Trail to William Faulkner Home,  Oxford, MS Amazing That God Shows His Approval In Such Splendid Ways. December 17, 1870 Joab rode up on the campus about ten minutes before noon, the first to arrive, so he thought. He sat on his horse for a moment, breathing deep. The cold air refreshed him. He was handsome in his dark denim trousers and the only white shirt he owned. Mrs. Raines had starched and meticulously ironed it. The pleats lay in tight creases across the front and the blousy sleeves fluttered in the slightest December wind. His hair was clean and straight, barely touching his shoulders. His face was clean shaven. He wore no hat, not wishing to accentuate any cowlicks today. Drawing a deep breath, he exhaled and relaxed as best he could on such a glorious occasion, prayed that amidst the unsteadiness of the times this would be one perfect day. When he looked up, wagons full of people and riders on horseback were coming out of the woods on that end of The University

It's Publishing Time I haven't posted here in a while.  My time is consumed with getting  JOAB ready for the publisher.  It is a grueling process.  My publishing consultant  called this morning,  just getting everything  aligned for me.  They are so helpful,  but the majority of the  work always falls on the author,  whether you self-publish  or publish with an agent.  It is now old hat with me,  JOAB being my seventh book  to get to the publisher.  Four of them are my own ;  three are clients' books.  And I'm constantly  interrupted by—well by life.  It does go on.  I'm thankful for some  getaway places . I have to change it up from time to time. Familiarity, you know. And then people start to know you, and you get nothing done. But talk! And then there is the marketing.  Press releases, scheduling signings and events.  T his will be my best year for events and signings.  I have scheduled four out of eight signings I

swesdome Wisdom is the compass by which man is to steer  across the trackless waste of life;  without it he is a derelict vessel,  the sport of winds and waves.   Charles Haddon Spurgeon Amazing the view from one side of Lake Junaluska to the other, that is at nine o'clock in the morning. At seven, you could scarcely see the wood planked footbridge and the mountains were nowhere to be found. The fog was thick as pea soup in London on a good day. You could hear the ducks on the lake, but you couldn't see them, the Canadian geese dared not attempt their early morning practice run, and the swans were still wrapped in their own wings until wake-up call—at the lifting of the fog. In essence, Junaluska, early of a morning is the epitome of the poem, like the life of man without wisdom— trackless waste. No compass could intervene. Except for the tops of our tennis shoes, we might as well have been blind and if we had tried this on tempestuous sea

I slept all night, woke to the alarm on my cell phone, and jumped out of bed. I love sleeping all night, which I rarely do. All my aging friends say the same thing—it’s not typical—sleeping straight through the night is not typical. I looked out the double windows over my kitchen sink, past the lanai to the lake beyond, which, thanks to the summer rains, is now full to the brim.  “I love a rainy day”— Sounds like a song!  More rain blew through the palm trees and across the lake causing the water to ripple. I turned the coffee pot on and perched upon the stool at my kitchen bar to read some chapters, the last few Psalms before Chapter 119. I would save 119 until tomorrow, such a long, long chapter. By the time I showered and dressed, the rain had stopped and part of the southern sky was clearing. A low mist hung mysteriously over the lake, just a little something extra God uses to add to the beauty After the Rain . I drove to the coffee shop, as usual, and when I turned

From JOAB Coming in the Fall of 2012 October, 1868 Oxford, Mississippi Dearest Mama, … I have read, and as you have taught me, living in the past is much like reliving sins committed, which is highly discouraged by the Apostle Paul, and I want you to know I’m trying to search for a better way. As we spoke while sitting on the swing before I left, I desire to live in the spirit of restoration and healing. The war left our country in shambles, and I think the Lord would be pleased if I help restore what was taken away.  I could not be doing this if you had not said the things you did and allowed me to vent my frustrations with what has been going on for years now. We had so much heart. And so much of that is either gone or waning. I know that bitterness slows healing of the old wounds and at all hazards I intend to dispense with my portion of that. I took Will and Aggie back with me to Shiloh for a purpose. I’ve learned much from Aggie about facing the trials an

Chapter 10 Excerpts from JOAB Joab woke early, even before the waking call promised by Mrs. Raines. He had slept well, at peace with yesterday’s decisions and promises to himself. He had a job, a place to pillow his head at night, food to eat. There was little more that he needed—there was yet more that he wanted. Aggie had promised to meet him at the tea room tonight. He must stop by at noon and tell her it would be near seven before he could get back from the sawmill, which was at the edge of town on the road that leads to Harrisburg. He dressed and slipped out of the house thinking what a lovely southern lady, Mrs. Raines. Their home was quite comfortable, in Oxford town, a bungalow under shady oaks and huge magnolias, with ivy growing from the brick street to the front porch steps, a porch that wrapped around over half of the house, behind which was a small barn and a corncrib all fenced about.  He was blessed to have stepped into such a fine setting. He didn’t wan