I live in a rural area. There are towns here and there, but shopping in these towns is hit or miss. We haven’t had a Christian bookstore anywhere in the area for decades. And even regular bookstores are few, far between, and often the size of a postage stamp.

Because of this, I rarely have the chance to go to a bookstore near me. And when I do, they never carry my books, even when requested by locals who want to buy them locally. It’s been disheartening, to say the least.

How strange, then, to introduce myself to the folks in a bookstore on vacation and find something altogether different.

It started many years ago, when I was on vacation one September and musing about a story set in the Outer Banks that I’d written years  before as a contemporary romance. I’d already decided that eventually, I wanted to turn Yesterday’s Tides into a historical. I’d even planted my hero of this story, Remington Culbreth, into my world of Room 40 in the Codebreakers, thinking that eventually, it would be his turn. So every time I was at the beach for nearly twenty years, I’d think about that story again. Wonder how to change it. This particular year, we went to the Graveyard of the Atlantic museum, and I learned about the rich history of the Coast Guard and Live Saving Stations in the area, and the wheels began turning again. Especially when we decided to take the ferry over to Ocracoke.

I knew, the moment we entered the little village, that this was where Yesterday’s Tides was meant to be set, not on the upper islands. And as I learned about the sinking of the Bedfordshire during WW2, I thought, “Man, all the fascinating stuff happened in the Second World War, rather than the First.” So I began to wonder if I could make the story dual-time and have both a WW1 and WW2 line.

We went to the museum on Ocracoke, and that was awesome. I chatted with the ladies in the gift shop for a while, gave them a bookmark (cue them going, “Oh, you’re a REAL author!”) and then headed to one of my prime targets for the visit–the bookshop on the island, called Books To Be Red.

We looked around this magical house-turned-bookstore. We selected a few books we wanted to buy. And as I checked out, I asked the lady behind the counter if I could leave a few bookmarks. She agreed, but with a hesitant look in her eyes. I get that. So I didn’t push, just handed a few over, thanked her for the books, and left the store. My son–not interested in books–was outside on the fun playground equipment she had set up, with my husband, so my daughter and I moseyed over to them, and Xoe started playing too.

A few minutes later, the lady from the shop came running out. She was the owner, Leslie, and had promptly looked up my books from the info on the bookmark. She came over to thank me for coming, saying she didn’t carry a lot of Christian fiction–it doesn’t sell well–but she was happy to meet me. As we got in the car and drove back to the ferry, I pulled out my phone and saw I’d been tagged by her bookstore’s account on social media, thanking me for stopping by.

I’d never been so glad I’d indulged in a few books and dropped off some bookmarks!

A couple years later, I’d sold Yesterday’s Tides to Bethany House and went to Ocracoke again for a week to do in-depth research. I again ended up at Books To Be Red and chatted with Leslie, telling her about the book. This time, her eyes lit up. “That, I’ll be able to sell here!” she said.

And she has. To quote her message, “It’s selling like hotcakes. I can’t keep them in stock.” And when I added The Island Bookshop to my set-at-the-beach list this year, she was quick to stock that too. As did GeeGee, the owner of the bookshop on Hatteras Island, Buxton Village Books–another place we visit every time we’re at the beach.

See, visiting these bookshops is one of my favorite things to do on vacation. Reading at the beach combines two of my favorite things. And since I don’t have a bookstore like this near me at home, I love just wandering among the shelves, breathing in the scent of paper and ink, oohing and ahhing over beautiful editions of classics or new releases I hadn’t realized were out. I love spotting familiar names–because there are always a couple Christian fiction titles amongst the others, beautifully shelved right beside mainstream selections, which I love–or seeing bestsellers I’ve been meaning to pick up but haven’t yet.

We always leave with something. Or in the case of this most recent vacation, a few somethings, LOL.

This year, in addition to visiting the two bookstores at the beach that I know best and love deeply, I was also invited to visit Downtown Books in Manteo and hold a signing during the foot-traffic-rich First Friday event that the town puts on every month. Which means I was in this adorable bookstore for hours (dangerous! My husband left me unattended with all those books! LOL), with ample time to contemplate the magic of it when I wasn’t chatting and laughing with all the people who came in.

And oh my goodness. The magic is real, y’all. I loved every minute of it. I loved the quiet minutes, when the clerk, Chloe, and I were the only ones in the shop. When I could browse the shelves and talk to her about favorite books and pretty edges, when she gave me a sneak peek of a new Jane Austen set that wouldn’t be on sale until Tuesday, when I could dart like a crazy person toward the books I’d decided I had to have and buy them before the next guests made their way through the door.

I loved the busy moments, when customers were in the store, talking to their spouses about this book or that, musing about what they saw. When they teased each other about too many books and not enough shelves. The many times I heard one say to the other, “If you want it, honey, then get it.” (Best kind of spouses!)

And of course, I loved talking to those people as they browsed, and as they came over to my table to see what I had. I had some great conversations with both locals and visitors. I sold lots of books (apparently a First Friday record for the store, so that felt AMAZING!), and of course I hope those wonderful people enjoy them. But more, I had so much fun just existing in a place where books were the order of business for a few hours, talking with people who love reading too.

I loved watching Chloe dart out from behind the counter every time she had a spare moment to shelve the day’s deliveries after she’d scanned them in. It was fun watching her rearrange the tables and shelves to make everything fit, looking around to see what the best place would be for things. I loved hearing her greet each person to come through the doors in a way that welcomes them into the magic.

It was an exhilarating two and a half hours for me. Not just selling books, but being surrounded by them. Talking about them. Connecting with people over the magic of them, even when we hadn’t read the same books. Several times, people asked me what I liked to read, and I would just answer, “Yes.” Which always earned a laugh. Because I do love to read widely. I love hearing their suggestions for me. I love sharing my own.

