by Roseanna White | Mar 28, 2013 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
I sat here for a good while this morning debating what to write about. It’s Holy Week, my favorite time of year. I love reflecting on all He’s given us, on His amazing love in giving up His life to save ours. I think I’ve had some nice insights over the years, LOL–and I’ve shared most of them already. 😉
This year, my weekend is packed to the brim with activities, from egg hunts to a seder-style dinner tonight at church. But what I’m most looking forward to is a concert linked not so much to Easter per se as to the love it represents–and which some friends of ours are living out in the most amazing way. As I sat here debating, I realized I wanted to introduce you to Todd and Erin and their kids. We belong to the same home school group, and this past year have been attending a small bible study with them and two other families with small kids, so we’ve been blessed to get to know them. I realize most of you are too far to come to the concert, but these folks could use your prayers! So here’s an article I wrote that appeared in the local paper the other day.
A local church is
teaming up with a local family to help bring a brother and sister
home to Frostburg from Ethiopia.
Frostburg residents
Todd and Erin Vogtman are a couple with a lot of love to give.
Married for thirteen years, they met in college when both were
studying to be teachers. In addition to now being a primary school
teacher, Todd is a talented singer and guitarist. Erin, a gifted
artist, spent years as a public school teacher as well and now home
schools their four biological children.
Many see this
family with four kids already and wonder at their interest in
adoption—especially international adoption. But for Todd and Erin,
it isn’t a matter of simply wanting more children, it’s a matter
of wanting to improve the lives of children who otherwise would have
nothing. “We believe that those who have much, hold much
responsibility to give. And just living in this country puts us as
some of the most privileged people in the world,” Erin says on her
blog,
One Sought Me.
“Parenting is such a fun adventure full of laughing and learning.
We know firsthand how fast time flies when watching kids grow and how
precious our time is as parents to our interesting and unique
kiddos.”
Though the Vogtmans have immense respect for those who work in the
foster care system of our country, they could not escape the
realization that even those who have the least in America are so
often richer than the majority of the people in third world
countries. And while every orphan is in need of love and protection,
those born in underprivileged nations have virtually no chance for
betterment aside from what comes in from other nations. These are
children who could very well starve and die before reaching adulthood
if no one feels the call to step in. Todd, Erin, and their kids felt
that call.
But the Vogtmans discovered as they began research into international
adoption that it’s a difficult path, especially when a family
already has four biological children. Their choices on where they
could apply soon dwindled down to a few, and they eventually settled
on Ethiopia. They have at this point been approved for adoption and
hope to have their new brother and sister with them by the end of
2013.
Adoption, however, is a costly calling, and so area businesses and
churches are teaming up with the Vogtmans on their loving mission and
sharing in the task of fund-raising. And what better way than to draw
on the talents the family already has? With that thought in mind,
Full Gospel SDB Church, located on Hazen Rd, invited Todd to perform
at their monthly Saturday Night Alive program. Admission is free, but
a freewill offering will be taken up, all proceeds to go to the
Vogtman adoption.
~*~
For those of you online and too far away to come support this amazing family, I do invite you to check out Erin’s blog,
One Sought Me. If you feel so led, there’s a donation button in the right corner. Every little bit helps!
by Roseanna White | Mar 27, 2013 | Remember When Wednesdays, Uncategorized
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I have no clue what color-scheme will used on the cover,
but for purely inspirational purposes, I made a blue title banner 😉 |
I’m on the downward slide (okay, so there’s nothing slide-like about this mounting battle, LOL) of Circle of Spies, and having SO MUCH FUN with these characters! But wow, is there a cast of them necessary! I’m still at that point where I doubt my own ability to draw all my character threads together in a nice little bow by the end of the book–which is also the end of the series, remember–so I’m spending some time gnawing at fingernails over here (metaphorically, anyway). And making copious notes about “Don’t forget to include Elsie at the end! Don’t forget that Barbara needs to be involved in this! Don’t forget to give Granddad Thad a role in this part!”
