M. Jean Pike

Lately, I've been trying to spend more time with God. I've been reading a book called The Purpose Driven Life by Rick Warren, and one of the chapters deals with deepening your relationship with your Creator. Including Him, even in the little things.

So this morning, as I sat on my porch with my first coffee of the day, I started talking to God about my deck. I've always loved this space that overlooks the woods and the creek, for it gives me a front row seat in the ever-unfolding drama of nature.

With the days warming up and the earth awakening, my thoughts have turned to all things outdoors. My deck is a little worse for wear this year and I've felt anxious, lately, to paint and pretty it up. I told God this. I told Him about my plans to scatter pots of pink and red geraniums here and there. About the plastic deck chairs I'd painted berry red, and the silk ficus tree I planned to bring outside and string with soft white lights. I told Him I'd been thinking of some old friends I haven't seen in far too long, and how I'd like to invite them over this summer for lemonade and girl talk on the deck. How I want to create a place of peace and beauty where I can relax and enjoy this gorgeous piece of property He's given me. The conversation lasted maybe ten minutes. I finished my coffee and went inside to get ready for my day.

When I got to work, a friend started telling me about the porch swing her husband had given her as an early Mother's Day gift. For me, porch swings conjure up beautiful memories of summer evenings pent at my Grandmother's house when I was small. I've always wanted one, but with one thing and another, it always gets pushed to the bottom of the list. As my friend spoke,I had another quick conversation with God... Lord, help me not to be jealous! The bell rang, the students came tumbling into the classroom, and the conversation was forgotten. Until later this afternoon.

Sometimes God reminds me of His love in the most amazing ways. Sometimes it's not the big, miraculous moments that bring me to my knees. Sometimes it's the little things.

Driving up my road on my way home from work, I saw something that brought my car to a screeching halt. Out by the road in front of a neighbor's house sat a lovely, oversized porch swing. Taped to it, a sign that said: FREE.

I shot a quick text to my husband, then stopped and made arrangements with my neighbors for my husband to pick up the porch swing after work. It wasn't until I started to drive away that the full impact of the moment hit me. Tears came to my eyes, and as I started to thank God, I felt His presence all around me. A line from a song I recently heard ran through my head, making the tears fall even harder

...such kindness I did not deserve, but you gave it still.

Tonight, as I reflect back on the day, I'm so thankful for God's love. I'm so awed and humbled that the God of the Universe would care about me, even when it comes to the little things.

A couple of years ago, my son had a run-in with a boy from out of town. Because of some percieved slight or act of disrespect, this boy started making threats. It started at the beginning of the school year and continued into Spirit Week, a week when various activities were planned at the high school, including a Saturday night dance. Rumor had it that during the dance, this boy and his pals were going to come looking for my son and settle the score.

My son is physically fit. Hours spent in the weight room earned him the size and strength of a football player. Hours spent on the matt earned him the finely honed reflexes of a wrestler. He could take care of himself.  I knew that, but stil...

On the afternoon of the dance, my son and one of his football buddies were hanging out at our house. From the kitchen I heard them discussing the dance and the possibility that the boys from out of town might show up. Alarmed, I poked my head into the living room and suggested that it might be better if they just stayed home. They laughed. My son's friend assured me that all would be well.

"We've got his back," he told me. "Boots is gonna be there. And Door is gonna be there. But none of that even matters." He extended his arms, cracked his knuckles, and flexed his biceps. "Because I'm gonna be there."

The memory makes me smile because it 's such a beautiful portrait of friendship and loyalty and teenaged arrogance. But when thought of on a spiritual level, it is also a beautiful portrait of God.

So many times when troubles come, be it in the form of a loved one who needs a medical procedure, a financial setback, or unexpected bad weather, in my humanness I look for human solutions to the problem. In my humanness, I forget that I have a God who loves me, a God who promised He would never forsake me. In times of trouble, I come face to face with my own frailty. I tell myself that I have gifted surgeons, a semi-healthy savings account, air bags and anti-lock breaks. I beg for a touch of God's grace and I pray these things will be enough.   

That's when God smiles, and gently reminds me, "Yes, you have doctors and savings and air bags. But none of that really matters, child. Because you have me."

Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by name, thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee. When thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned, neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy God...

 Isaiah 43: 1-3 

Easter season always makes me think of this lovely piece by Amy Carmichael. This year, I wanted to share it with my readers...

