Precious Cargo - a 5th Annual Holiday Contest Entry

Yes - I know I have neglected my blog. This is my first post since April, but when I saw Susanna Hill's 5th Annual Holiday Contest, and checked out the topic, I got an idea immediately - and posting the entry on your blog is kinda part of the process. See the rules - and the other contributions - at her blog. But the basics? 350 words or less, holiday themed, and with a specific first several words (or variation)

So - I got the idea when I looked at the post Monday, but I didn't get it finished until (literally) just now. I hope you like it. (And just FYI: "Chaim" - the Hebrew word for "life," is basically pronounced "HI-yum" - but combined into one syllable)

Precious Cargo

by Joanne Sher

Grazing near the hitching post behind The Belthlehem Inn, Chaim the donkey searched in vain for a water trough. People? Everywhere. Hay? Plenty. But water? Nowhere.

Chaim stretched out his back, working the kinks out. Not only had he traveled all the way from Nazareth, but he'd had precious (and heavy) cargo on his back. His rider was going to have a baby, so he'd tried to walk smoothly and gently, but now his muscles ached.

Chaim dropped to the ground and scratched his back against the brush. “So much better. Now where can I get a drink?”

Fumbling as he attempted to rise, the donkey spotted a small building off in the distance. “Looks like a stable.”

Chaim strode toward it, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He sped up as he heard rustling inside, but as he approached, his eyes widened. Human voices? A giggle?

Chaim's ears perked up. He knew those people. But why were they in the stable?

A high pitched wail rang through the stable walls, then ended. As Chaim walked in, he smiled at its source.

His former rider and her husband, standing over a water trough – and inside, a newborn baby wrapped in cloths. Chaim inspected the little one, rubbing up against him and sniffing his tiny fingers. The baby responded with a sigh, and his mother with a rub on Chaim's back. Chaim stuck his dry tongue out in the hopes of a few drops around the child in the trough. Again, nothing.

“You won't find any water here – just our precious baby.” Mary smiled and gazed down at the infant.

The donkey let out a dry cough. Joseph carried a small bucket and placed it under Chaim's nose. “For you, my donkey friend. I am afraid we have been busy since we left you.” He and Mary chuckled.

As he lapped up the water, he heard another strange sound.

“An angel told us to come here to see the Savior.”

Chaim gazed at the shepherds in awe. He had been carrying precious cargo.

**

Hope you enjoyed the story - be sure to stop by Susanna's post and see all the other amazing entries!

 
My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer. Psalm 45:1

Some FREE Christmas Treasures - Including My Own!!

I know - not quite Thanksgiving yet - but have I got a Christmas present for you :)

I know I've mentioned it here earlier this month, but I have three stories in a wonderful Christmas anthology that is available on Amazon right now called Christmas Treasures: A Collection of Christmas Short Stories. There's a little something for everyone - romance, humor, tears, you name it - all about this wonderful time of year.

The anthology features 14 different authors, including some of my dearest friends (and maybe some of yours too!): Patty Wysong, Linda S. Glaz, Christina Rich, Karen Wingate, Karen Campbell Prough, Karla Atkins, Donna Hubbard Scofield, Elaine Stock, Karlene Jacobsen, Kathy Rouser, April Strauch, Anne Garbozci Evans, Susan F. Craft, and yours truly :D

Get it here!

And the best part? Today through Saturday, the book is FREE for the Kindle! Hope you'll stop by and pick it up - and tell your friends! (It's also available in the print version for only $5 - also a great deal, don't you think??)

 
My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer. Psalm 45:1

What's your favorite Christmas memory?  

A Fantastic, Fun Project (with Friends!)

This post is party of Patty Wysong's

A to Z meme. This week's letter is "F"

I don't know about you, but I LOVE Christmas. As a Jew who came to Christ in her early 30s, there is such rich meaning to this time of year for me that I never realized as a child (or even a young adult).

So, when my extremely dear friend (who shares my brain) Patty Wysong mentioned a Christmas short story anthology she wanted to put together, I  was on top of it. (Sort of) I found a few of my Christmas flash fiction articles I'd written and sent them off to her right away (actually, I got distracted and didn't send them until a couple days AFTER the deadline - but that's because SHE had the brain :P). And despite my tardiness, my three little stories will be in this wonderful anthology which will be available VERY soon!

We are still working on a cover and release date, but we have a TITLE - which is super exciting to me!

So, if you to sit down with some Christmas stories that will make you laugh, cry, cheer, and worship (and who knows what else!) be sure to keep your eyes open for:

Christmas Treasures: A Collection of Christmas Short Stories

We have more than a dozen different authors in this book (many of which are VERY dear friends), and the stories are in a variety of genres, so there is sure to be something for everyone.So, you want to know who ELSE will be in this anthology? Well, feast your eyes on THIS list (and click the links to see their blogs/webpages)!

  Karla Atkins

Susan Craft

Anne Garbozci Evans

Linda Glaz

Karlene Jacobsen

Karen Prough

Christina Rich

Kathy Rouser

Donna Scofield

Joanne Sher (yeah - that's me :D)

April Strauch

Elaine Stock 

Karen Wingate

Patty Wysong

I promise to let you all know when we have a cover, a release date, AND when it can be purchased! I'm pretty stoked :)

 
My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer. Psalm 45:1
 

Discipline, Drive, and Determination: a Halloweensie Contest Entry

This post is party of Patty Wysong's

A to Z meme. This week's letter is "D"

This tiny story/entry has been a lot of work in coming. You see, I have known about this contest for months (at least I remembered folks mentioning it quite a while ago.) I have know the specifics for over three weeks. But I was truly wondering if it was actually going to come together.

Over that time, I started probably half a dozen different stories that fit the parameters (about Halloween, for children, 100 words or less, using the words pumpkin, broomstick, and creak) - and they all either petered out or seemed ENTIRELY too difficult to pare down to that miniscule amount required for the contest.

But, finally, with much discipline, drive, and determination (and with the help of my lovely daughter with the editing/trimming down to size), I present to you (my fellow A to Zers, blog readers, AND other contest entrants), my humble entry in Susanna Leonard Hill's 4th Annual Halloweensie Writing Contest!

Dumb Jack-'O-Lanterns

By Joanne Sher

“Jack-o'-lanterns are dumb,” Sarah said, elbow-deep in pumpkin guts. “And gross.”

