Hidden Treasure

Two of my favorite hobbies when I’m not writing are bicycling and hiking in the woods with my husband. Now we’ve added something new to these adventures—geocaching.

It’s a treasure hunt, of sorts. Avid fans of this sport hide thousands (if not millions!) of “caches” all around the world in out-of-the way places, then give GPS coordinates and clever hints for how to find them. We searched for some while vacationing in Florida, when visiting our son in California, and when we traveled to Germany. I found a few while hiking in New York State with my sister last week. They are everywhere!

A geocaching app on our phones locates them using GPS coordinates. The compass then takes us within a few feet of where it’s hidden. After that we use the hints that are provided and our powers of observation to find the hidden container. Some are hidden right along the trail; others require bush-whacking through underbrush or reaching into holes—not my favorite things to do.
Large caches are the size of a shoebox.
Medium ones the size of a sandwich container.
Small ones, a medicine bottle.
Micro caches are even tinier.

I’m pretty good at the larger ones. The micro-sized ones often defeat me. Some caches offer little trinkets inside as a reward. I found a dollar bill in one. All of them have some sort of log book to sign. But for me, the reward is in the pleasure of the hunt and the thrill of discovery.

Recently, I’ve been trying to apply my new treasure-hunting skills to my spiritual walk. Our pastor has been preaching about the Imago Dei—the image of God—which resides in every person on earth. The Bible says we were made in God’s image, so that spark is hidden there, whether we see it in someone or not. The key to loving our neighbor as Jesus taught, is to remember that even the most unlovable people are made in His image, although we may need to search hard to find it.

Sometimes I meet strangers and feel an instant connection—and discover that they have a huge cache of faith and love of Christ in their hearts. Their treasures are easy to find. Then there are people who rub me the wrong way, or whose outward behavior is offensive, or who don’t seem to have any redeeming qualities at all. Those are the ones I want to turn away from and give up on without even bothering to search. It seems as difficult as finding a micro-cache in a forest. But they have been made in God’s image too, and deserve to be shown His love. Weren’t we all “lost” at one time?

Jesus was amazing at finding that spark of the Divine image in unlikely people such as tax collectors, prostitutes, and demoniacs. And I’m supposed to become more and more like Him, aren’t I? He taught us to “love your enemies, pray for those who persecute you,” but I never quite understood how to do it. Maybe the key is to search for that hidden treasure of God’s image. Jesus also tells us why we should bother to look: “that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes the sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and unrighteous.” He doesn’t want anyone to remain lost—and so I shouldn’t, either.

I often wish I had a handy app to make it easier, but I do have the Word of God to guide me. If I’m faithful to follow it, that should be more than enough.

Once in a Lifetime

The August day, forty-eight years ago, was hot and sticky. I curled my long hair before leaving home but the humidity uncurled it by the time I reached the church. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that I was about to marry my best friend.

It was a simple wedding. Ken was starting graduate studies at Yale so we didn’t have a lot of money. My sister Bonnie, my maid of honor, sewed my wedding gown and all of my bridesmaids’ dresses. My sister Peggy and girlfriend Ann were my bridesmaids. Ken’s fraternity brothers were his groomsmen.

My parents prayed for me before the ceremony began, and Mom nearly brought me to tears as she thanked God for “loaning” me to her for the past twenty years. Dad was teary-eyed and very nervous about giving me away. I was the first of his three daughters to marry, so this was new to him. But I saw Ken waiting for me at the end of the aisle and I couldn’t stop smiling.

It wasn’t a “picture-perfect” wedding by any means. The heel of Dad’s shoe got hooked on my veil, and as he walked back to his pew after kissing me goodbye, my veil went with him. I scrambled backwards down the aisle to keep it from tearing off my head, whispering, “Dad! Dad, stop!” He thought I was changing my mind.

