Chicken Soup for the Dog

I will have a story appearing in the newest Chicken Soup for the Soul book. The theme of the book is “What I Learned From the Dog.”

The article I submitted is called “Being a True Buddy,” about our farm dog. Buddy was my Mom’s dog and when she passed away, Buddy missed her terribly. But then, he helped me to cope with my grief. In giving himself away, he taught us what it means to be a true buddy. I have finally gotten to the point where I can read the story without tearing up.

The book releases on Sept. 22 and you can pre-order on Amazon, should you so choose.

It has been a fun experience to be part of this. The Chicken Soup organization has been wonderful to work with. It’s quite exciting to think of being published in a book.

I hope you get a chance to pick up the book and that you enjoy it. You might have to a dog lover to really enjoy it, although I’m sure cat people can appreciate it.

One of my upcoming projects is to write devotions for dog lovers. I’ve had some of deepest spiritual insights while walking the dog.

Review: Snow Melts in Spring

I knew I’d like “Snow Melts in Spring.” How could I not, it is written by one of my first “writing buddies,” Deborah Vogts.

I met Debbie at Called To Write, the first writing conference I ever went to in Girard, Kan. At the time, she was working on marketing Seasons of the Tallgrass, a contemporary fiction series based in the beautiful Flint Hills of Kansas. Last year, Debbie and I had a blast driving together to the American Christian Fiction Writers Conference in Minneapolis. By then, she’d sold the first three books of the series to Zondervan and even had the mock up of the front cover.

What I didn’t realize is that Debbie is one knock-out writer. From beginning to end, “Snow Melts in Spring” is rich and engaging.

 Mattie Evans is a country veterinarian working long, hard hours to build a practice in the Flint Hills, where her heart calls home. She takes on a demanding patient in a horse critically injured in a car accident. Caring for the horse is one thing, but contending with his owner is another. Gil McCray left the Flint Hills – and the memories buried there – long ago to pursue a pro football career. You can imagine what transpires… but not quite. This book has some intriguing plot twists.

Debbie, a country girl herself, does a masterful job of creating an exciting story while capturing the gentle rhythm of life on the Kansas prairie. Her attention to details on horse-related matters is refreshing after reading too many stories from writers who wouldn’t know horse matters if they stepped in it.

The most rewarding thing about reading this book is relating to the complex, but realistic characters and being inspired by God’s hand in their lives. Debbie has created a compelling story and I’m looking forward to reading the next Season of the Tallgrass.

“Snow Melts in Spring” is recommended for: all animal lovers, especially horse lovers. Football fans. Country girls. Readers who want more substance and less fluff. Rodeo fans. Those dealing with guilt or regret. Anyone who thinks cowboys are romantic.

Patchwork and Peace Work

This quilt is my impromptu spring project and I must say, I’m pretty pleased with it!

This was a project I tackled not to create a family heirloom to pass down for generations, but for the fun of it. That’s why I chose the brown and blue for a contemporary look.

As a journalist, nothing motivates me like a deadline. My goal was to have the top put together in one week. Ambitious? Yes. Attainable? Not on your life!

That border in the Chinese coins pattern took longer than I expected, but it looks so neat it was worth it.

The quilt top took two weeks – double the original time estimate – and I was bearing down on the edge. I switched to brown thread to put the border on.
But when I started sewing, the bottom thread pulled tight and the top stitches were loose. I turned the knob to tighten the tension on the top thread. The bottom thread was better, but the top made crazy loops. With an itty-bitty screwdriver, I adjusted the tension on the bobbin. The stitches got worse, some were practically sideways.

I swung my leg back to give the sewing machine a good kick, but just before I let loose, my mom’s words came back to me. Any time the machine was giving me trouble, she’d always ask, “Is it threaded right?”

So, I pulled the brown spool off the machine, started over and carefully threaded it again. I put the fabric in, lowered the needle and pressed the pedal. The stitches were smooth and even and it ran … well, like a sewing machine.

Solving the problem was as simple as starting over. It was like that at work when we had computer problems and called the IT department. The first question was always, “Have you tried rebooting?” Nine times out of ten, it solved the problem.