“Nah. They're cool!” Her brother B.J. bounced, making the chair creak. “Can this one be a witch?”

Sarah shrugged.

“Don't you LIKE Halloween?”

“Not really.”

“You don't like candy? Decorations? Trick-or-treating?”

“Trick-or-treating's for little kids.” Sarah frowned.

“Some older kids go.”

Photo source

“My friends aren't.”

“Go with me.”

“With you? Seriously?”

B.J. beamed. “Say Mom made you.”

“Maybe.”

“C'mon.”

“Okay!” Sarah rose, pumpkin guts flying.

B.J. gasped, then giggled. “I'll be a pumpkin this year. Got my costume.”

Sarah grabbed a broomstick. “And I'll be a witch.”

** 

Not the best thing I've ever written - but not bad, I'd say. Check out a bunch of other short Halloween stories (which I'm sure are MUCH more clever than mine!) at Susanna's blog - and enter your own if you want - the deadline isn't until just before midnight on Halloween!

OOOR - if the letter "D" is more up your alley, join the blog hop below! :)

 
My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer. Psalm 45:1

 

Lisa Lickel and The Potawanomi Boy

Lisa Lickel is a dear writer friend of mine (and a Midwesterner to boot!) - and when I saw she had a new children's book out, I couldn't help but toot her horn a bit. These look great - don't you think??

Green Leaf, The Potawatomi Boy

Lisa J Lickel, illustrated by Brenda Hendricks

About the Book:

Green Leaf’s cousins are all older than he and don’t like to play fair. He longs for a friend his own age he can play with, explore and fish with. When he meets a Luxembourger boy, Henri, Green Leaf is sure they could become friends, but Henri’s words are strange to Green Leaf. How can they play and explore together?

Green Leaf’s mother says, “Friends learn to speak one another’s words.” But will Green Leaf learn to say his friend’s words well enough to save Henri when he falls into danger?

Kindle- on special sale during December 1- 16, $.99

Also available in print from online retailers or from your favorite bookseller. $5.95

Ten years in the making, The First Children of Farmington series of early reader books has finally reached book sellers. I spent two years researching and writing this series. Several years after I worked with other community historians to collect and record our early pioneer history, I realized that we had quite a diverse ethnicity to Farmington, Wisconsin. Although these stories are based on real people and real events, they are representative of issues and struggles and joys families face every day everywhere.  

The Potawatomi Boy is a character with a running thread through all the books. When I first startedout with the project I was taking classes from the Christian Writers Guild. I set out to put together a series of picture books and connected with a couple of different artists. I wrote the text, but learned over several years that it’s harder to get the attention of a publisher for children’s books than it is for adult books. I’d never considered self-publishing, but through connections with my current illustrator and publishing partner, Brenda Hendricks, and others at the John 316 Marketing Network, learned a lot about not only self-publishing options, but how to publish well. The second book in the series, The German Girl, is now available, as well, about a curious young girl who becomes lost while searching for the family cow, and the third book, The Saxon Boy, about a young boy who must learn to accept a stepfather, may be out by Christmas. I was quite surprised and pleased to have won a prestigious Jade Ring award for the Saxon Boy from the Wisconsin Writers Association. The other three stories, The Yankee Boy, The Irish Girl and The French Girl, are planned for release in 2014.

The books include references, glossaries, and special illustrations and a picture search. They are suitable for early to middle grades, ages 7-9 or so.

Also at Barnes and Noble

Booksamillion

From December 1 through December 16, the John 3:16 Marketing Network is hosting a Christmas Book Launch and The Potawatomi Boy is a featured book. As part of the event, the Network is offering a $200 Amazon gift certificate to one lucky winner. For a chance to win, go to http://bit.ly/Christian_Books and enter the Rafflecopter toward the bottom of the page.

About the Author:

Lisa Lickel is a Wisconsin writer who lives with her husband in a hundred and sixty-year-old house built by a Great Lakes ship captain. Surrounded by books and dragons, she writes inspiring fiction. Her published novels include mystery and romance, all with a twist of grace. She has penned dozens of feature newspaper stories, short stories, magazine articles and radio theater. She is the editor in chief of Creative Wisconsin magazine. Lisa also is an avid book reviewer, a freelance editor, a writing mentor, a hostess at Clash of the Titles.com, and enjoys blogging at theBarnDoor.net and AuthorCulture.blogspot.com. She loves to encourage new authors. Find more at LisaLickel.com.

 
My heart is stirred by a noble theme as I recite my verses for the king; my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer. Psalm 45:1

Appeasing Anger - Some Biblical Fiction

The Bible is full of angry folks - and many, many different attempts to appease it. Here's my take on one scenario you may or may not remember from Genesis - from a perspective you may not expect. I read about this incident in my chronological Bible reading last weekend. Hope you enjoy it.

Five Hundred and Fifty Animals Richer

I'm sure, at the time, he thought he was taking the easy path. It was at my expense of course, but that's certainly no surprise. He's been grasping at my heel since before I can remember.

What I can tell you, however, is that it took every bit of livestock he gave me to appease my anger. Years of bitterness are not easy to remedy. I have to admit, though, that the menagerie he sent did the trick. All's good with us again - after twenty years of bad blood.

Since my brother was a child, he'd been a mama's boy. He was no lightweight, though. That deceiver tricked me into selling him my birthright for a hot meal. He was always one to try to get something for nothing.

You see, I was the hard worker in the family, and Dad's favorite for sure. I'm a hands-on guy: working in the fields, hunting game, the outdoorsy type. I work hard and generally reap the rewards of my labor. Sure, I'm impulsive sometimes, but who isn't?

My brother, on the other hand, is a schemer, an "intellectual," who only works as hard as necessary, using trickery to get more than he deserves. When I lost my birthright, I was mad, but after a few weeks, I was over it. After all, I sold it to him of my own free will. I should have known to watch out for him. Anyway, it's not like he stole it from under my nose.

The blessing, though, was another story. I couldn't have stopped him if I tried. That brother of mine waited until I was doing some real work, then he cut corners, convinced Dad he was me, and stole what was rightfully mine, with the help of my mother. All I can say is Mom was wise to send him away. I probably would have strung him up if he'd as much as come near me.

Of course, if she thought I was mad when Jacob left, she was clueless how much that anger would build inside me over the years. Every time I looked at my mother, my hatred for my brother intensified. By the time Jacob's messengers arrived in Seir and told me he was on his way to see me after twenty years, murder was all I had on my mind. I gathered up 400 of my closest friends (well, my closest angry friends, anyway) and started marching his way. "Favor in my eyes,*" indeed!