Ken and I gazed at each other, holding hands, as we spoke our vows—the wonderful old-fashioned ones that promise “For better for worse, in sickness and in health, until death we part.” Then the pastor dropped Ken’s wedding ring and it made a lovely, pinging sound as it bounced down the three wooden steps from the altar to the aisle. Our best man chased after it.

We knelt down and the pastor laid his hands on our heads as he prayed for us. But my headpiece had real roses in it, and I could feel the thorns digging into my scalp as his hands pressed down. I envisioned trails of blood coursing down my brow, and wondered why on earth the florist had left the thorns in! But I remember what he said as he prayed for us—that God would bless our marriage and make it endure as an example of what a strong marriage in Christ can be. Forty-eight years later, I think his prayers have been answered—in spite of the thorns.

Our guests tossed rice as we left the church. My apologies to the environmentalists but that’s what we did in the 70s. The friend who drove us around town in his car, honking the horn, wasn’t familiar with the city and got hopelessly lost. We had to stop and ask some guy who was mowing his lawn for directions back to the church.

Our reception was in the church basement. My sisters and I had decorated the hall the night before with crepe paper streamers. Mom made the food, nothing fancy, just salads and buns and cold cuts. A woman we knew baked the wedding cake. I thought everything was perfect.

We were about to spend the next three years as poor, starving graduate students, so when Ken found a really great bargain package for our honeymoon, he decided to splurge. We soon learned why he had scored such a great deal when we landed in the Bahamas. No one goes there in August because it’s much too hot! We didn’t care. We had a nice room in a nice hotel and we were husband and wife at last! We also didn’t mind that Ken had cashed all our wedding gift checks to pay for it. Never mind that we couldn’t afford a toaster or a coffeemaker for a few more years.

We don’t have many photos of our wedding. The photographer we’d hired had a heart attack a few days before the wedding, and we called everyone in the phone book before finding a replacement. The man left town soon after giving us our photo proofs, and it was little wonder why. Most of the photos were horribly out of focus. It didn’t matter. The memories of that day are engraved on my heart.

When I see the time and effort and money that go into weddings nowadays, our simple little affair seems laughable. But it was all we could afford and we were thrilled with it. Ken and I had dated for two years in college before we married, and every night when we kissed goodnight outside my dormitory we would say, “We’re another day closer!” And on August 29, 1970, we had finally reached that day!

So, Happy 48th Anniversary, to us! If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing! (Except maybe the thorns.)

Fiction Tips From My Granddaughter

Last week our family welcomed a new grandbaby into the world. Mama and baby are both fine, thank the Lord. And I had the pleasure of taking care of Lyla, who is two and a half, while mama and papa were in the hospital. I thought I would be taking time off from writing, but it so happened that I learned a few lessons from my granddaughter about what makes a good story.

Lyla currently has two favorites—Moana and The Trolls. I became very familiar with them after reading the books over and over and watching the movie versions of both stories. So I asked myself, what makes the Trolls and Moana so compelling?

The trolls are tiny creatures with a big enemy—the Bergens. When a group of trolls is captured, their leader, Poppy, lays aside her fears and goes to the Bergens’ town to rescue her friends. It’s a story of friendship and courage against great odds that has a happy ending.

Moana is a young girl from a tropical island who also learns to set aside her fears and overcome great odds. Her people and her island are in trouble, so she crosses the vast ocean to try to help restore the balance of nature. Along the way, she befriends Maui and, in the end, discovers who she is really meant to be.

So, here’s what I learned about great fiction. Both stories feature villains, and my granddaughter took great delight in being scared half to death by lava monsters and fiendish Bergens, knowing it would all turn out okay in the end. Every great story needs an antagonist who the main characters have to overcome—even if it’s something intangible like hatred or unforgiveness. Like the trolls, when we struggle to overcome our difficulties, we become better people. And being a little scared is fun too, isn’t it?