But one thing I’m having especial fun with in this one is using names of real people for my characters. I don’t usually do this, but as my awesome editor found a few redundant names in
Whispers from the Shadows (three Henrys?
Really, Roseanna??) and we started plugging in names of folks at Harvest House for these mentions, it turned into a pretty fun game. She gave me the challenge of including “Barbara” in a book sometime, and I took her up on it…which got me thinking.
Marietta, my heroine, had no real female friends. Which can work…but I already did that in
Ring of Secrets. I really shouldn’t have
another loner female character in the same series. So yes, she needed a friend, who could be named Barbara. But who was this woman? How does she enter the story? I decided somehow or another that she would be tied to the brother Marietta lost at Gettysburg, the one she loved above all. And then at our fabulous writing retreat, my critique partner gave me the idea of using a photograph to alert Mari to her presence in her life–a perfect solution, though that likely makes little sense to you right now, LOL. Resulting in,
voila, exactly the friend I needed Marietta to have! And a lack I hadn’t realized was there until someone issued me that challenge of including a name.
So then I had the brilliance (inspired by the aforementioned critter
Stephanie Morrill and her next book, The Revised Life of Ellie Sweet) of including YOUR names in this thing! Well…
your spy names. =) Not that I’m going to have that many spies, but every time I need to name a minor character, I’m pulling from that list. (So if you haven’t left me a comment on my
Spy Name Game with yours yet, you’d better!!) I’d already assigned one of the names to a role I needed, an innkeeper in Western Maryland. I had a decent idea of her personality and grinned when I realized she’d be saving my hero’s life at the climax.
Then yesterday I had this realization. Namely, that all my bad guys are Confederates. Yet I don’t want to paint all Confederates as bad guys! And while I know that I also have another Civil War-set manuscript here that is entirely Southern, where “Yankee” is the equivalent of a curse and the highest insult my characters can use, um…readers of the Culper series don’t know that, LOL. And I don’t want to come off as hating the South, which I most assuredly do not. So what I need is a wonderful, amazing, God-fearing, heroic Confederate character in this thing…and my inn keeper is just the one to play the part!
So when some of you ask me how I come up with my ideas…this is a new one for the list, LOL. Quite a few twists and quirks of
Circle of Spies have come about solely as I contemplate NAMES, of all things! Who knew? So seriously, if you haven’t already,
create your spy name!! Never know how it might inspire me. 😉
by Roseanna White | Mar 21, 2013 | Thoughtful Thursdays, Uncategorized
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| The Christian Martyrs’ Last Prayer, painted 1883 by Jean-Léon Gérôme |
My church has been doing a study of the book of 1 John leading up to Easter. It’s such a rich little book, full of the foundations and mysteries of faith. And as I read it and study it out, it does indeed make me pause to examine what this thing is that fills me.
This past week we were on chapter 4, and as we discussed it, we got on the subject of searching for proof of faith…and by contrast, the extreme doubt of everything that entered with the modern period. And I began to wonder if the two were related.
In the late 19th century, science was expanding by leaps and bounds. Discoveries were made constantly, technology was rapidly evolving, and even literature was responding with amazing, fantastical books that explored the what-ifs of this changing world. What if we could travel to the center of the earth? Or under the sea? Or back in time?
Fueled by this new understanding, religion began asking the same questions. What if we could
prove life after death? What if we could call up the spirits of those gone before? What if we could cross that veil? Cue the Spiritualism movement, with its
tea party seances and knockings and rappings and rather frightening invitations, like when they would produce a child who couldn’t read or write and invite a spirit to use his body to convey a message with a pencil. Yikes!
I can understand why the idea of proving faith would appeal. Just think–it they could produce scientific evidence of heaven and hell, of the spiritual world, then who could possibly doubt them??