There’s magic to books–these words that transport us to different worlds. And there’s magic to bookstores–where all those portals coexist in harmony. There’s magic to a place where everyone who enters knows there’s something in there for them, no matter their race or creed or history or circumstances.

I will admit that I buy most of my books online, since I can’t get most of the ones I want locally. And I’ve been spoiled by lower-than-retail prices. I love a bargain. But as an author, I also recognize that the only way authors really make any money, not to mention publishers and bookstores themselves, is when books are sold for full price. So I’ve made it a point to shake myself out of the “bargain book” mindset as much as possible and support the industry I love so much, as well as the independent shop owners who are big part of what makes it possible. I want to be a part of this magic from both sides–not just adding books into it, but supporting other authors too.

Because part of the magic of these places is that they represent so many viewpoints. So many perspectives. They have books on all different topics, many sides of issues, for all tastes. I love that both I and someone politically and socially opposite me can walk into the same store and recognize that magic. We can smile at each other and talk about how much we love to read (or how we wish we had more time for reading), and know that in that store, we’re on common footing. We’re friends. We’re fellow lovers of those portals-to-other-worlds. Maybe we choose different destinations. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that we both recognize the importance of the journey.

Yes, I spent more in the stores I went into on vacation than I would have at Amazon. And left with no regrets at all. Because I left knowing that the magic would keep on going, and that I had a part in it. 

“Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.”

As the world greets us with new violence, new tragedy every day, this is the song that keeps popping into my mind. It sounds trite, doesn’t it? A sweet, simple melody for sweet, simple words.

But those words aren’t simple. They’re profound. Because those words don’t shove the goal—peace, lack of violence, the cessation of hate—onto anyone else. They don’t call for the destruction of enemies or the silencing of opposition. Those words put the burden exactly where they should.

On ME.

What does it mean to pursue peace in this way? What does it mean, when our children are being gunned down in schools, when politicians and activists are assassinated, when hatred is the order of the day? What does it mean when right-wing and left-wing have become so full of animosity toward each other that each side fully believes the other is beyond redemption? What does it mean to ask for peace in a world where people only want to win?

I’ll start with what it doesn’t mean. It doesn’t mean shouting down your opponent. It doesn’t mean blaming the other side for each tragedy. It doesn’t mean condemning their hate speech but promoting your own.

Peace—true peace—means seeing both sides of every tragedy. True peace means grieving not just when the person on YOUR side is hurt, but when the person on THEIR side is too. And here’s the real kicker—true peace means crying out not just for the victims but for those who have been so hurt that they feel the need to respond in the way that will do the most harm in return.

The pursuit of true peace means asking not “What’s wrong with people?” and instead “What’s wrong with me?”

Many years ago, after a tragic school shooting, we were at Bible study and talking about the events of the day, and I remember my own first thought. It was something selfish and distressed, along the lines of, “I’m so glad I homeschool, so we don’t have to fear this.” But then Gary, a retired UMC pastor, shook my world. He sat down, pure sorrow lining his face, and looked like he was about to cry. “I just keep asking myself,” he said, “what I could have done and didn’t. I’ve just been on my knees asking God all day, ‘When did You ask me to pray, and I didn’t listen?’ What could I have done for this poor soul that thought this was the answer to his pain?”

This, my friends. This is the response of a true Christian heart. Our first and best and most peace-seeking response should be about where WE have failed. Where WE have sought our own selfish things instead of selfless sacrifice. Our lament should not be about what has been done to us, but about what we have failed to do for our neighbors, that they have decided calling themselves our enemies is preferable to being our friends.

Because the Church was not formed to be a seat of power. Jesus took over neither the temple nor the throne. He spoke harsh words not to sinners but to the people who should have been loving them and were failing in that. To the poor, the downtrodden, the depressed, the outcast, the adulterer, the thief, the tax collector…to them, He said, “Today I eat at your house.” To them, He said, “Where are you accusers? Now go and sin no more.”

First He saved. Then He inspired. And He said, “Take neither sword nor money pouch.” The one exception, when He told His disciples to bring a sword? When they dared to use it to defend Him, He chided them and healed the wound given.

Jesus does not need us to defend Him. Jesus does not need us to lash out at those who hate Him. Jesus will, in fact, offer miraculous healing to those we hurt in His name.

The answer to violence in America, friends, is not to snuff it out with more of the same. It’s not to pick up our sword—it’s to pick up our cross. The answer is not to silence the opposition, the answer is to LOVE THEM. Love them as Christ loved them. And how is that?

Not by shouting how wrong they are. But by showing them how deep is the love of God. Not by threatening to show Jerusalem what true power looks like—but by weeping over it.

Grieve for the Charlie Kirks. Grive for the Melissa Hortmans. Grieve for the students at school and the worshipers at Mass. But we cannot stop there, not if we want to truly be like Him.

We must grieve for the shooters who think there’s no other way. Grieve for the accused drug dealers drowned at sea. Grieve for the vitriol-spewing neighbor you’ll never see eye to eye with.

Peace does not come by tribalism. Peace comes by laying down the need to win and instead baring our hearts before God and man and being willing to cry out like the prophets of old, “Forgive us, Lord! Forgive us for abandoning You! Forgive us for our unfaithfulness!”

Forgive us, Lord. Not THEM, but me. Forgive me for not praying when I should. For not loving when I should. Forgive me for seeking my own vision so much that I forget those who oppose it are your beloved children too. Forgive me for only grieving my own losses, when in Your eyes there is no distinction. For forgetting that when the angel stood before Joshua, he declared a truth we’ve chosen to ignore. That You take no side by Your own.

Forgive us, Lord. And then show us the true Way of peace.