Anyhow, as we marched, a servant approached us - with 220 goats! Now this was something I didn't see every day. I asked the man to whom he belonged and where he was going. He told me, and I quote, "they belong to your servant Jacob. They are a gift sent to my lord Esau, and he is coming behind us.*"

Well, who in their right mind would refuse 220 goats? So, I took them, as at least a partial payment for what that deceiver had done to me. I was still planning to tear him limb from limb, mind you - but at least I now had some livestock to show for it.

What do you know, but a few minutes later another servant showed up, this time with 220 sheep. I took those too - who can't use a nice big herd of sheep? I have to admit these gifts were softening me a bit. I might have only injured him severely if he'd shown up then.

This went on for at least an hour. Next, it was thirty camels and their young, followed by forty cows and ten bulls. That Jacob sure knew how to break down a man's anger. I was only mildly peeved (as I drank a nice cup of fresh milk). I still wanted to do that boy bodily harm, but a few slaps in the face likely would have satisfied my wrath.

It was the next delivery, however, that removed that last bit of animosity. When I saw those thirty donkeys braying and strutting toward me, I suddenly realized how ridiculous I had been acting. Here I was, a wealthy fulfilled man, fuming over a grudge twenty years old.

As Jacob and his family approached, I ran up and embraced him. All was forgiven. Like I said, those gifts did the trick.

You know what, though? If he'd just apologized sincerely and maybe made me a nice dinner all those years ago, Jacob could have been 550 animals richer today.

* Scripture references, in order: Genesis 32:5, 32:18 NIV

Have you ever had to pay the price to appease someone's anger? How much easier would it have been to do the right thing in the first place?

Scripture Stories: Timeless Truths
Graphics courtesy of Christiansunite.com

Mind Over Madi - She's Here!

Those of you know me even a little probably realize it doesn't take much to get me excited. It's just my personality. But when I heard my friend, fellow FWers, and West Michigander Lynda Lee Schab sold her book Mind Over Madi - and then that it was PUBLISHED last month - I was positively giddy. And, of course, I HAD TO be a part of her blog's book tour. So...here I am. And here SHE (and her book) is!

Madi McCall admits her husband lacks a little in the romance department, but all in all, he’s been a good husband, a good father. Now, though, she suspects Rich is having an affair with Fawn Witchburn, the mother of one of his fourth-grade students. To say Fawn shows off her “assets” more than should be legally allowed in public is an understatement, and Madi’s insecurities kick into high gear. When, in a heated moment, she asks Rich to leave and he complies, Madi is forced to deal with her issues. Issues of love and trust she’s tried so hard to avoid. Issues that trail all the way back to her childhood and make her act like a total moron. 

Doesn't it sound GOOD? I've started reading, but must admit I'm only about halfway done (mostly because of my writing frenzy last month!). Enjoying it so far, though!

And now...heeeeerree's Lynda!

What is Mind over Madi about? Tell us a little about the plot. 
 
Madi McCall is a 38-year-old mom of three whose insecurities are destroying her marriage. When she suspects her husband Rich is cheating with the mother of one of his fourth grade students, she kicks him out of the house and he moves in with his bachelor brother. Madi is then forced to take a deeper look at herself and her insecurities. She does this with the help of a counselor, her best friend Sylvie, and a few cartons of Edy’s Dibs. At a 20-year get-together with former high school classmates, Madi runs into “the other woman” and things come to a head. It’s a lighthearted story about taking a true look at ourselves and accepting God’s grace when we think and do dumb things.

On the cover photo, “Madi” is wearing a tiara. What is the significance in that? 

Madi’s therapist challenges her to think of herself as a princess – the daughter of the King. Madi has never thought of herself this way, and throughout the story, there are references to various Disney princesses as Madi tries to figure out which one she most relates to. I had fun with the theme, even giving “the other woman” the fairy tale-ish name of Fawn Witchburn.

What do you want readers to take away from reading Madi’s story?

An understanding of just how infinite God’s love is. That no matter what we’ve done, God will never stop pursuing our hearts or desiring a relationship with us. His mercies are new every morning and His grace covers our weaknesses, our mistakes, our ignorance.

What is your favorite and least favorite part of being a writer?

Favorite: The creative process. Thinking a story through from beginning to end and then seeing my vision come to life through the characters and situations I create. Least favorite: Definitely the self discipline it requires. Time management is something I’ve always struggled with. Making myself sit down and focus when I know the basement needs cleaning, laundry is piling up, my office needs to be organized, or I want to watch the episode of Survivor I missed the night before is my biggest challenge.

What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?

That’s easy: Apply the Butt Glue and just write. Discipline has never been my biggest strength, but that book won’t get written unless I park my behind in the chair and start typing. Even when I don’t feel like it. Even when I have a million other things to do. One of my favorite quotes on writing is “You can fix bad, but you can’t fix blank.”

Take a moment to brag about your family:
 
I’ve been married to Rob for over twenty-three years. He works for a dairy company (yes, that means free ice cream sometimes!) and is an all-around great guy. We have two teenagers, who both inherited my creative gene. Zach is almost 18 and will be graduating from high school this year. He will be going into film – editing and directing – and he’s also a talented artist. My daughter Lyndsey is a freshman and plays the cymbals in the high school marching band drum line. She loves to read and is an excellent photographer.

How can readers connect with you?

My website address is www.lyndaschab.com I also have a blog with various writing and reading-related material at www.on-the-write-track.blogspot.com. You can also connect with me on Facebook and Twitter.

Where can I buy Mind Over Madi?

My book is available right now from Amazon.com and BarnesandNoble.com (click on either link to go right to the page to purchase it!)People can also order it from their local bookstores (any bookstore should be able to order it from Ingram, the largest book distributor in the country)

Thanks, Lynda! You know I'm praying the best for you!

LYNDA LEE SCHAB got her writing start in greeting cards  (Blue Mountain Arts, Dayspring)  and from there  went on to write  articles and short stories (Mature Living, Christian Home & School)  and in many places online (including www.Examiner.com and  www.wow-womenonwriting.com), but  her passion has always been fiction. 

Mind Over Madi, her debut novel, is near and dear to her heart.  Lynda admits  she has a lot in common with  the character of Madi. Not only are they both  addicted to ice cream, chocolate, and computer games,  they  struggle with the same types of insecurities and continually require a hefty dose of God’s grace.

