Mercy Street is Moving

Well, not really. The street is still exactly where it has always been, right outside my front door. But, the virtual address of our life on Mercy Street as recorded in this blog is about to move. I'm thinking big here, folks. I'm perfectly convinced that the various folders representing my works-in-progress will one day be translated into actual books with hard covers, ISBN numbers, and shelf space at Barnes & Noble.

At that point, I'd like to reach a few people beyond this circle of the faithful few who already know and love me (thank you very much for that. Such friendship is better than a book contract. Really. I'm sure of it...) Anyway, when my books are actually perched upon those lovely bookstore shelves, I want new readers to be able to find their way to Mercy Street without too much trouble. I want them to join our conversations and to glean from the richness of our life experiences - the good, the bad, and the sometimes rather ugly.

In the meantime, I hope you faithful readers won't mind this little detour. Please make yourselves at home at the new address and let me know what you think. My extremely talented and tremendously patient son-in-law is taking time away from his Band to design the site for me, and we'll probably be tweaking for a little while. Just go here: Mercy Street.

Note to my mother: I'll come visit and put a new shortcut on your desktop. No worries.

The Things We Don't Know

Today, I went to the funeral of my dearest childhood friend's father. He was ninety years old and lived a good, honest, faithful life. My memories of him go back as far as memories go, and I could have told you much about him. I could have described his humor and some of his little idiosyncrasies. Like the fact that he started running for his health way back when nobody ran unless someone was chasing them.

I could have told you he was kind. And gentle. My mother reminded me he often came into the house from his farm chores just to sit for a little while and watch us play with our dolls. I could have told you lots of details. But today I learned something I'd never known. He was a hero.

Well, I knew he was a hero the way all fathers are heroes to their little girls (and to their little girls' friends). I didn't know that among other things, he earned seven bronze stars during battles in World War II. Seven. That is a lot of stars for one young man from a small farm in Missouri. When that information was read in the obituary today, I felt a swell of pride. I was proud to have known a man with that kind of valor. Proud to have sat at his kitchen table, to have slept under his roof, and to have played in his yard.

So, tonight, when I heard the latest war reports on the national news and considered the state of our troubled nation. I thought about Kermit Bane. And I wished I could see him one more time just to tell him, "I'm proud I knew you."

Revising Life

I rewrote Chapter 24 of my work-in-progress last night because it was too sad. Actually, the story was probably fine, but life is feeling a little too sad right now. One of our good friends is critically ill. Another is fighting breast cancer. Two others are investigating suspicious spots. (Did I mention I hate cancer?) And a couple of relationship issues feel kind of wobbly, too. I simply could not leave my heroine sick in bed during one of the most important evenings of her year. I could not bear for her to miss it.

So, I got her up out of bed and helped her press through the pain. I'm pretty sure she will be glad when she wakes up tomorrow in Chapter 25.

If you follow my blog, you probably know rewriting the bad parts of life is one of my coping techniques. I agree with Felicity that trials are important and even helpful for our growth in God. But, even so, I sometimes wish I could edit just a little.

Since I can't revise, I'll face and embrace whatever God brings for me or my friends the best I possibly can. But don't expect me to leave my fictional friends in despair!!

Musings on Mud

It rained on Saturday. Actually, the rain started Friday night, and it turned our lovely, thirty-acre picnic field into a soppy, soupy mess. We workers arrived early, half expecting the day would be called due to rain. But the cowboys were already saddling their horses beside the rodeo corral. And the air-show pilots were scanning the radar for a break in the storm. And the grill cooks were stoking the fires for another day of free food for our guests.

I was pretty sure I would have stayed home on a such a day if I'd had a choice. I would have celebrated my Fourth of July tucked warmly in my dry home with a good book and a soft blankie. 5000 people had a different plan.

That is the estimate of how many people trudged through the mud together all day to eat and sing, to laugh and cheer, to remember and to worship. I looked around at one point in the fairly miserable afternoon and marveled at the size of the crowd. My mother was sitting beside me and I said to her, "This is a mess. Why don't people just go home?"

She shrugged her shoulder and said, "Oh, it's not so bad. It's better than just sitting home alone."

And there you have it. We are creatures designed for community. We are made in the likeness of a Three-in-One-God, and our hunger for relationship will never be called on account of a little rain.

Peeps and Posse

Networking is an interesting word. A network ties together a group of computers making this conversation possible in the first place. Insurance companies use networks to decide how they are going to pay various doctors. You get paid better if you are "in network." Today, I was grateful people like Blue Cross and Humana consider Calvary Medical Center among their peeps. We got some checks in the mail.

On the other hand, a network can be something like a spider web. "I'll tie myself to you in some cyber-savvy way and you tie yourself to me so one of us can lure in the innocent fly we want to profit from." I'm sure it is never that bad. But I find myself asking these days whether I want to be a Facebook friend because I really want to know what the other person had for lunch or if it is because I think the other person can do me some kind of favor that will help me buy some lunch.

At our recent conference, we talked about the difference between our peeps, whom we probably only know in the virtual world, and our posse whom we could call up at a moment's notice when we need to go round up some bad guys. Or move some furniture.

The interesting thing is this: If you spend enough virtual time with your peeps, some of them actually become your posse. They may be too far away to help you move the sofa down three flights of stairs. But they are certainly close enough to pray when you lose the job that necessitates that move.

That is the kind of network I want to weave.