Second, both stories have lessons on the importance of friendship, and the value of not trying to do everything alone. Relationships are very important, whether it’s a friendship, a marriage, or a family that’s featured. Moana and Poppy are both strong, courageous women but neither could have accomplished what she did without her friends.

A third theme of these stories is the need for courage to overcome our fears as we attempt to do what others say is impossible. Of course, God isn’t mentioned in Moana or The Trolls but good Christian fiction will always highlight what can be accomplished through faith. God is the source of our strength and courage. Someday my granddaughters will learn that He is the One who provides the courage to face impossible odds.

These are all great elements of good fiction but best of all, both stories provided a picture of redemption. In The Trolls, the power of love transforms the Bergens from enemies into friends. And in Moana, the lava monster is transformed into a beautiful, fruitful island by Moana’s act of courage. Enemies and people who seem unlovable may turn out to be good friends if we give them a chance. Redemption is at the heart of every great story, from Les Miserables to The Cat in the Hat (another of Lyla’s favorites). I hope I never tire of telling the redemption story in a dozen different ways in my novels.

And speaking of redemption, I now have a new chapter to add to the story of my daughter’s cat, Dexter. In earlier blogs, I told how Dexter, a wild, unlikeable, homeless cat from the streets of Chicago, was transformed into a loveable family pet through my daughter’s perseverance and love. He has watched over Lyla from the day she was born, bringing her little toys whenever she is upset. While I was alone with her, Lyla woke up in the night, crying for her mama and papa. I tried without success to calm her and get her back to sleep. Then Dexter came to the rescue, jumping onto her bed and curling up beside her, purring like a furry motorboat. Lyla settled down as she petted him, then curled up beside him and fell asleep, hugging him like a Teddy bear. If I hadn’t witnessed it, I would never have believed it!

That’s the power of redemptive love. It worked in Dexter’s life—and for Moana and the trolls, too. No wonder Jesus commanded us to love our enemies.

Home Again!

What a wonderful, whirlwind three-week adventure I had in Europe! It would take a month of blogs to describe all of the amazing people I met, the beautiful sights I saw, and the way that the Holy Spirit was present in my travels and talks. Many of you told me how much you enjoyed being an armchair traveler with me through my Facebook and Instagram posts. Thanks for coming along. (Oh, and did I mention the delicious food?)


I was so blessed to travel with my husband, Ken, and with fellow historical fiction author Elizabeth Camden. They made the trip even more fun and memorable.


Congratulations to the winners of my souvenir packages—one each from The Netherlands, London, Germany and Switzerland. They’ll also receive a copy of my novel “Where We Belong” featuring the travel-loving sisters Rebecca and Flora Hawes. To choose the four contest winners from my newsletter subscription list, I used a website to randomize the selection of names.

Europe is a paradise for a history-lover like me. Things that seem “old” in the United States are brand-new compared to places like the chapter house in Westminster Abbey from 1250 AD.


Or this house in Germany that was built in 1272 AD:


Or the castle in Marburg, Germany dating to 1000 AD:


One interesting highlight for me was meeting a Dutch reader who had a real-life connection to my novel “Waves of Mercy.” In my book, I told the true story of the steamship “Phoenix,” which caught fire and sank off the coast of Wisconsin in 1847, causing the deaths of more than 200 Dutch immigrants to America. This reader lived in the Netherlands town where most of the immigrants had come from. She showed me this photo of a memorial commemorating the loss, including some of her family’s ancestors who had died in the tragedy. It made the sinking of the Phoenix very real.


While in the Netherlands, I visited Camp Westerbork, a concentration camp used by the Nazis during World War II. Anne Frank and her family were briefly detained there after their hiding place in Amsterdam was discovered. While photographing one of the railroad cars used for transporting Jews to the death camps, my husband captured this haunting picture.

Memorials for Holland’s Jewish families now cover the camp square where prisoners were once required to assemble for roll call every day.