Lynda works behind the scenes at FaithWriters.com and is a member of ACFW. She is a regular book reviewer for FaithfulReader.com and is the Grand Rapids Christian Fiction Examiner and the National Writing Examiner for Examiner.com.  Mind Over Madi  received Runner-up in the 2007 FaithWriters Page Turner contest, was a finalist in the 2007 RWA Get your Stiletto in the Door contest, and won second place in the 2008 ACFW Genesis contest, Chick Lit category. Lynda lives with her husband, Rob, and two teenagers in Michigan. 


Riding God's Grace Over Rough Roads

Friday Fiction - "Handmaiden To A Princess" Excerpt

It's been a LONG time since I hosted Friday Fiction, but when the lovely Sara "Sawa" Harricharan mentioned the possibility of posting a NaNoWriMo excerpt, I figured it would be fun!

Soooo, here I am :) Remember - this is NOT edited (I didn't even reread it! LOL).

Be sure to link up in the gadget below my story. Don't forget to browse the links, read a few pieces and leave a comment or two. We all love the feedback. Happy reading!

Handmaiden To A Princess - NaNo excerpt

Dew still covered the ground as Ashia walked along the flower-bordered walkway from the princess' quarters she had just left. The sun, scarcely above the horizon, shone directly in her eyes, so much that shielded her eyes with her left hand. Her right, however, grasped as small knife. A necessary implement for her morning duties.

The closer she got to her destination, the slower she walked, until she came to a complete standstill at the entrance to the king's flower garden. Eyes closed, she inhaled slowly and took in all the scents of the nearby flora. The smile across her face widened. And once she opened her eyes, what she saw warmed her cheeks.

“Nahum. I didn't expect to see you here so early.” She lowered her eyes slightly, trying to calm the flips in her stomach.

He chuckled, his brown eyes sparkling. “I am always here at this time. It is you who are early. Does the princess have an early engagement? Did she request flowers still fresh with dew?”

She willed her smile to tone down. “Oh, nothing like that. I simply didn't sleep very well, and thought I would get an early start, and perhaps have time to mill about before I needed to return.” She shifted the knife from hand to hand.

Nahum nodded and smiled. “Then I shall leave you to your milling.” He turned and walked up one of the paths, stopping at a patch of pansies.

As he knelt, Ashia turned, heading down the main garden path toward the center. Sitting on a log beside one of many patches of growth, she once again inhaled the many scents of the flowers around her. A red and yellow lily caught her attention. She brought her face within inches of the bloom, inspecting every bit of it. Not an imperfection in sight.

Next, her fingers caressed the petals, the silky feel making her fingers tingle. Finally, she lifted the knife, which she'd placed on the ground beside her, and cut the stem about a handsbreadth down from the bloom.

“One more,” she muttered, “and the princess will be satisfied.”

Ashia rose, the lily in one hand and knife in the other. Inhaling, she surveyed the nearby flower beds, watching for a bloom to complement the one she'd already chosen. Perhaps another red and yellow flower. Or maybe just one of those colors. 

She released the air from her lungs as a tall hyacinth, the same shade of crimson as the lily, caught her eye. She raced toward it and dropped to her knees in front of the multi-flowered blossom. Holding the lily up beside it, she smiled. “Perfect.”

Something brushed against her shoulder. “Those do complement each other beautifully. You really do have an eye for color and beauty.” Nahum's voice made her look up. His brown wavy hair covered his right eye. She resisted the urge to brush it away from his face.

She smiled at him, then returned to the flower. After cutting it from the stem, she rose. “Thank you, Nahum. I do enjoy all that grows here. A touch of beauty in a frightening, uncertain place.”

“That it is.” He beckoned her toward a small bench not far away. They both sat.

“And the Lord said that it was good.” Nahum stretched his arms out and extended them from in front of him to his sides. “My scriptures say that Yahweh made all of this: every tree, plant, mountain, hill, person, star in the sky. And that it is good.”

Ashia fidgeted in her chair. “If this is true, I wonder why he made the nettle? Or the mosquito?” She lowered her voice and head. “Or the madman.”

Nahum raised his eyebrows. “Or war. Or death. But He is sovereign. And much of what he did create is lovely. Especially in this garden.” He leaned to the side and picked a daisy from the ground. “For you. A bit of beauty to take with you into the cruel world.”

She grinned, stifling a chuckle. “My god would ask for this flower as a sacrifice, perhaps. He would demand I focus on pleasing him, rather than lightening my mood. To him, beauty is useless unless it is benefiting him.”

Nahum's brow crinkled. “My God also desires sacrifice. He is a just God, who does not take our transgressions against Him lightly. Yet, He also blesses those who love Him and gives us beauty to appreciate. He values nothing more than devotion to Him, and truth.”

She snickered. “And mine values gold, silver, and spices. He gives us nothing unless we beg, and even then there is no guarantee. We must please him, or face his wrath.”

Nahum sighed. “And yet you worship him. You sacrifice to him.” He looked into Ashia's eyes. “Forgive me for my questions, and do not answer if it makes you uncomfortable, but I'm curious. Do you believe your God created the world? Why do you sacrifice to him? What makes him worthy of your worship?”

Ashia's insides tightened and she felt her face pale. “I really don't know what to say. I know he has kept me and my family safe. And the rituals are so important to Mama. I guess I never really thought about it before.” She forced a smile. “But I will.”

 **

Thanks for reading! Be sure to link up below, and read some of the other stories. You'll be blessed!



Traveling Rough Roads With God's Strength

Misplaced Musician: Friday Fiction

Welcome to my contribution to Fiction Friday, hosted this week by YOURS TRULY! Make sure that you link up here with your own fiction below. Or, if you just want to read some great fiction (ALWAYS great in my opinion!), just scroll down and check out the links.

I am totally in biblical fiction mode lately - not only because my current WIP is set during biblical times, but my newest project, with the lovely Jennifer Slattery, is also in that genre. So, I thought that I'd share one of my favorites from the FaithWriters' Challenge. The topic was "music." I wrote this, by the way, four years ago this past Monday

Don't forget to link up below the and read the other entries!

MISPLACED MUSICIAN
By Joanne Sher 

"What are we doing here? Why have we been abandoned like this?"