Calvary Love

by Amy Carmichael

If I belittle those whom I am called to serve, talk of their weak points in contrast perhaps with what I think of as my strong points; if I adopt a superior attitude, forgetting "Who made thee to differ? And what hast thou that thou hast not received?" then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I can enjoy a joke at the expense of another; if I can in any way slight another in conversation, or even in thought, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I can write an unkind letter, speak an unkind word, think an unkind thought without grief and shame, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I do not feel far more for the grieved Savior than for my worried self when troublesome things occur, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I can rebuke without a pang, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If my attitude be one of fear, not faith, about one who has disappointed me; if I say, "Just what I expected" if a fall occurs, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I am afraid to speak the truth, lest I lose affection, or lest the one concerned should say, "You do not understand," or because I fear to lose my reputation for kindness; if I put my own good name before the other's highest good, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I am content to heal a hurt slightly, saying "Peace, peace," where there is no peace; if I forget the poignant word "Let love be without dissimulation" and blunt the edge of truth, speaking not right things but smooth things, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I hold on to choices of any kind, just because they are my choice, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I am soft to myself and slide comfortably into self-pity and self-sympathy; If I do not by the grace of God practice fortitude, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I myself dominate myself, if my thoughts revolve round myself, if I am so occupied with myself I rarely have "a heart at leisure from itself," then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If, the moment I am conscious of the shadow of self crossing my threshold, I do not shut the door, and keep that door shut, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I cannot in honest happiness take the second place (or the twentieth); if I cannot take the first without making a fuss about my unworthiness, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I take offense easily, if I am content to continue in a cool unfriendliness, though friendship be possible, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I feel injured when another lays to my charge things that I know not, forgetting that my sinless Savior trod this path to the end, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I feel bitter toward those who condemn me, as it seems to me, unjustly, forgetting that if they knew me as I know myself they would condemn me much more, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If souls can suffer alongside, and I hardly know it, because the spirit of discernment is not in me, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If the praise of others elates me and their blame depresses me; if I cannot rest under misunderstanding without defending myself; if I love to be loved more than to love, to be served more than to serve, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I crave hungrily to be used to show the way of liberty to a soul in bondage, instead of caring only that it be delivered; if I nurse my disappointment when I fail, instead of asking that to another the word of release may be given, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I do not forget about such a trifle as personal success, so that it never crosses my mind, or if it does, is never given room there; if the cup of flattery tastes sweet to me, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If in the fellowship of service I seek to attach a friend to myself, so that others are caused to feel unwanted; if my friendships do not draw others deeper in, but are ungenerous (to myself, for myself), then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I refuse to allow one who is dear to me to suffer for the sake of Christ, if I do not see such suffering as the greatest honor that can be offered to any follower of the Crucified, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I slip into the place that can be filled by Christ alone, making myself the first necessity to a soul instead of leading it to fasten upon Him, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If my interest in the work of others is cool; if I think in terms of my own special work; if the burdens of others are not my burdens too, and their joys mine, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I wonder why something trying is allowed, and press for prayer that it may be removed; if I cannot be trusted with any disappointment, and cannot go on in peace under any mystery, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If the ultimate, the hardest, cannot be asked of me; if my fellows hesitate to ask it and turn to someone else, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

If I covet any place on earth but the dust at the foot of the Cross, then I know nothing of Calvary love.

That which I know not, teach Thou me, O Lord, my God.

Amy Carmichael, "Calvary Love," from If, by Dohnavur Fellowship. Fort Washington, PA: CLC Ministries, n.d. Used by permission.

Lately I've been thinking about reviews and how subjective they are. Sometimes I will read a review for a book I've loved and see that another reader has rated it just one star. I'm always surprised at how diverse a collection of human opinions can be.

I've been accused of loving every single thing I read. People have said that I give every book a glowing four or five-star review. Not so. I'm old school and I still believe that if you can't say something nice, you shouldn't say anything at all. I've read some real stinkers. I simply choose not to review them.Because what's the point? I write rave reviews because I want to share good books with others. Nasty reviews serve only to hurt the author, and as an author, I know how deeply cutting a nasty review can be.

With that being said, I thought it might be interesting to compare a couple of reviews some of my own books have received. Mind you, these reviewers are not friends who owed me a favor. They are not enemies with a personal agenda. I don't even know them.

Same book. Two opinions.

Amazon Customer Review:

1.0 out of 5 stars

Worst Thing I've Ever Wasted My Time On!

I liked The Time Traveler's Wife. Several people said, if I liked that, I'd love this book. I bought it, and I did not. This book is so poorly written that any prize it would have earned would be for high school sophomore fiction. . . Max. How to describe the florid use of adjectives? "Steaming" this and "steaming that in reference to food? Often in the next sentence??? A romance that has no introduction? No basis? And no rationale other than chance encounter?