One more memory sticks with me because it spoke so powerfully to me of redemption. My final talk on the three-week tour was in the city of Detmold, Germany. The auditorium was part of a complex of buildings built by the Nazis as army barracks. Today the buildings house a thriving Christian school of more than 1,000 students. A place of darkness and hatred is now filled to overflowing with the light of Christ.


That’s our mission as Christians, isn’t it? To be Christ’s ambassadors, pushing back the darkness as we spread His love and light throughout the world. I came home with a renewed passion to fulfill that very mission.

“In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven” (Matt. 5:16).

Thanks a Lot!

Two more chapters to write and I will be able to type those wonderful words—THE END. The novel I’ve been laboring on for nearly a year is almost finished. Maybe I’ll be able to enjoy the Christmas season with my family this year without stressing over my deadline. But when I tried to start my computer yesterday morning, eager to make the final sprint to the finish line, I discovered that it had crashed. An automatic update had failed, locking everything up. The fatal blue screen wouldn’t allow me access to my computer no matter how hard I tried. I did the only thing I knew how to do—I panicked!
Unlike most writers, I am NOT computer savvy. I know enough to answer email, write my novels, and post this blog. That’s about it. I called my brother-in-law in New York who is my computer go-to person and he diagnosed the problem. The solution? I could pay a local tech $95 an hour to try to fix it (and still have an aging computer), or I could purchase a new computer and pay the tech to try to retrieve my novel and everything else from my old hard drive. I chose the new computer. (Not exactly what I wanted for a Christmas present. Sigh.) It’s going to take a few days to get my new computer back home with everything on it (hopefully) restored from my old one. In the meantime, I’m limping along at a snail’s pace with this tiny laptop.
A crashed computer isn’t the only discouraging “glitch” I’ve experienced in my writing life these past few months. On the day of my book launch—a day I waited an entire year to celebrate—the book was unavailable on Amazon. Then I learned that the members of my Launch Team wouldn’t be receiving their advance copies of the book until more than a week after the launch date. And there were several other glitches, each one frustrating and worrisome and stressful. I call them “joy stealers.” Instead of the euphoria of another successful launch or a nearly completed novel, I’m wasting my energy stewing and worrying. Joyful? Not so much.
What I needed more than a restored computer yesterday was a restored sense of perspective. I got it this morning as I read through the newsletters from several of the Christian organizations my husband and I support. People whose homes were destroyed by hurricanes and forest fires will need much more than a new computer. The children we support in Zambia and Vietnam need food and clean water on a daily basis. Christians being persecuted for their faith need prayers for their churches and families. Young girls being trafficked need deliverance and justice. I should be thankful that I can afford a new computer and still have a roof over my head and three meals a day—not to mention the freedom to enjoy them. My problem will soon be fixed. Their problems are ongoing.
This week I will celebrate Thanksgiving with my family. It’s a yearly reminder to stand back and get some perspective on how God has so richly provided for us. Have there been “glitches” and “joy stealers” this year? Of course. But in the larger view of things, my family and I have been abundantly blessed. We could have been eating Thanksgiving dinner without my husband this year if a serious health issue a few months ago hadn’t ended well. Then there are our spiritual blessings, such as God’s grace and redemption and love. The security of our heavenly home. And a calling that I love in spite of the glitches.
I think I know why the enemy tries so hard to steal our joy. Because “The joy of the Lord is our strength” (Nehemiah 8:10). I think I need to do some thanking and rejoicing while I wait for my new computer.

Living Boldly

If you lived in the age of the explorers, would you have had the courage to sail across the ocean on a ship like this one? I toured the Maritime Museum of San Diego on our trip to California last week, and as I stood on the deck of the San Salvador, a replica of a Spanish Galleon from 1542, I asked myself that question.

The ship is less than 100 feet long and only 32 feet wide, and seemed much too small to cross the Atlantic Ocean from Spain, travel around the tip of South America to the Pacific Ocean, and then sail up the California coast. But that’s exactly what the early explorers did as they sailed to the New World.