The middle-aged man sighed and lowered his body until he was sitting against a poplar tree, staring out into the Kebar River of Babylon, the land of his captivity.

It had been at least a dozen years since Ollam had felt like singing God's praises. Yet, he hadn't stopped completely. Partly out of habit, and partly due to demand from his captors, he'd played his songs on occasion, the wonderful songs of praise his ancestors had composed. He could hardly help it. He was a temple musician, and though the temple was out of his reach, the songs still haunted him.

How he loved those songs, those psalms of praise of the homeland he hadn't seen in years, and of the God who had sent them to this terrible place. The wonderful songs written by great men of his faith: Moses, David, Asaph, the sons of Korah. But whenever he sang them, his heart ached. Each year, he would sing them less and less.

Singing songs of the temple, of Zion, of his Lord, was like being dragged from Judah all over again. The pain, twelve years old, returned fresh, and any wounds that may have been partially healed opened once again.

Just the other day, a Babylonian official had ordered him to play his harp and sing one of the songs of ascents. He knew the official was mocking him, but he also knew the punishment for disobeying. The words, and the melody, were still burned in his memory.

May the Lord bless you from Zion all the days of your life;
may you see the prosperity of Jerusalem,
and may you live to see your children's children.


It had taken all of Ollam's willpower to keep his composure during the performance. When the official started harassing him, however, he could handle it no longer. Turning his head, he'd cried like a baby. The official had laughed and dismissed him.

Ollam looked out at the Kebar. The river was at flood stage and was rushing by violently, hitting the rocks along it with fervor. Such a contrast to the waters of his favorite psalm, as much as Babylon was to Judah. He opened the knapsack beside him and pulled out his harp. His voice and fingers joined in harmony.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he restores my soul.

Throwing down his harp, he buried his head in his hands and wept.

"Where are they, Lord? Where are the still waters, the green pastures? Where is my restored soul?"

Leaning against the tree, Ollam slowly rose. He reached down for his harp and examined it.

"I just can't do it anymore, Lord."

Raising the harp over his head, he felt it hit a branch of the tree he'd been leaning on. He gently maneuvered the branch through the harp's strings until it was a good half-cubit down. Letting go, he looked out on the river and wept.

By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept
when we remembered Zion.
There on the poplars we hung our harps,
for there our captors asked us for songs,
our tormentors demanded songs of joy;
they said, "Sing us one of the songs of Zion!"
How can we sing the songs of the LORD
while in a foreign land?

**

References in order, from NIV:
Psalm 128:5-6
Psalm 23:1-2
Psalm 137:1-4

Thanks for reading! Be sure to link up below, and add your own fiction to the list!

Paving Rough Roads With God's Presence

If Corn Had Ears: Friday Fiction

Big news - today's the grand opening of the wonderful blog Jewels of Encouragement. You do NOT want to miss this treasure trove of amazing writers and encouragers. Stop by today (and every day!!)

Welcome to my contribution to Fiction Friday, hosted this week by YOURS TRULY! Make sure that you link up here with your own fiction below. Or, if you just want to read some great fiction (ALWAYS great in my opinion!), just scroll down and check out the links.

This is a very early challenge entry for me--during my first quarter. It was also my first EC. A fun piece, I think. And fun sounded good :) Hope you enjoy it!

IF CORN HAD EARS

Two eight-year-old girls, full of dimples and pigtails, glanced out the kitchen window. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the flowers and plants were blooming gloriously. What a perfect time for a picnic dinner!

Mary raced outdoors, dragging a red and white checkered blanket behind her. She spread it out hastily a few feet from the flower and vegetable garden she and her mother had planted earlier in the year. She headed back in, only to nearly run into her friend Sarah, who was carrying a large picnic basket.

"I'll get the lemonade and you set up the rest of the stuff - OK?"

Sarah nodded and started putting out the flowered paper plates, napkins and cups, and the pink plastic forks, knives and spoons. Mary returned and poured out the lemonade. The girls then began unpacking the food - fried chicken, potato chips, string cheese and chocolate chip cookies, just out of the oven.

"You wanna pick some strawberries? We can wash them off with the hose. I planted them all by myself!"

**

"Ow! Be gentle, kid!!"

"Listen to you! You're always complaining, straw! Yanno they can't hear you, so why bother?"

"I've heard about enough of you," an ear of corn added. "You think being picked hurts - try getting shucked!"

"That's nothing - bet none of you has ever had your head cut off!" the lettuce grumbled.

The potatoes rolled their eyes. "Such complainers!"

"When I was young," an iris added, "we had to get our own water - none of this sprinkler and watering can convenience. We sent our roots deep into the ground - uphill, both ways, in scorching heat! You youngsters have it easy!"

"You may be a bearded iris," the bluebells chimed in, "but you're no older than the rest of us, so get off your high horse!"

A serene, calm voice spoke, quieting all the grumbling.

"Now, dear friends, we must appreciate all that the good Lord has given us," the Jack-in-the-pulpit exhorted. "Look at this fine soil, with all the nutrients we could need to grow. And those lovely people who come and water us and give us fertilizer. God has also given us such wonderful diversity and beauty. And, for those of you complaining, remember that our purpose in life, at least in part, is to give pleasure to God's chosen - his humans! Remember that when you are cut or picked or eaten or shucked, God's purpose is being fulfilled!"

Hearty "Amens" came from all corners of the garden.

"And also remember, we could be indoor plants, and we would miss the wonderful show our Lord provides for us each day," Jack continued. "So be grateful and praise Him for exactly where we are!"

"Hey," a violet shouted toward the herbs, "Speaking of the show - does anyone have the thyme?"

The corn sighed and  covered its ears. "That joke wasn't funny the first time you said it. Cut it out, bud!"

"Don't you even joke about cutting with a flower!"

"Watch it, mister! How do you think Susan got that black eye?"

"Hush, children," Jack whispered. "The show is about to begin."

**

Mary's mother stuck her head out the back door.

"Girls - keep your eyes open - looks like the sun is about to set!"

Mary and Sarah, finished with their meals, lay down on the blanket facing west.

As the brilliant reds, oranges, purples and yellows of God's daily performance came into view, two little girls - and several other parts of God's creation - thanked Him for the beauty of His artistry, and His many good gifts.


You mountains and all hills,
Fruit trees and all cedars,
Wild animals and all cattle.
Small creatures and flying birds,
Kings of the earth and all nations,
You princes and all rulers on earth,
Young men and maidens,
Old men and children.
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.
Psalm 148:9-12, 150:6 NIV

**

Thanks for reading! Be sure to check out the other great fiction linked below, and link up your own!