And yet directly after that came the skeptics. The movement that not only questioned faith, questioned God, but questioned their own existence. As a professor at my college said in a seminar one night, “I just can’t talk to you anymore if you’re going to say such things.” The skeptics took questioning to a whole new level, literally doubting everything. How do you know the sun will rise tomorrow? You can’t prove it will. How do you know you’re still you when you sleep? Are you still conscious of yourself? (Insert Roseanna replying in that seminar, “I’m not conscious of any moments when I’m not conscious of myself” and earning riotous laughter…)
Now I can’t say that these desires to prove and to doubt are actually linked, but I’m going to speculate. What if they are? What if, by searching for that proof of faith, we remove all certainty? What if when we question that most basic human yearning for something greater, we end up knowing nothing at all?
Questions are natural. Doubt is natural. The seeking of proof is natural. But the more I ponder it all in relation to faith, the more I think faith is not meant to ever be proven. Because faith is the proof. It’s the evidence of our hopes. It’s the substance of the unseen. Faith is itself a thing, a force, a form, an ideal. One of the few things that can exist purely within us.
Yes, people can question its existence. Just like they can question love, life, their very existence. They can question anything. But just because you doubt the laws of physics doesn’t keep them from operating. Just because you doubt yourself doesn’t mean you wink out of being. And just because you questions faith and God doesn’t mean they’re not real.
Some things demand proof, yes. And some things are the proof. I’ve come to the conclusion that faith is often miscategorized. Don’t ask me to prove that an apple will fall–take it instead as the proof of gravity. Don’t ask me to prove faith is real–take it instead as the proof of our hope in the Lord.
by Roseanna White | Mar 15, 2013 | Uncategorized
Don’t forget to leave a comment on each chapter for a chance at the big giveaway!
Chapter Five
Leroy Gaskins, a man Celia recognized as the sot fired by William’s
father, emerged from the woods. “I don’t think I’d sign that,
ya’ll.”
Turner dropped his hand from Celia’s mouth.
After Gaskins wiped his greasy face with a red handkerchief, he
tucked the rag into his torn pants-pocket. “Seems I got here just
in time.”
Turner’s hand wrapped protectively around Celia’s arm as Gaskins
gestured with his gun for William and Mabel to back up closer to
Reverend Bachman. “Unlike your gun, Mr. Owens, mine are loaded.
Might as well toss yours aside. That was a darned fool idea ya’ll
concocted. Makes me wonder what young people get taught these days at
university.”
What did he mean? Celia shivered against Turner and he squeezed her
arm, reassuring her.
Gaskins’ cheroot glowed as he inhaled on the cigar. “And
careless, waggin’ your tongues in an establishment like Poogins.
Any waterman on the Ashley or the Cooper rivers could repeat your
little plan. Anyone ends up dead here today, they’ll be lookin’
for at least one of your sorry selves—Owens or Cane. Shoulda been
called Cane and Abel. Amazin’ to me that your pappy hated your
grandpappy Owens so much that he wouldn’t even claim his name, Mr.
Cane.”
Celia looked up into Turner’s face, a muscle in his jaw jerking as
though in agreement with the filthy man’s words.
Gaskins scratched his scraggly brown beard. Swamp oaks and cypress
trees rustled overhead, Spanish moss casting eerie shadows from the
torches now planted in the soft swamp earth. Behind them, the freed
men shifted weight, seeming to consider their options.
“Once yer daddy got that ring back, me and my Maggie set our plan
a’goin’. Invited our niece, Mabel, to Charleston.”
Insects buzzed around them, and tree frogs began their song.
Mabel Holloway backed away, even closer to the minister, bumping into
him. The two fell down into the pluff mud, spattering their clothes,
and stirring up the sulfurous odor of decomposing saltmarsh.
“Oh! Look what you did. I detest this nasty swamp dirt’s smell.”
Her friend’s voice, absent the Southern accent, revealed her Yankee
roots. “I never agreed to anything, you horrid man. And I am not
your niece!”
Mr. Gaskins tilted his head sideways. “Oh, it’s true all right.
‘Best-looking and most gentlemanly man’ ya’d ever met, were
your exact words when I introduced you to William at the store.”
“I said no such thing you addled-brained—!” Mabel kicked her
feet from beneath her skirt and blew a tendril of dark red hair out
of her eyes.
William assisted Mabel to her feet and brushed some of the mud from
her gown. He acted entirely too familiar. Celia would never have
allowed her former beau such liberty.