Or how about setting sail on this ship, the Star of India? It was also on display at the museum, and carried passengers from Great Britain to New Zealand in the mid-1800s. That voyage around the southern tip of Africa lasted five months! I tried to imagine being stuffed into the cramped space below deck with my entire family in stormy seas, and wondered what drew people to immigrate to new lands at such great risk.

We also toured the California Science Center in Los Angeles where the space shuttle Endeavour is on display. What amazing courage it must take to embark on such a voyage! I can say with certainty that a trip to outer space isn’t for me. I had to endure an hour and a half of stomach-churning turbulence on our flight home from California and that was adventure enough!

So why are some people willing to “boldly go where no man has gone before” as they used to say on the TV series Star Trek? Where does that adventurous spirit come from? I once heard a rabbi speak on the creation story in Genesis and he had an interesting interpretation of the verse where God commands Adam and Eve to fill the newly-created earth and “subdue” it. The rabbi believed that subduing the earth means we’re supposed to use our natural curiosity and sense of adventure to explore the world and learn everything we can about it, much like my one-year-old granddaughter who toddles around the backyard wide-eyed, examining every leaf and stick and ant with a sense of wonder. It’s part of our nature to continue to learn and grow, to explore new places, and challenge ourselves to try new things. But as we get older we become conditioned by fear and our desire for comfort, and so we set aside our natural curiosity to remain “safe.”

If I’m not careful, I can lose that sense of newness and awe in my spiritual life, as well, and become what Eugene Peterson calls a mere “spectator and consumer” rather than an actively growing Christian. In his wonderful book about the life of Jeremiah entitled “Run With the Horses,” Peterson says: “The aim of the person of faith is not to be as comfortable as possible but to live as deeply and thoroughly as possible—to deal with the reality of life, discover truth, create beauty, act out love.” That sounds very dangerous and risky, doesn’t it? Like crossing the ocean in a flimsy schooner or being launched into space. But in order to truly love others as Christ does, it’s going to require fearlessness and risk-taking. We may have to leave our comfort zone and reach out to people who aren’t like us.

And yet if I trust Jesus’ promise that He will never leave me or forsake me, shouldn’t I be fearless? Shouldn’t I be willing to risk going boldly through life, dealing with its realities, living deeply, loving others? Will I be as courageous as the early explorers or prefer to remain safe, becoming a spiritual “spectator and consumer?” Peterson also says, “The only opportunity you will ever have to live by faith is in the circumstances you are provided this very day.”

As you and I look around at the circumstances we find ourselves in today, are we willing to step out boldly and live by faith? Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” Let’s move some mountains today!


shorelineThe young man who stood alone on the pier, gazing out at Lake Michigan was different from me in many ways—his age, his ethnicity, and his style of clothing, to name a few. But like me, he obviously had come to the beach on this warm, fall afternoon to enjoy the gorgeous day and picturesque view.  Because I’m a shy, quiet person, it never occurred to me to speak with him. But my girlfriend Cathy is naturally friendly, and she struck up a conversation with him. I decided to step out of my comfort zone and join in.

Earlier that morning in church, our pastor had encouraged us to stop looking at the things that divide us—our political views, our economic status, our religion, our gender, sexual orientation, race and ethnicity—and learn to see the Imago Dei, the image of God, in the people around us. After a political season that left our country fractured and angry, the pastor challenged us to be peacemakers, bringing shalom and “wholeness” to our little corner of the world, one person at a time.

