Family – Rebekah Lyn Books

Meditation Musing~Stars

Beloved,

I place you in peoples lives when you need them and they need you.

Few relationships, no matter how intense at the beginning, last the rest of your life as many marriages and real friends do.

When your world meshes with someone else’s and the work I had in mind gets accomplished, the relationship can go into storage for years or perhaps forever.

This is especially true of the children and young people you know. My wisdom through you may be needed in the forming of certain stages of their character but you will not always be responsible for them, and they do not need to thank you forever. No one can completely fulfill you except Me. Each time you sincerely let go of a person, you get a diamond star of peace and satisfaction for your crown.

The important thing is to see others fully capable of making their own good decisions. One decision, for them and for you, and the most important one, is to love Me and commune with Me.

Finding Our Way Back

When our children were young, Bill and I loved to go camping at the springs and when the kids became teens, we took one Sunday off each month to camp, because Renie and Billy, and Bill and I were all so busy we didn’t have time to be together, or to talk. Yes, we missed church once a month, but we usually had a sweet service of our own, and everything turned out fine in the end.

We invited the young married people in our Sunday School Class/Small Group to come along. We were all close because we prayed together, commiserated with one another, helped each other through “stuff” and studied the Bible together. That weekend, Onisha and her family went, Pam and hers went, and The Crouses and their three children went too. I don’t know who else. If you were there, let us know.

Decades later, Pam, one of the people from that group, and I drove over to Ponce de Leon Springs for breakfast and a look around. We went to the Old Mill where you cook your own pancakes on a griddle in the middle of your table. The waitress asked if we’d been there before and I said I had and I told her jokingly that Pam thought she had been there.

“If you only think you’ve been here, I’ll explain the menu,” said the waitress. “I’ll bring pancake batter in our signature pottery pitchers, the one with the red speckles holds our special blend whole grain batter, the blue speckled one, has white batter. Spray the grill with the oil and pour out enough for your pancakes. You can order nuts, bacon, sausage, and eggs, too, if you want. We’ll cook those for you.

Every time I’ve been to De Leon Springs in the past forty-five years, the same woman was waiting tables. Of course she was younger in the beginning and so was I. I’ll always remember how airy she looked in her tee-shirt and tiered cotton skirt. It could get very hot in there with the grills heated up, even though the fans were going. There was always a room full of people and no AC, just big open screens that showed the out-of-doors to perfect advantage.

I always think of that woman as the quick, friendly person who was working with her family who owned the place with her family and since my novel, Sacred Spring, was published, I’ve wanted to give her a copy, because in a way, I used her for a model for Elaine in the story. I was thrilled to see that as always, she was on the job. I told her we were old customers from long before the state bought the place. Her eyes lit up when I gave her the book and autographed it for her. She was so pleased, she gave me a big hug and because of her joy, I too, felt wonderful.

Pam and I then sat and talked for a long time. We like to talk about our grandchildren, books, our association with Rebekah Lyn Books (Pam is the public relations assistant). We talk about our churches and about movies. After a bit we decided to walk and talk. The Garden Spring Run and the pool itself take your breath away. We went into a tiny museum that has many beautiful historic photographs of Ponce de Leon Springs and the buildings. They have three ring binders full of newspaper clippings about archeological digs that have taken place there.

The museum was in a small room in this building.

When we finished the museum we thought we’d walk up the trail to see Methuselah, an ancient cypress tree, but it started to rain. Because we’d left Pam’s raincoat, my umbrella, our hats, and our “rubber” shoes in the car, we decided to retrace our steps, even though we got rained on before we arrived at the car.

We were happy. We’d found our way back to our first years as friends and to our children’s childhoods, and now we are finding our way back into a precious friendship that we both became too busy to nurture. It’s so comforting growing old with people you’ve known for a long time. Friendship surely is the dew of God for our lives on this earth.

To learn more about De Leon Springs, it’s history and activities visit their website.

http://www.planetdeland.com/sugarmill/

You can also purchase Sacred Spring on Amazon by Clicking HERE

By DiVoran LItes

A Writer is Born~Part 4

Our little girl grew up to be sweet, successful, and smart and she married a good man, just as our son married an excellent woman.