This book is a waste of time. The writing is so poor that it places it only on the lowest level of supermarket shelves for purchase. If you want paranormal fiction, at least look to Marion Zimmer Bradley. Even that's not good, but at least you'll get some literary substance. This book has nothing to offer but a poorly constructed story developed by poorly constructed characters. Save your money unless your I.Q. is below 80.

Ouch!

5 Stars Plus

Romance Reader at Heart

Every once in awhile, a book comes along that touches me so deeply. It’s such a wonderful feeling to be moved by an author’s words. I had a feeling that WAITING FOR THE RAIN by M. Jean Pike was going to be a spectacular book, right from the beginning. I’m so happy that I was right. This book is wonderfully written and very emotional. Before you get comfortable and begin to read this book, might I suggest having a big box of tissues at hand!

WAITING FOR THE RAIN is the story of Willow (Willy) Mackenzie and Darby Sullivan. Willow has cancer and her prognosis isn’t good. After stumbling across a quaint cottage, she decides to rent it. It’s just what she needs for her emotional and physical health. If only she could get along with her somewhat mysterious neighbor, Darby.

While Darby doesn’t rent out the cottage to anyone, he knows that there’s something special about Willow. He’s drawn to her, yet he can’t open up his heart and let her in. Darby has an incredible secret and he’s just not ready to let Willow in on it. He’s been hurt once and can’t bear it if Willow would leave him.

Darby is an amazing character. His secret is very unique, and the love he has for Willow is powerful enough for him to give her all that he has—body and soul. I get goose bumps just thinking about him.

Pike definitely pulled my heartstrings with this book. I literally stopped reading because I couldn’t see the pages through the tears that were overflowing and running down my face. There was a certain point at the end of the story that was so touching that again, I was overcome with emotion and had to stop reading the book until I composed myself. WAITING FOR THE RAIN touched me on an emotional level where not many books have touched me before.

There aren’t enough words for me to use when describing how much I loved this book. The writing is brilliant, the characters are so real, and what they experience is at times, heartbreaking, and other times, joyous. The ending will have you believing in miracles (if you’re able to read through tears).

WAITING FOR THE RAIN by M. Jean Pike is a treasure. I loved it, and I really want you to read it and hopefully love it as much I do. Pike is an amazing storyteller, the proof of which is between the pages of her new book. I recommend reading this story and sharing it with your friends.

Julie Kornhausl

And then there's Heatherfield...

5.0 out of 5 stars

RomanticTime Travel-At It's Best !!!

Amazon customer review:

I stumbled upon this little gem totally by accident--I'm so glad I did. This book was jam-packed with all sorts of good things--romance, suspense, time travel to the past, likable characters and nasty villains. Simply put, the writing was superb, the pace was perfect, and the many twists and turns had me glued to this book. I don't know how the author managed to deliver such a wallop in just 252 pages!!

Jake is a tortured man, scarred both physically, and emotionally. Tory is pulled into the past, just after WWII has ended. She feels pain for what Jake has endured, but wants to get back to her own time, 1999. I tried to hold back my emotions on this one, but I could not--IT WAS THAT GOOD!

The latter part of this book was like watching a really good action adventure movie--riveting! The ending, well, let's just say it totally floored me. Excellent!

This is a MUST READ for lovers of romantic time travel. You will remember these characters and this poignant story long after you've read this book. It is truly a keeper.

Another reader had only one star and one word to spend on Heatherfield.

"Lame."

I've gotten several glowing reviews for my books, over the years. Even so, when I get one of these nasties, it still hurts. I try to remember that it all comes back to another old truism: You can't please everyone all the time.

As a writer, and as a human being, you have to please the ones you can. And forget about the rest

I'm the kind of person who can't pass up a bargain. Especially one that involves books. So when I came across a bin of discounted novels in my local supermarket the other day, I had to roll up my sleeves and dig in. I'm really glad I did, or I never would have found this jewel of a story or it's incredible author, Kathleen Gilles Seidel.

The story's main character, Darcy Van Aiken is a 40-something ICU nurse. Recently divorced, she maintains an amicable relatinship with her ex, Mike, for the sake of her two nearly-grown sons. But all of that, along with Darcy's composure, threatens to go out the window as they help to plan their oldest son's wedding and Mike's new girlfriend, a control freak named Claudia, steps in and takes over.

I really loved the character of Darcy. I found her to be both simple and complex at the same time. While capable and confident in her role as a nurse, she secon-guesses her every decision in her personal life. Flawed yet loveable, she seems like someone I would like to hang out with.

The story, though written with humor lends the reader wonderful insights into the human condition. I loved it from the first page to the last.