Disappointment coursed through her, sticking in her chest. Her friend
had deceived her. “You’re not from Richmond, then, are you? Nor a
graduate of Miss Witherspoons’ Academy?”
Mabel laughed but a tic commenced by her right eye. “New York, I’m
afraid, but we moved south when Father died. Mother was a maid at
Witherspoons’ and I heard a lot. When Aunt Maggie brought us here .
. .”
Dizziness threatened to spill Celia into the dank swamp mud, too. So
her friend really was this foul man’s relation. Mercy!
Turner released Celia’s arm and gently pressed his fingers against
her wrist, his touch as natural as breathing.
Mabel’s eyes bored into William’s, their down-tipped corners
pleading forgiveness. “I thought I’d use enough information from
those spoiled girls as entree into the right circles when we came to
Charleston. But I never asked him to kill anyone. I cannot believe my
aunt married this ruffian.”
Nor could Celia.
One corner of Gaskin’s mouth tugged upward. “Seems Miss Mabel
didn’t understand another person would inherit part of Mr. Gregory
Owens, Jr.’s property. ’Parently neither did Mr. William here,
till that ring got returned. His grandpappy set up some
stipulations.”
“Is that a Southern tradition?” Mabel held out a fair, ungloved
hand toward Celia. “Your cousin told me your own grandfather set up
his inheritance so he will inherit all the Sheldon property.” She
gestured around and Celia’s breath caught at the movement amongst
the swamp oaks’ branches.
Gaskins continued his harping. “Amazin’ how much Owens loved his
son. William this and William that. Gets tiresome hearin’ all that
prattle ‘bout a spoiled soft-handed man what ain’t done a lick of
work in his life.” Wobbling, he raised his gun overhead.
Slithering movement above – must be a snake. Celia shuddered into
Turner, his hand circling her wrist—staying her.
William moved a half-step forward. “Seems to me you’ve been
imbibin’ a tad too much liquor tonight Mr. Gaskins. Which is why
Father released you from your job at our establishment.”
“T’weren’t from my infernal alcohol habit, no sir. T’was from
my uncooperative niece.” Gaskins gestured with his pistol toward
Mabel.
Celia gasped—as angry as she was with Mabel, she didn’t wish her
harm. Turner released his grip.
Mabel wiped back tears then shook her finger at Celia. “Some of
this is your fault. If not for your soft Christian heart, befriending
me when no one else would, and bringing me around into Charleston
society, I’d never have been accepted. All those names and
relations I worked so diligently to recall availed little till you
took me under your wing, Celia. Except with William. He loved my
stories – was so kind to me.”
Celia couldn’t believe William’s broad, affectionate smile for
the woman who had deceived them all. “Mabel, darlin’, I don’t
mean any disrespect, but I knew all along you weren’t kin to half
the people you claimed.”
Her friend tried to step away from him but his hands secured her.
“Why not?”
Blue eyes twinkled as he gazed at Celia’s now-former friend.
“Because they’re my kinfolk, you silly girl.”
“I am not a girl.”
Celia gave Mabel a hard appraisal. How old was she truly? Behind
Turner, something rustled in the undergrowth.
Lord, please, don’t let it be a gator. Those creatures
terrified her. She spied some of the greens the slaves’ root doctor
liked to gather. Why, she’d never be out in this swamp unless she
was with Mama Teensy, looking for special vegetation for healing. Her
hands shook and she clasped them together.
“You have to believe me.”
Gaskins rubbed his head, eyes closed tight, face pained. If only
someone could knock him aside. He opened his watery eyes and glared
at Celia.
Please Lord, send us help!
“I thought it’d be so easy. Mabel’s a true beauty. It had to
have been your piety and your fortune, Miss Sheldon, ‘less he
prefers those pale washwater looks of your’n.”
Turner bent and whispered in her ear. “The drunken man isn’t able
to see well, my beauty.”
“Where’s that ring of your grandpappy’s?” Gaskins lurched
forward, toward William. “One wedding means one cousin inherits.