And so in spite of my discomfort, I began talking with “Jason.” I quickly learned that he didn’t fit any of the stereotypes that I had assumed from his outward appearance. In a warm, soft-spoken voice, “Jason” told us that he was new in town and hadn’t made many friends, yet. He had moved here from a huge city because he wanted a different life from the one he’d been living, and a new start. He now had a good job as a restaurant manager, and a nice apartment. And he loved coming here to the beach to watch the ever-changing lake. We enjoyed a pleasant conversation and warm laughter then went our separate ways. I would like to think that as we spoke, any stereotypes he may have had of me were shattered, as well. Because as different as Jason and I are, we’re also the same in the most important way of all—beloved by God.nri3614-i1

It’s not a New Year’s resolution as much as a “new life” resolution, but I pray that I’ll approach people differently in the year ahead. Talking with Jason gave me a tiny taste of how wonderful it is to see people as individuals, not in categories. It makes me wonder how many other “Jasons” are all around me who I’ve unfairly characterized as “different.” And while I don’t plan on making it a habit to strike up conversations with strangers on the beach, I do plan to look at how much alike the people around me are instead of noticing our differences. I want to be a peacemaker, bringing shalom and wholeness wherever I go, one person, one conversation at a time. Imagine how the world could be healed if each of us did the same?




New Technology

I’m not a tech-savvy person. I like to sit down at my computer and write without having to figure out a bunch of new features and updates. When I can’t find what I need quickly, I get crabby. That’s when I take a deep breath and look up at my office bookshelves where I have two items that help me keep things in perspective. The first is this antique typewriter:fullsizerender2

I began writing my first novel on a manual typewriter—not as old as this one, but a portable one that I had in college. If I made a typo or I wanted to change something, I brushed White-Out over the error, waited for it to dry, then typed over the newly-painted spot. If I wanted to edit or improve something it meant re-typing the entire chapter. Then I discovered Correct-Type strips that could make errors disappear. These were okay to use for a spot or two, but too many corrections made the page look messy. Then came erasable typing paper—but that was too expensive to use for an entire novel and the ink tended to smear if I wasn’t careful.typewriter

After working on my first novel for about a year, my husband surprised me with an electric typewriter with auto-correct. If I typed backwards over the mistake, the correction tape would erase it. Genius! Plus, I could write faster since I no longer had to pound on a manual keyboard.

atari400My husband has always believed in me (even when I doubted myself), so we were among the first households to switch to a computer—a clunky Atari with 3 ½ inch discs. Typos and errors were easy to fix and I could print out flawless copies on my dot-matrix printer. Now my mistakes and frustrations became technological ones as I struggled to learn how to use these new machines. But my writing improved exponentially because it was easy to make edits and improvements. I now own a laptop computer as well as a desktop, which gives me the freedom to write anywhere.

In spite of these updates, I still get frustrated. That’s when I glance up at the antique typewriter on my shelf and say to myself, “It could always be worse.” If that doesn’t work, I look up at another shelf and see this:fullsizerender1

Yes, it’s an old-fashioned quill pen and inkwell. I try to imagine William Shakespeare’s frustration as he wrestled with drippy ink and fussy quills. Or the patience required by the Bible’s authors who scratched out their books on parchment scrolls. Compared to them, I guess I have it pretty good.

clothesline-804812_1920I’m often tempted to look back with nostalgia at the “good old days,” especially when I see changes in the world that frighten me. It’s easy to forget that in those “good old days” my family owned only one car (which my dad drove to work, forcing us to walk everywhere); we had no dishwasher (which meant we had to wash all the dishes, 365 days a year); our clothes dryer was the sun and a clothesline in the backyard; and our telephone was attached to the kitchen wall. I long to return to those “good old days” about as much as I long to write my next book on my antique typewriter!

fruit-of-the-spiritI’m learning that change isn’t always bad. In fact, God built it into the universe. That’s obvious from looking at the trees outside my office window. So the question is, am I allowing God to use the changes in my life—the bad ones as well as the good ones—to transform me into the person He wants me to be? Am I changing for the better, or becoming a grouch who hates change? As summer ends and I see the harvest all around me, I should to be bearing fruit, too—spiritual fruit like love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control (Galatians 5:22). I need God to update me into a new-improved version. Because if I don’t, I have a feeling my life will be as frustrating as writing a novel with a quill pen.

