Just me and my goats

"Sickness shows us what we are."
--Latin Proverb

If that's true, then I'm a slug.

This year's been a banner year for my local insta-care. Pharmaceutical companies everywhere are singing praises to my name. Meanwhile, my nightly goat dances around the fire are only proving to singe my eyebrows and make for some very displeased goats. So much for ritual sacrifice.

The point of this inane rambling is to let you know that I am dying. Well, I feel like it anyway. Lest you think I don't treasure the heck out of you guys, I'm posting this so you'll know that I'm unable to read your posts. I will try to get caught up asap but forgive me if it takes a while.

In the mean time, enjoy your black Friday's, turkey leftovers, and bleating-free slumbers.

Until next time,

L.T.

I Stand All Amazed

By L.T. Elliot

I remember my childhood in fits and starts. There are memories that peek through the lace of my mind and some that are swallowed beneath a haze. Some of the more serene ones have bubbled through and I get the chance to hold their shiny spheres up to the light and examine them at will. Gently, oh so gently.

One of those delicate memories carries the song of my mother. I hear her unique voice rise through time and wrap around my child-thin shoulders. I am embraced and warmed by her melody.

We sit on a long pew of woven browns and reds. My younger siblings play a game with my father’s hands, trying to sneak their fingers like insects into his large palm but his hand is the Venus Fly Trap and he is quick. They giggle each time his fingers snap closed around theirs.

In my mother’s lap, a green book of hymns is open-faced; the words a smear of black jam. Her eyes move from my giggling little sister back to the chorister, though her lips continue their faithful prayer. The words I know—the meaning I don’t, but I know that she does and she believes each one of them. She sings,  “I shall divide my gifts from thee With ev’ry brother that I see Who has the need of help from me.”

As I examine this gleaming memory, I’m filled with gratitude. Gratitude that my mother knew those words, sung them, and lived them—does so still. She never lectured me on kindness or charity. She just sang the hymn and practiced its words. So many have been the beneficiary of her song, myself included. So many have known the melody and have been blessed by the kindness. But I examine the memory and remember her voice.

Now as I sit in worshipful prayer, offering my own song, I hear her singing. I hear different songs, snatches of, “By this shall men know, ye are my disciples if ye have love one to another” and “Oh, it is wonderful that He should care for me enough to die for me. Oh, it is wonderful! Wonderful to me!”  I am older and I know the meaning but in my mind, there is a mirror that holds up the image of her sitting next to me, offering these words with the whole of her heart, and knowing their truths. There is more than words. There is my mother.

At times, I think I don’t know anyone who knows my Savior like my mother does. Those hymns are not just words to her but personal creeds. She has adopted His language and speaks it fluently. She has a great love for what is right and would stand alone if she had to, to sing the words that He has taught her. Although I think she knows that she will never stand alone—not while singing His songs.

As this Thursday nears, I am reminded to proffer my gratitude at the laden table—not just for the bountiful feast but for the one that my mother laid out for my soul. For this Thanksgiving, I will set my table with those translucent spheres from my memory and with my heart, I’ll sing the words. Someday, I hope my children will hold their own bubbles and know that even though the meaning was lost to them, it wasn’t to me.

In my mind, I see the duality of she and I, sitting on that russet tinted pew, both grown. Our voices mingle and rise and together, we both understand the lyrics.

Mom, it is wonderful, wonderful to me.

-----------------------------------------

Happy Thanksgiving,

L.T.

*Lyrics and title are from Hymns of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints

A Dose of Cheer

When it comes time to decorate for Christmas, I always pull out a few important things. The tree, a garland or two, a wreath my mother gave me, and my Christmas books.

I have a table where I set them on display and when I’m feeling the lack of yuletide cheer, I pull one of those books from the shelf and indulge in a little sampling of the season. A few choice favorites are:

Christmas Oranges
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
The Polar Express
A Christmas Dress for Ellen
The Christmas Box

And now I’m adding a new one: An Angel on Main Street, by Kathi Oram Peterson. When I was asked if I’d like to participate in a blog tour for this charming book, I thought I was the one doing Kathi a favor. I quickly learned that it was the other way round.  In one afternoon, I read this story and felt myself rediscover my own Christmas miracles. This is what the back cover says:

Micah Connors promised his mother he would be good in their new town. But with Christmas only three days away, being escorted home by the sheriff does not bode well. Can the towering officer be trusted not to tell what happened?

Perhaps the ramshackle stable that has appeared on Main Street will sidetrack him from spilling the day’s events—or maybe his interest in Micah’s widowed mother will do the trick.

The last thing Dawn Connors needs is to hear her son is in trouble. She has enough to worry about with her husband gone and her daughter, Annie, ill.

Even though Micah has told his sister the rustic structure in the middle of town is simply part of the town’s holiday decorations, Annie is sure that unseen angels are building the crude stable—which means baby Jesus is coming, and he can make her better.

Terrified that his little sister might die, Micah vows to find the baby Jesus for Annie, even if it is only a plastic doll. But as Micah gets nearer to his goal he finds angels are closer than he ever would have believed.