I met Mary Harwell Sayler when she came to teach at a writer’s conference run by our church. Mary is a consummate poet and wonderful teacher and I drank poetry, the reading and the writing of it, like

Introducing Mary Sayler — Author, Poet Mary Sayler

a person dying of thirst. I signed up for Mary’s poetry writing correspondence course and as we got to be friends, she invited me to her home in DeLand, an hour away. I drove up once a month for about five years and we talked about poetry, nature, and our families and from there became associates and each other’s loyal advocates.

For another eight years I drove to Melbourne once a month to meet with Julian Lee Dulfer who taught a class in writing and copy-editing novels that I couldn’t have done without.

With all the writing I was doing I didn’t have time for much else, but then I read that writers need hobbies. That gave me permission to do something I’d always to – take art lessons. I was so excited the first night, I couldn’t wait to get my brush dipped into water and paint. I’ve been through four teachers and a lot of different kinds of art since then and I never lost the thrill of it. The gallery experience and the Art League workshop I was in were true highlights for me. I loved giving art lessons to my two grandchildren and they benefitted from them as much as I did.

One day in Wal-Mart I met a young woman, Rebekah Lyn, whose mom I’d known for a long time. I knew Rebekah had started working on a novel and as we stood there discussing writing, we made a pact to help each other. For about a year, we each brought our efforts to a meeting and read aloud, she read my manuscript and I read hers. It helped a lot. She went on to publish with Amazon and I followed soon after with my Florida Springs Trilogy. Her mother, Onisha, is our publicist and another friend is our public relations agent. Rebekah Lyn started her own book website and now four writers are represented there, Mary Harwell Sayler, poet, novelist, nonfiction writer, and teacher, Janet Perez Eckles (who is blind and who has written an autobiographical book about her experiences with the living God) Rebekah, and me.

Rebekah has just launched, Jessie the story of a teen aged boy who grew up in Titusville, Florida in the early sixties during the beginning of the Space Program. It’s an excellent and timely book.

Presently, I’m working on a book that takes place in Colorado in the mountains. It’s historical, western, and has a strong love story in it.

My End Time

We’ve been talking with our grown kids about the end times—our end times. We’re not going to live forever—surprise, surprise, and we want things to be as easy for them as possible when either of us goes, especially their last parent, whichever that may be. We’ve written a simple will and had it checked out with our lawyer, even though there’s not a lot to leave.

The next question is whether to write specific directions for special things we own (special to us, not necessarily to them). Since I hadn’t come to a decision about my journals, I talked that over with my family again. I have a hundred journals and counting.

As I wrote, I was conscious that someone might read them someday. When the “kids” were honest, though, they didn’t want them. Such tomes from a parent would be hard reading for any kid and it really isn’t the kind of reading either of them cares for. Besides, we’re all trying to de-clutter as well as we can and the journals take up quite a bit of room. I completely agreed and understood, and surprisingly I was relieved instead of hurt.

After more thought and prayer, I got some insight about my true feelings. Until our son and daughter were perfectly honest with me, I hadn’t been honest with myself. I got up one morning with the decision to read the journals through and then shred them. I hadn’t realized how worried I’d been for years about dying suddenly and someone being hurt by them. You see besides writing good things, I figure everything out by writing. I analyze people, and share any questions or puzzlements I may have about life—with God. I complain all I want to and at times, I beat myself up about my own shortcomings. That’s all quite boring and I wouldn’t want anyone to have to wade through it.

So what I’m feeling now is anticipation. I’ll keep writing in journals and I’ll keep them to re-read as long as I want, but near the end, if I have any idea it’s coming, I’ll do what my mother did when she was ninety and shred all the evidence. Apparently, it’s a fun thing for a ninety-year-old to do. If I leave a separate writing, I’ll simply ask that the journals be disposed of or the materials recycled in some way. That could be as simple as taking them to work and asking if they can be added to the company’s shredding plan.

As for leaving something—I have written the promises God gave me for the family in a small red velvet book. All the promises came true. Whoo! I’ve had another small book for a long time someone might like. That’s enough. Families have each other’s genes, traits, loves, and joys. They care—and they remember deep down in their souls. That’s more than enough.

God gives peace.