Paving Rough Roads With God's Presence

Metamorphosis (Friday Fiction)

If you're looking for Finds for Fridays, either scroll down one or click here.

Welcome to my contribution to Fiction Friday, hosted this week by the dear, sweet, wonderful Catrina at A Work in Progress! Make sure that you  link up there with your own fiction below. Or, if you just want to read some great fiction (ALWAYS great in my opinion!),  check out the links at her blog.

This was my entry for the last FaithWriters' Writing Challenge - my first entry in almost six months. The topic was Billboard/Sign/Poster. I was gonna hold off and post this another time, but the hostess herself requested I post it now, so here it is. This piece is unlike anything I've written before. Didn't do well in the challenge, but that's all right. Would love your feedback.

METAMORPHOSIS

I hated looking at it. But I couldn't stop.

Every single time I drove that way, my eyes would lock on the picture, and I'd stop the car. I had each inch of it memorized. I could have drawn it myself, in my sleep. I didn't need to glance that way to know exactly what was there. It was permanently plastered in my consciousness.

She was beautiful. No—that word didn't do her justice. She was stunning. Breathtaking. Sensual yet innocent. A woman of any man's dreams. No wonder her face was out for the world to see.

I felt my stomach turn. In a way, I was jealous. Now everybody could see her. They knew how bright her smile was, and how silky her hair looked. They could see her seventeen freckles: eight on her left cheek, six on her right, and three on her nose. The could see the deep blue of her eyes, and how the lashes on her right eye were shorter than the ones on her left.

But on the other hand, I was glad to have it there. I could look at her any time I wanted, and her face would never change. I wouldn't see her frown. Her hair would always be in place, and she would always have that rosy glow on her cheeks. She wouldn't groan. Each time I looked up at the image, she looked perfect.

I wondered who had paid to have that billboard put up. Women like her weren't usually put on display like this. Sometimes there might be an article in the paper, or even a blurb on the local news. But a billboard? Not normally. Someone must love her a lot, and have a whole ton of money, to get that up there.

“I wonder if there's a reward.” Don't know why I said it out loud. Maybe I was hoping someone would answer me. But there was nobody around, and even if there had been, the car windows were rolled up tight.

I read the words above her head again. Have you seen this woman? Some day, someone may ask me that question, and I'd have to shrug my shoulders and say yes. And I'd wring my hands and lower my eyes, and tell them she didn't look like that anymore. Her hair wasn't silky. Her cheeks were pale. And the sparkle in her eyes? It was gone too.

I'd ruined her. She had been so beautiful, and I'd ruined her. But when I saw her that day, I just wanted to keep her for myself—to let nobody else have her.

So I took her. But she changed. I suppose I'm the one who changed her. She told me she didn't want to stay, that she didn't want to be near me. But I didn't let her go.

And now she wasn't that girl on the billboard anymore. The glow was gone. Her smile was different—the few times I saw it anymore. And I knew, somehow, that no matter what I did, she would never be that way again.

But she still had those freckles. All seventeen of them. But they were fading. Even those would be gone eventually.

I grabbed a pen from the glove box and looked up at the billboard one more time. I wrote the phone number on my hand, started the car again, and drove away.

**

Thanks for reading! Be sure to stop by A Work In Progress for more great fiction!

Paving Rough Roads With God's Presence

New: Friday Fiction

Yeah, I know. It's been a WHILE! But I'm hosting, so here I am!

Welcome to my contribution to Fiction Friday, hosted this week by ME! Make sure that you  link up with your own fiction below. Or, if you just want to read some great fiction (ALWAYS great in my opinion!),  check out the links below.

This is an old challenge entry (in all seriousness, pretty much ALL of them are old, considering how infrequently I'm entering these days!) from the geography quarter. Topic was USA. And, if you're interested, this story will eventually become a novel. The research was absolutely, positively fascinating. I wish I had time to do a bit of tweaking, but it's a crazy day, so take it as I sent it! (I did get an EC with this one, so it can't be all bad.)

NEW

By Joanne Sher

 

Anticipation wasn't helping her mood in the least. Phillip and Anthony were getting fidgety and restless, and she didn't blame them. The scenery, the accommodations, the company--nothing had changed in over a week. Even the meals, though filling enough, were bland and without embellishment.

"Are we almost there, Annie?" Phillip had asked her that very question at least a dozen times a day since they left Cork on December 20. And, just as she had countless times before, she tousled her youngest brother's red hair and looked into his eyes.

"Closer than we were the last time you asked, you silly boy. God willing, we will see Mama and Papa very soon."

Phillip looked up and smiled, and was quickly engaged by the gentle movement of the expansive Atlantic. So easily distracted, the little scamp.

"He doesn't remember Mama and Papa, does he?" Anthony's eyes looked troubled.

Annie shook her head. "I don't think he does. It's been four years, and he was only three."

Anthony put his hands on his hips. "Well, I remember them."

Annie giggled. "Of course you do. You're eleven years old. It's easier to remember what happened when you were seven or eleven than when you were three."

Anthony bit his lip. "Do you think they still remember us?"

Annie put her brother's chin in her hand. "Now Anthony Moore, whatever would make you ask a question like that? Of course they will remember us! We would still be in Ireland with Aunt and Uncle if they had forgotten us. Don't you remember the letters?"

Anthony smiled and nodded. "Of course you're right, Annie. I just wish we were there now."

"It must be soon. We've been at sea for days. Perhaps in a day or two."

"Oh, Annie! Annie! I just had a wonderful thought." Phillip hadn't spoken with such enthusiasm since he boarded this vessel.

"Do share, Phillip. I would love a wonderful thought." Anthony, along with his sister, sat on the deck beside their younger brother.

"Your birthday is in two days, isn't it? Wouldn't seeing Mama and Papa be a wonderful birthday present?"

Annie pulled her brother into an embrace. "It would, Phillip. And a wonderful start to a new year."

**

Their twelfth night at sea completed, Annie wriggled in her bed. They'd been told they could arrive any day. She sincerely hoped the ship's crew was right.

Something didn't feel quite right. She went through a list in her head, until she realized what was so odd.

The ship wasn't moving.

She rose quietly from her berth with an anticipation she hadn't felt in a week. Glancing through the peephole, she discovered that the boat was, in fact, tethered to a dock. On my birthday. She shook both her brothers gently.