The thing I loved about this story was a beautiful reminder to look beneath the surface with people. Nearly every character has a hidden facet to reveal and in this way, they became so much more real to me. There were a few things that I would have liked to have seen happen differently but on the whole, I enjoyed the book too much to be distracted by them.

I’m happy to say this new tale has a place on my table. Want a little holiday cheer for yourself or perhaps a friend? An Angel on Main Street is just the thing.

Happy upcoming Holidays!

L.T.

Have yourself…

Just a quick note to let you all know that Stolen Christmas and other stories of the season is now available for purchase. Want to know a bit more about it? I’m happy to oblige.

What happens when you're so poor you have to steal your Christmas presents? Have you ever taken a punch in the face as your Christmas gift to the girl you love? Or saved Christmas while hunting were-weevils?

These award-winning Christmas stories are the best of the best from the LDS Publisher Christmas Story Contests. From Christmases past, to present, to future; from sweet and inspirational, to zany and delightful-there's a story for everyone in this eclectic collection.

Seventeen stories to celebrate the season, from Sarah M. Eden, Tristi Pinkston, Joyce DiPastena, Christine Thackeray, Don Carey, and more.

This great Christmas Compilation features many fine writers (including yours truly) and would make a great gift. Check it out. You know you want to.

Thanks, everyone!

L.T.

Footprints, Vistas, and Pencil Marks

“The rung of a ladder was never meant to rest upon, but only to hold a man’s foot long enough to enable him to put the other somewhat higher.”
--Thomas Henry Huxley

A year ago today, I started this blog.

It’s strange to think, three hundred and sixty-five days have passed. In some ways, this place still feels so new to me. In others, it feels ancient, timeless, eternal. I could never have foreseen what it would become. It’s my refuge; my cathartic escape. It’s a crossroads. It’s an electronic piece of paper. I found friendship, God, laughter, depth, scope, and peace. Not here—but through here. And I guess, in a way, I found some peace here too.

This journey began small, a single footprint in melting snow. And now it feels like I have traveled further than I’ve ever been, only to end up at the same place. My eyes are new. My passport stamped. I can’t possibly line the shelves of this place—there’s too much that’s come home with me.

I’ve taken snapshots of faces, phrases, words, and places. I feel like I’ve held hands, kissed cheeks, attended funerals, and witnessed birth. I’ve shuffled my feet outside of thresholds and have been welcomed at the cozy fireside. So many people I’ve prayed with, laughed with, cried with, played with.

My voice has been both rant and rave. I’ve sung joyful praise and humble dirge. My height’s been penciled on the wall and what a difference a year has made. Not much taller but grown so tall. I am ever me—and I am changed.

There are footprints beside me, trailing all the way to the beginning. There are newer treads—but no less treasured. If this place has become anything, it has done so from a combined effort. It is not mine alone, but ours together.

Behind me, there’s a winding mountain. The terrain is both jagged and gentle with more footprints in the sand than I ever recognized during the climb. I am filled. I am grateful.

But I am not done.

Ahead, there rises a steeper place. I can’t see beyond this small stretch but for now, the sun is on my face and nothing feels impossible. I have but a moment to rest before I must go on.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there’s some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

--Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Thank you, for coming along with me.

With love,

L.T. Elliot

Progress

…so…many things…want to write….can’t.

I’m nano-ing…too busy…to update…fingers…lame.

(and yes, I’m starting to think the writing looks that lame too. I’ll be back. Sometime. Maybe in January at this rate. Hugs to all.)

**Real update** I seriously haven’t updated my word-count on purpose. Those first few days of Nano, every time I saw everyone else’s word counts soaring made me feel like a loser. So I told myself to stop competing and have since refused to even log on to the nano site. I’ll probably update later this weekend (just so the Nano-Gods don’t think I’m a dropout) but for now, I’m just trying to write. It’s the only way I’ve managed to function without falling into a weepy mess. See you soon.

Grant me this one request

“What I have found is if I keep a steady pace of writing a little every day, soon I have thousands of words on a page.”
--Carolyn Vawdrey, ‘It’s the duration that counts.’

I’m outta here, folks.

This weekend I’m off for a mini-writers retreat. My good friend Carolyn will be going with me and I anticipate lots of laughs. She happened to write a timely post today that I find is helping me keep my balance in connection to Nano. (I linked it above.) I’ve had a hard time with word count the last two days but I have had some, so that’s something. This weekend should be great for helping me cram in a lot more.

However, before I go, I have a request from you, my dear readers. A friend and I were talking the other day about our blogs and expectations. It got me thinking about mine and how erratic is gets around here. In light of that, I thought I’d ask you guys what sort of things draw you here. What kind of posts do you enjoy? Is there anything you’d like to hear more of? Now is the perfect time to sock it to me. Don’t hold back, either. I’m serious. I’d really like to know what you think.

I’ll be back around Saturday night but until then, I won’t have internet access. See you soon!

Until next time,

L.T.

p.s. Those of you who are Nano-ing, keep it up! You’re doing amazing!