Saying Goodbye to Summer

How I hate typing those words: Goodbye to summer. It seems like summer just got here! I decided to take a peek through my vacation photographs and recall all of the reasons why I’m thankful for the Summer of 2016.

Vacation time started in June with a family trip to Colorado. We rented a cabin near Rocky Mountain National Park and hiked in the woods and mountains every day.

IMG_7652 IMG_7660

The beautiful weather and sunny beaches near our home brought visits from dear friends and family members. I loved spending time with them.

summer friends summerfriends2

One weekly highlight this summer was listening to my husband’s band concerts in the city park by the lake shore.


Beaches. Biking. Picnicking. Sunshine. What blessings!

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Now it’s Labor Day weekend and we have one final beach/picnicking/celebrating/extravaganza planned. Our house will be filled with family members and guests and lots of food—just the way I like it!

I think part of the reason I hate to see summer end is because I know what’s coming soon—falling leaves and fading flowers and then the cold death of winter. After the flood, God promised Noah that “As long as the earth endures, seed-time and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night will never cease” (Genesis 8:22). This promise of resurrection is built into Earth’s cycles and seasons, and points to the resurrection of Christ—and ultimately our own. I’ve been reading “Home: How Heaven and the New Earth Satisfy our Deepest Longings” by Elyse Fitzpatrick, and she describes what our resurrected life on the New Earth will be like. In many ways, it will resemble my summer vacation; spending time with family and friends, and enjoying the astonishing beauty of a renewed earth. I can’t imagine an earth that’s more beautiful than this one, can you? But it will be. All sorrow will be gone, all tears wiped away. Best of all, we’ll enjoy blessed fellowship with our God and Savior.

But for now, I’ll savor the last of these gorgeous summer days and give thanks for so many wonderful memories. Do you have a favorite memory from the summer of 2016?

Time to Redecorate

A thrift store find that I reupholstered

One of my favorite hobbies is interior decorating. I’m an avid fan of magazines and TV programs that transform a rundown house or a piece of outdated furniture into something beautiful. I love scouting thrift stores and yard sales for bargain items that I can repurpose, just like my favorite interior designer Joanna Gaines from HGTV’s “Fixer Upper.” As anyone who has visited my home knows, I enjoy rearranging my furniture and changing accent pieces every now and then for a totally new look—without spending a dime, of course. In fact, I have a “décor closet” filled with items I can swap out as the seasons (or my whims) change. My goal is always to create a comfortable, welcoming space that my family, friends and guests can enjoy.

constructionA few months back, I looked at my website (www.lynnaustin.org) and decided it was overdue for a change. I wanted a space that reflected my style and personality, but that was also a warm, welcoming place where my readers and I could get to know each other a little better. I wanted it to have information about my books—especially when a new one was released—and a place for readers to contact me. I wanted an up-to-date event calendar so that I could meet some of my readers in person the next time I’m speaking or visiting a bookstore in their area. And since I wanted to send out a newsletter occasionally when I have something new or fun to share, I wanted to feature an easy way for interested readers to sign up.

A thrift store find that I reupholstered

I confess that since my talents are limited to writing (and maybe amateur interior design), I needed lots of professional help with my website redecorating project. I’m very grateful to my savvy marketing and publicity expert, Christine Bierma, for all her hard work and great ideas, as well as to the very talented graphic and web designer, Cori de Roos, for the beautifully renovated site. It has been under construction for the past few months and is finally ready to be unveiled this Thursday, August 4. Thank you for your patience while the reconstruction has been taking place.

We’re inching closer and closer to the October release date for my newest novel, “Waves of Mercy,” so there will be a sneak peek at the cover on Thursday. And I’ll be revealing some behind-the-scenes photos from my research in my coming newsletter. Make sure you sign up for it.welcome

The welcome mat will soon be out! I would love for you to stop by and have a look this Thursday—and then please let me know what you think. I look forward to visiting with you.