"Huh? What?" Anthony glanced at his sister groggily.

"We're here. In America. Care to go up on deck and see?"

The boys both popped out of bed. Within two minutes, they were bursting out the stateroom door.

The sun was just rising as they appeared on deck. All three stood, mouths open, staring into New York Harbor.

"Annie. Anthony. Look!" Phillip had turned his head slightly.

Before the three of them was an enormous statue of a woman wearing a crown, holding a torch in one hand and a book in the other.

"It's Lady Liberty," Annie muttered. "Remember, Phillip? Mama wrote about her."

The children huddled together admiring the massive monument until they heard a man's gruff voice behind them.

"Get packed up, children. We'll be boarding a transfer boat and going to the new immigration center in an hour or two."

The three scuttled off to their stateroom.

**

"Our last boat ride for a while," Anthony declared.

He and his siblings glanced out the side, staying close to the gangplank of the decorated barge.

"Happy Birthday, Annie." Phillip smiled.

Annie glowed. "The best birthday present I'll ever receive, I'd wager."

Anthony watched as they pulled up to the dock. He grabbed his younger brother's hand and pushed his sister toward the gangplank.

"C'mon."

They made their way off the boat first and approached the clean, huge, nearly empty building.

They trotted toward the registry desk. Annie stepped forward and placed her papers on the counter.

"Congratulations, young lady. You are the very first immigrant to be registered at the Ellis Island Immigration Station." The gentleman shook her hand, and handed her a $10 gold coin. "Welcome to the United States of America."


Over 12 million immigrants passed through Ellis Island Immigration Station between 1892 and 1954 on their way to the USA. Annie Moore, age 15, of Cork County, Ireland, was the first.

www.ellisisland.org

* *

Thanks for reading! Be sure to check the links below for more great fiction!

Paving Rough Roads With God's Presence

"Handmaiden To A Princess" (rough draft excerpt): Friday Fiction

Welcome to my contribution to Fiction Friday, hosted this week by ME! Make sure that you  link up with your own fiction below. Or, if you just want to read some great fiction (ALWAYS great in my opinion!),  check out the links below.

I'm working on the rough draft of my first novel (NOT my first novel-length manuscript - not the same thing :D). Tentatively titled Handmaiden To A Princess, it's Biblical fiction set during the time of King Saul. The main characters are twins - both Gibeonites. The sister is Princess Michal's handmaiden, and the brother is a servant of Jonathan's. For the past several days, I've been typing in some of my handwritten notes (96 pages worth need to be done). I've decided, for this Friday, to post an excerpt - actually, what is right now the very beginning of my manuscript. This will likely change, but here's what I've got! Hope you enjoy it - and, of course, I'd love any feedback you're willing to give.

HANDMAIDEN TO A PRINCESS

She was a servant – relegated to her role by ancestry. She was also a child – required to obey and not be obeyed. Her wishes didn’t matter. They had already made the decision. Nothing could change it.

She could do nothing. She knew it. No matter how hard she pleaded, how badly she wished things would change, it wouldn’t happen.

But it didn’t mean she had to like it.

“But Mama – I’ll hardly ever see you. And what if I spill a basin? Or pick out the wrong dress? Or what if I don’t know what to do? Who will I go to?”

Dodi chuckled and shook her head. “You will do fine, Rivka. You’ve been watching and helping me for eight years. It’s time that you took on this responsibility yourself.” She rested her hand under her daughter’s cheek. “You know I must go where I am told, and so must you.”

Rivka sighed and rolled her eyes. “I know, but must I be alone?”

“We’ve been talking about this for moons, since Amal became Prince Jonathan’s servant. You’re ten years old, Rivka. It’s time for you to have your own responsibilities.” She raised her eyebrows. “Be thankful you’re staying with a place you know. It could be you, not me, who is sent to serve the queen.”

“Yes, Mama. Of course you’re right.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. She did like working under Michal. They were practically friends – as much as a Gibeonite slave and a Hebrew princess could be, anyhow. The two of them had been together for as long as she could remember. It was a comfortable place.

Rivka nodded. Mama was right. Everything would work out.

Somehow.

* * *

Rivka’s sandals flip-flopped on the dirt. Her steps were brisk and light. As she came nearer, the scents of the lilies of the valley and hyacinths slowed her pace. The grass before her, fresh with dew, slapped against the sides of her sandals. She stopped, closed her eyes, and took in a long, slow whiff.

Aroma fit for royalty. And she was among them, and permitted to transport a bit of it indoors.

This was one of her favorite parts of her duties. Each day, Michal requested fresh flowers for a vase on her dressing table. And, each morning, Rivka ventured out onto the palace grounds to the royal gardens to find something beautiful and aromatic to please her mistress’ eyes and nose.

She sat on a rock and looked out at the array of colors before her. So many choices. Her eyes surveyed the gardens half a dozen times before they locked on a patch of purple and white blooms just to her left.

Rivka rose, strolled toward them, and squatted down. She pawed at the soil a bit, allowing it to envelop her fingers. The gritty, cold firmament put a smile on her face. She tipped back until she was on her bottom. Inspecting the flowers, she found a few with an especially pungent aroma. Finding no insect bites or other irregularities, she pulled up two bright ones from the center of the plant.

She inched to a standing position, the small bouquet in her hands. Eyes closed, she breathed in the aroma and smiled.

“And back to my mistress.”

As she strolled from the garden, she glanced at the rock she had risen from only minutes before. A tanned lad, perhaps three to four years older than she, was sitting upon it, a piece of papyrus and a stick in his hand. She didn’t recognize him – surprising because of her familiarity with nearly every one of the servants, at least by face.

She resisted her urge to walk toward him and peek over his shoulder. What if he was a royal emissary? Instead, she turned back toward the garden’s exit. As she stepped once again on the soil of the land outside the garden, she slipped her feet from her sandals and wriggled them until they were half-buried in the soil. The coolness on the soles of her feet and between her toes made her tingle.

She shook off each foot in turn and slipped them back into her sandals. Eyes ahead, she strode toward the palace and her mistress’ quarters.

* * *

“What took you so long? Mother said I must be dressed before noon.” Michal flipped her thick, curly hair from her face. “I mustn’t be late.”

Rivka lowered her head, then scurried to the vase. She plopped the new flowers in and tossed yesterday’s out the back window onto the field below.

