Featured Guest - Meet Maggie

The Mindset to Write Our Own Fairytale 

“I’ve been an introverted observer all my life. I’m content to just sit and be in someone’s company. I don’t have to talk. And I don’t need the other person to talk. As a child, all that sitting back and being quiet helped me to learn about people. Now I see profound things in books, in the words of my Mom, or in just one sentence one of my professors might say. There must be themes in the back of my mind because I see significance where others might not. For example, I’m sure writers don’t intend for their every word to hold significance, but I sub consciously find it. I think all artists tend to do that. 

I’ve been working on my senior thesis, rewriting children’s fairytales. It bothers me that there’s not more regard for the potential that children’s literature has to impact their lives. When you’re young, you can read a book and it sticks with you the rest of your life. That’s usually not true with adult literature. So when the secondary lessons within a children’s story imply you have to be a pretty princess or you need to wait long enough for someone to come and save you, it gives children wrong messages. I’d like to change that. 

Since high school, I feared that I couldn’t do what I wanted to do because my passion scares me all the time. I mean, what if my ideas are not original enough? What if what I hope to do doesn’t work? So I try to talk to myself with logic and I pray a lot. When good things have happened at unexpected times, I try to hold onto that. I tell myself that the next good thing to happen might be just around the corner.”

Standing With You - Standing For You

Jenny McCann Photography

She is a constant

Looking not for glory of her own

Only looking for opportunity to point to yours.

Her name rolls off the tongues of my children with more joy and anticipation

than meeting the most beautiful princess or strongest super hero

Somehow - she makes you feel valuable in your lowest moment

And celebrates you when you're at your very best

Others may be in your living room enjoying a party

You'll find her in your kitchen loading the dishwasher just before she leaves....so you don't have to

Her burdens have been heavy - her heart has been broken

But through every trial - she has grown and remained steadfast

She points to the grace of the cross

Simply because she breathes air

She's my sister but I gladly share her with you

You'll thank me...I promise

Our Friend Ralph

He was a large man. When you’re nine years old everyone seems so much bigger than you, but he really was. Well over six feet tall and full bodied. He had a pleasant, billowy laugh. It was gentle and easy. Never loud…it just flowed with a sincerity that still echoes in my mind.  

He visited my Mom at our store regularly. He smiled as he called out her name with a warm hello.  He always wore a big, manly coat in the winter. It was corduroy with a wooly collar…his flannel shirt buttoned up to his neck, peeked out just a bit. His dark work pants just barely reached the top of his laced up work boots. He wore a thick beanie hat. His glasses fogged from the cold winter air.  

He knew just what to do. He walked slowly to the back stockroom to get a broom. His worn out work boots shuffled along the narrow hallway. He seemed to like sweeping. The broom gliding across the linoleum tiles with a quiet ease. He smiled, taking pride in his work.  

“Ralph, would you mind shoveling the front sidewalk?” my Mom asked as she readied the front counter for the day. “I’ll get right on it, my Nancy,” he replied.  

My Nancy.  

She was important to him. She listened to his stories. It was mostly one or two….told over and over. Yet she paid attention as if it was the first time she heard it. His voice was deep and warm…somewhat captivating. She listened.  And he smiled.

She never saw him as a grown man with the mind of a child. She saw the kindness of his heart and his need to feel the satisfaction of a job well done. She always had chores for him to do. Boxes to take out, floors to sweep, sidewalks to shovel. And when he finished he would always walk up and lean on the counter.  

“Well, I guess that wraps it up for today”, he’d say. Mom would “pay” him with lunch from the diner two doors down, or some snacks to take back to his room for later. He always acted surprised that she gave him something. And he smiled.

Ralph lived in a state funded home for men. No money, no family. His mind was that of a child…his heart was that of pure gold. When he missed several days at the store, Mom called the home to check on him. Though in her heart she already knew, they confirmed that Ralph had passed away. She sat down and wept. He wasn’t the only one that looked forward to his visits in our store.

I was nine years old. That gentle giant left a mark on my life. And I want to be like him and even more so like my Mom. Perhaps they were birds of a feather.  

The kindest of souls…the purest of hearts. And I smile.    

The Valley

It’s not because I don’t believe. I do. Have for a very long time. I’m really good at believing for you. Share a prayer request and I’ll pray - right then and there. Stand back and watch God move. No doubt about it.  

In my own trials, I’ve wondered…doubted…questioned. I’m not alone. Many Bible stories share the discouragement of men who walked beside Jesus. Thomas doubted. Judas sold Him. Peter denied Him. Good to know. But I want more.

I want victory in the valley…not just in spite of it. Maybe it’s because I’ve walked through so many.  Maybe because I’ve fought so hard to overcome them. Perhaps a little of both.  

I want to sling smooth stones. I want marshmallows in the fiery furnace. I want to Praise Him even in chains. I want it to be unto me according to His Word. And I want to really mean it when I say, “It is well with my soul”.