I want to be sure it’s the right couple.”
Celia covered her mouth, sure she was going to start screaming any
moment now. She swatted at a mosquito. No, she must be calm.
Mabel Holloway’s features hardened. “You could have had any young
man in Charleston, Celia Sheldon. But you had to flirt with the one
man I fell in love with, didn’t you? How many times had I shared my
feelings with you about William?”
Turner squeezed Celia’s hand, his dark hair falling across his
forehead as he leaned toward her. “All will be well,” he
whispered. “Have faith.”
Mabel’s eyes flashed at Celia. “I hoped you would go after my
latest beau. William and I talked about everything. He believed if I
accepted Miles’ engagement offer, you were so contrary you’d
pursue the one man I had.”
Under no condition would Celia have chased after Miss Holloway’s
beau. Heat rose up her neck.
Crossing her arms over her ample chest, Mabel fixed her gaze on
William. “Why did you tell me that, then, Mr. Owens, if you
intended to marry Miss Sheldon?”
Turner Cane Owens placed a protective arm around Celia. She leaned
into his side. The scent of leather, starch, and lemon verbena and
the warmth of his hand at her waist, soothed her.
Tears poured down Mabel’s cheeks. “If you had just let things be,
Celia. If you’d only ignored him every time we stopped by the
shops. If you’d married Jonathan.”
How did she manage to look so pretty even with mud all over her
dress, her auburn hair tumbled down, and red splotching her ivory
face?
William brought Mabel into his arms and Turner looked down at Celia,
his eyebrows raised. The serpent moved lower, closer to its target.
The scent of brackish water strengthened, the tides must be coming
in. Soon this area would be ankle deep in water. Celia finally
possessed her bearings. The quarters for the outside servants weren’t
far from here and they should be coming back from the fields soon.
Dear Lord, how could we get there, to protection? She should
have been home by now. Surely Daddy would have sent someone looking.
Wouldn’t he?
“Well, at least now you’ll cease mangling our Carolina accent,
Miss Holloway. Made me wince sometimes.” William laughed then cried
out as Mabel brought her foot down hard on his.
Slithering movement resumed in the trees ahead of Celia. Brown
variegated pattern against the tan limb suggested a cottonmouth. From
behind, whispers soft as a breeze rustled through the cyprus. From
the corner of her eye, Celia noted something moving from behind the
massive swamp oak.
Turner glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening, before he nodded
almost imperceptibly.
Warm wood slid over and forward on her shoulder and rested heavily
there. Had Turner not held her, she’d have jerked away. Moving only
her eyes to look, first the muzzle then rifle barrel appeared. She
took a deep breath inhaling the scent of fatback, lye soap, and
coconut oil that only one man she knew rubbed into his dark skin. She
exhaled in relief – her prayers had been answered.
Oblivious to the water moccasin dangling above him, Gaskins pulled
the cork out of his liquor bottle and took a swig. The freedmen’s
eyes grew wide as they stared in Celia’s direction.
“Its ‘Lijah, Missy—don’t you be movin’. You realize you be
on your cousins’ land here?” The man’s deep voice was one she’d
known all her life.
Celia exhaled in relief.
“This be her swamp, Miss Celia. I got permission to hunt back
here. Can shoot nuisance varmints if’n I see ‘em. Sure do see one
now—maybe two. Leroy Gaskin be a nuisance and a varmint so I reckon
that make him just what I say. But his kin…” The gun lifted from
her shoulder. “Cover your ears, Miss Celia, and close your eyes.”
written by Patty Smith Hall.
And the prizes! Don’t forget the prizes!
Comment on each chapter for a separate entry into the big drawing at the end!
Roseanna M. White is a bestselling, Christy Award winning author who has long claimed that words are the air she breathes. When not writing fiction, she’s homeschooling her two kids, editing, designing book covers, and pretending her house will clean itself. Roseanna is the author of a slew of historical novels that span several continents and thousands of years. Spies and war and mayhem always seem to find their way into her books…to offset her real life, which is blessedly ordinary. 
