen: The Complete Novels also stands on my shelf, lending class to the paperbacks around it, but otherwise useless—the leather volume is so heavy, that when I try to read it in bed at night, my arms begin to shake!

My Austen collection exhausted, I turned to writing my own novels set in “Jane Austen-era England.” I’ve longed to be writer since I was very young, but it was not until my love affair with all-things-Austen that I got serious about the dream. I so enjoyed the world of Pride and Prejudice, Emma, and Persuasion, that I wished to return there again and again. And in this way, I have been, and continue to be, inspired by Jane Austen.

Jane’s books were published primarily in the Regency period, a relatively brief span of years from about 1811-1820. Why are readers like me so drawn to this period? In the pages of Austen, it was a romantic, idyllic time, at least if you had money. Gowns and hats, balls and grand parties, chivalry and carriage rides. And who can resist a handsome gentleman in those tall Hessian boots?

On a deeper level, it was a time when being a true “lady” or “gentleman” was something people aspired to. A time when many in society followed polite rules of conduct and a high moral code. Things not always as evident in our world today.

What about you? Have you read Jane Austen’s novels or seen the movies or miniseries based on them? If so, I imagine you, too, have fallen in love. Perhaps Jane has even inspired you to write, as she has me—and many other authors as well, as the plethora of sequels and fan fiction prove.

In fact, Jane Austen is more popular now than during her lifetime nearly two hundred years ago. And, in a modern high-tech world always eager for the newest thing, Jane Austen’s books enjoy ongoing appeal. Is it any wonder writers like me are inspired by—and long to emulate—Jane Austen?

Henry Austen described his sister Jane this way:

“She always sought, in the faults of others, something to excuse, to forgive or forget. She never uttered a hasty, a silly, or a severe expression. In short, her temper was as polished as her wit. Nor were her manners inferior to her temper. No one could be often in her company without feeling a strong desire of obtaining her friendship, and cherishing a hope of having obtained it. She became an authoress entirely from taste and inclination. Neither the hope of fame nor profit mixed with her early motives.”

Even allowing for a brother’s understandable pride and prejudice, is seems clear that Jane Austen embodied many qualities that writers—and all of us—might do well to imitate. Is it any wonder I find her inspiring?

Who inspires you?

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Julie Klassen is the author of three novels, Lady of Milkweed Manor (a Christy Award finalist), The Apothecary’s Daughter, and releasing this month, The Silent Governess. She also works as a fiction editor for Bethany House Publishers. Julie is a graduate of the University of Illinois. She enjoys travel, research, BBC period dramas, long hikes, short naps, and coffee with friends. She and her husband have two sons and live near St. Paul, Minnesota.

Visit her website: http://www.julieklassen.com/
Olivia Keene is fleeing her own secret.

She never intended to overhear his.

But now that she has, what is Lord Bradley to do with her? He cannot let her go, for were the truth to get out, he would lose everything--his reputation, his inheritance, his very home.

He gives Miss Keene little choice but to accept a post at Brightwell Court, where he can make certain she does not spread what she heard. Keeping an eye on the young woman as she cares for the children, he finds himself drawn to her, even as he struggles against the growing attraction. The clever Miss Keene is definitely hiding something.

Moving, mysterious, and romantic, The Silent Governess takes readers inside the intriguing life of a nineteenth-century governess in an English manor house where all is not as it appears.

The Silent Governess can be purchased at Bethany House, Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Christian Book Distributors, and Books A Million.