“So sorry. Should I start with your hair or with your dress?”

Michal pointed toward her wardrobe. “Dress first.”

Rivka opened the closet door, revealing a half dozen finely embroidered gowns in various colors. Her everyday clothing was tucked away in drawers, Rivka knew. But Michal wouldn’t be this anxious if she were simply wearing her “normal” clothing.”

“Which one, princess?”

Michal rolled her sparkling eyes. “Well, mother said the blue, but I think the red is much prettier. Don’t you?”

Rivka closed her eyes and gulped in air. She had seen this countless times, and Rivka’s mother had always set the princess straight, getting Michal to do what Queen Ahinoam wanted with minimal fuss.

But mama wasn’t here. And what made Rivka think Michal – a princess, and only two years younger than she – would listen to her?

Rivka opened her eyes and bit her lip, grabbing both dresses from the wardrobe.

“Actually,” the handmaiden muttered, “I think the blue brings out the blue flecks in your eyes so much better, and lets your features stand out. The red is so bright, I would scarcely notice your hair.”

Rivka put the red dress back in the wardrobe and turned toward the princess, her eyes lowered.” So…um…the blue, right?”

Michal went to the wardrobe herself and took the red dress out. She held it up in front of her, peering in the mirror, looking especially closely at her face.

“I don’t know. I still like the red best.”

Rivka clenched her teeth. “Mistress, if your mother said blue, you know that is what she expects. I can’t force you, like my mother could, but I can plead with you. I do not wish to displease you, but even more I do not want the king and queen upset with me. I have no desire to be transferred elsewhere, or worse, for disobeying.” Rivka lay the blue dress down on the bed and knelt before her mistress. “Please let me dress you in the blue.”

Michal, sighing, gestured for Rivka to rise. “Very well.” She returned the red dress to the wardrobe and turned back to her servant. “You may begin.”

Rivka allowed her shoulders to relax and the corners of her mouth to turn up slightly. One crisis averted—at least for now. But her pleading wouldn’t work every time, she knew. I’ll have to speak with Mama about it.

**

Thanks for reading. Be sure to link up below, and read the wonderful fiction selections in the linky tool.

 

Paving Rough Roads With God's Presence

Frank's Epistle To The Legend: Friday Fiction

Welcome to my contribution to Fiction Friday, hosted this week by Catrina Bradley at A Work In Progress! Make sure that you  link up with your own fiction at her lovely blog. Or, if you just want to read some great fiction (ALWAYS great in my opinion!),  check out the links there.

I grew up in a house full of boys, with a "tomboy" mom. In other words, if I wanted to EVER watch TV, I had to pick a sport to follow. Well, that sport, for me, was baseball. I'll admit I've lost my passion for it, especially since my husband isn't really a sports fan. But I still keep my eye on MLB here and there, and if the Dodgers are playing ANYONE, I want them to win. (Kinda getting that way about the Tigers too - kinda)

I wrote this piece for the "Sports or Fitness" challenge at FaithWriters. I had more fun researching this piece than any other one I did for FW. It came together in a very special, and surprising, way. Hope you enjoy it!

FRANK'S EPISTLE TO THE LEGEND

By Joanne Sher

4341 State Street
Detroit, Michigan, 48226
Friday, October 8, 1965

Mr. Sandy Koufax
Dodger Stadium
1000 Elysian Park Avenue
Los Angeles, California, 90012


Dear Mr. Koufax,

My name is Frank, and I am 12 years old and in the eighth grade. My English teacher said I need to write a letter to someone I admire, but I probably would have written to you eventually anyway.

I’ve been playing baseball (little league and stuff) since I was in first grade, and I love it. You are one of my

favorite baseball players of all time. I try to pitch just like you do, and I even have your rookie card. I was listening on the radio when you pitched that perfect game against the Cubs last month. It was amazing. I would love to see you pitch in person some day, but since I live in Detroit and the Tigers don’t play the Dodgers, I doubt it will happen. I sure hope so, though.

One of these days, I’m going to be a major league pitcher, just like you. I practice my pitching, fielding and batting all the time, and I’m playing every chance I get. I’m not as good as you are, but I may be some day! Do you have any advice for me? I’d love to be able to pitch a curveball like you can.

My dad told me how you were supposed to start the first game of the World Series against the Twins Wednesday, and you didn’t because it was a big Jewish holiday. Drysdale really did a lousy job for you, and I hate to say you didn’t do much better in game two yesterday. I hope you aren’t taking offense – I know we all have bad days. I just wonder if you wish you hadn’t celebrated that holiday. I think my dad told me you weren’t supposed to eat at all on that holiday. Maybe that’s why you weren’t pitching so well for game two.

I don’t think I’d ever let a holiday – even a big one – stop me from playing in the World Series. Of course, I’m not really religious. I guess I’m a Christian. I believe in God and all, and we go to church sometimes. I’m also gonna be going to Detroit Catholic Central High School next year. They have a great baseball program.

I wanted to say that it surprised me when I heard you weren’t going to play because of that holiday. I’m not sure I care about anything as much as I care about baseball. I guess it’s neat that being Jewish is so important to you. Believing in God sure isn’t for me.

Anyhow, I guess you guys are on your way to Dodger Stadium for game three right now, as I’m writing this! I sure hope the Dodgers win the World Series. Like I said, I’m a huge fan, and the Dodgers are my favorite national league team. I’ll be watching on TV, especially since game three is on Saturday and I won’t have to worry about school or anything.

I hope you don’t get too much grief for missing that game.

Sincerely,
Frank Tanana, age 12

**
Author’s note: The interaction between these two men is fictional, but the men, and many of the details, are real.

Sandy Koufax and the Dodgers ended up winning the 1965 World Series. Koufax won two of the three games he pitched in the seven game series and was named MVP. He is still applauded by the Jewish community to this day for not playing in that World Series game, which fell on Yom Kippur, the holiest day on the Jewish calendar.

Frank Tanana was drafted by the California Angels in 1971 and pitched in the majors for 20 years (1973-1993), mostly for the Angels and the Detroit Tigers. His “claims to fame” were striking out 17 batters in one game in 1975 and becoming a Christian halfway through his major league career and ministering to the players. He and his wife live in the Detroit area and are involved in several Christian ministries to professional athletes.

Thanks for reading! Be sure to stop by Cat's blog for more great fiction.


Paving Rough Roads With God's Presence