My rating : 5 Stars

The woods behind my parents' house were filled with blackberry bushes. When my mother was alive, we'd brave the thorns and brambles and bugs every Sunday, picking until our buckets were full. And for this tenacity, we were rewarded with the most delectable treats -- pies and muffins and blackberry jam. My mother passed away in 1998, the property was sold, and those blackberry Sundays became a memory. I really miss them.

When I moved to the country, I entertained the notion of planting blackberry bushes on my property. Not only could I once again enjoy my favorite homemade delights, but the bushes would also provide sweet treats for the many birds that share my country acreage.

The problem is, our area is populated with black bears. These furry friends are not always the most conscientious of neighbors. They've been known to trample my flower beds and help themselves to my suet feeders. I've even had them steal the oranges out of my Oriole feeders. On more than one summer day I've been out working in my garden only to look up and see them making their way from the field across the road to the creek in my back yard. I don't know a lot about black bears, but I'm pretty sure they'd be doing the happy dance if they discovered a thicket of plump, juicy blackberries along their route.

Do I really want to entice them? No. Not really.

Even so, I went ahead and ordered the bushes. They should arrive in time for spring planting, and are promised to yield fruit their first season. My mouth is already watering. I just hope the bears will save me enough berries for a pie...

Sometimes I feel like the world's gone crazy. It seems there's so much violence, so many senseless acts of cruelty toward mankind, animals, and even the Earth itself. Sometimes I feel like it's all coming apart at the seams.

Lately every time I open the newspaer or turn on the tv I see people doing the strangest things.Like families engaging in an all-out brawl over a deceased loved one's possessions. Like people hoarding garbage as if it were treasure, unable to part with piles of dirty diapers and rotten food. Like people addicted to drinking nail polish remover and snorting baby powder. I guess we all have our coping mechanisms. Mine is housework.

Yes, housework.

I used to hate it. Resent it, even. But now I like the orderliness of it, the sense that there is at least some form of chaos that I can control.

Doing housework is a time when I can smooth out the wrinkles, clean up the ugliness, erase the mistakes and start fresh.

I know it sounds crazy, but cleaning and scrubbing and ironing and washing makes me feel good. It makes me feel that my home is a place of orderliness and peacefulness in a wild and restless world.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely godness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

-- Psalm 23

There is a commercial on tv, I believe it’s for an insurance company, in which a dog works itself into a lather worrying about its bone. He goes to the bank and places the bone in a safe deposit box. The next day he takes it out. He digs a hole and buries it in the yard. That night, he digs it up. Silly, but it strikes a chord, because I am a classic worry wart. Sometimes I worry to the point that I become paralyzed with fear. I let my imagination run wild, positive a situation will have the worst possible outcome I can dream up. I worry about my father’s health. I worry about my son, away at college. I worry about money. I turn on the tv and watch news expos and it opens up a whole new world of things to worry about. I am like the dog in the commercial, digging around in the night, stirring up my worries and working myself into a tizzy

It’s unproductive. It’s unhealthy.

So lately, I’ve been making an effort to think more positive, less destructive thoughts. Negative thoughts, like worry, contain negative energy that actually works like a magnet to attract the very things a person worries about. I’ve been working to replace every negative thought that comes into my mind with a positive one. I’ve been more careful with my words, because words are power. I once heard it said that negative words are like spatters of black dropped into a bucket of white paint. Drop enough of them in, you’ve colored someone’s world gray.

I don’t want to be that person.

Lately, when I wake up in the morning, I take a deep breath. I take out my gratitude journal and write down something I am thankful for. I remind myself that life is good. I remind myself that there is no need to worry. I remind myself that God is the answer to every problem I will face today.

With my forty-ninth birthday just a few months away, I decided to pull out my "Fifty List" and see what kind of progress I've been making. Number four on my list was "Try ten new recipes." I've been a kitchen fool this winter, and have tried several new dinner and dessert recipes, as well as putting a new spin on some old favorites. When I counted up the fruits of my labor, I was pleasantly surprised to see that I'd met my goal. These are some of the dishes I've made:

1.) Sweet 'N Spicy Chili

2.) Broccoli Cheddar Bake

3.) Seafod ala Newburg

4.) Soft Molasses Cookies

5.) Oatmeal Spice Cake

6.) Stuffed Shells

7.) Southwest Spanish rce

8.) X-tra Cheesy Macaroni and Cheese

9.) Shepherd's Pie

10.) Velvet Crumb Cake

I feel good about meeting this goal. I've been able to break out of my "food rut" in a most delicious way! It's been so much fun, I may even try for ten more. I'll let you know...