I wonder if God ever looks at us — frustrated, tied up in knots and banging on the keyboard — and asks, “Have you tried rebooting?”

He offers a fresh start, a new beginning, every time we mess up.
Next time life is coming out in crazy loops and I can’t make headway, I’ll remember my mom’s question and turn to my Heavenly Father for rethreading.

“O Lord, you are so good, so ready to forgive, so full of unfailing love for all who ask for your help.” Psalm 86:5

The final Margin Call

The goat was unforgettable.

Just a little kid, he weighed less than a pound. The farmer who raised him was delighted to talk to a News-Press reporter about the adorable little creature.

Other story assignments provided some exciting experiences, but the ones that linger most are ordinary people.

The Harms family at Weatherby shared about the ups and downs of life on a century farm. Neighbors gathered to put up hay for a National Guard soldier doing a tour of duty in Afghanistan. Philip Schwarz was a farm kid who made a mark in his high school not for sports or good grades, but his character.

The field day at Hundley-Whaley Farm in Albany, Mo., always served as a sort of benchmark. It was the first ag event I covered at the News-Press. As the years went by, I looked forward to returning and catching up with farmers and Extension staff, marking the end of another growing season.

That’s one of the things I enjoy most about this land, how the changing seasons give rhythm to the passage of time, recalling seasons past and signaling another change ahead.

Answering the call to a new job

About a month after I bought my laptop, I sat down in church for the Sunday morning worship service and opened up the bulletin. An announcement about the church’s partnership with a health agency stated: Hospice is looking for someone with writing ability and a laptop.

Why didn’t they just print my name in the bulletin?

For all those times I poured out my heart, telling God I’d do whatever he asked that he just needed to make it clear, this was my answer.

I called the hospice volunteer coordinator and attended an informational meeting. Afterward, she asked if I wanted to be a volunteer. She didn’t realize I had no choice, I had already been assigned.

Nevertheless, I was scared to death the first time I went to meet with a hospice patient to record his life story.  I discovered an unexpected blessing in spending time with those at the end of life.

Talking with hospice patients and writing their stories has been squeezed in with work, church and other commitments. Several times over the last two years I wished there was a way to make a living as a hospice volunteer.

Meanwhile my paying job has undergone several transitions. Newsroom staffing has decreased and those left must be more versatile as print merges with broadcasting and online media. I believe there is a future in journalism, it’s just not mine.

But what exactly did I want to do? I’d worked at newspapers since I graduated college and those skills didn’t seem to translate well to other fields. I was also committed to staying in the area.

Then I saw the listing for a volunteer coordinator for Abundant Life Hospice. It became clear why all those other openings hadn’t worked out. At the job interview, the CEO pointed to a portrait of Jesus and said the boss’s picture was on the wall. It’s a philosophy I can embrace.

I’m excited about July 6, the start of a brand new career with Abundant Life, an agency serving Northeast Kansas and Southeast Nebraska.

July 2 will be my last day at the News-Press, a place where God just as clearly called me to begin work on Sept, 1, 1999. I’ve made many friends, met fascinating people, written stories about flooding, droughts, utility rate increases and quarterly earnings reports.

I’ll miss the Margin Call column most of all, but because the new job is part time, I’ll be doing some freelance writing and may have a chance to do some of my favorite types of writing.

If you’re interested in volunteering with hospice, give me a call. You never know where it might lead you…

Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.” Isaiah 30:21

God texts the Ten Commandments

Texting – I both love it and hate it. It’s great to communicate quickly and instantly. But the spartan format creates plenty of opportunity for misinterpretation.

These Ten Commandments posted on McSweeneys are a humorous look at both God’s hard and fast rules and the language of texting.

By Jamie Quatro

1. no1 b4 me. srsly.

2. dnt wrshp pix/idols

3. no omg’s

4. no wrk on w/end (sat 4 now; sun l8r)

5. pos ok – ur m&d r cool

6. dnt kill ppl

7. :-X only w/ m8

8. dnt steal

9. dnt lie re: bf

10. dnt ogle ur bf’s m8. or ox. or dnkey. myob.

M, pls rite on tabs & giv 2 ppl.

ttyl, JHWH.

ps. wwjd?

And the Lord said to Moses, “Say this to the people of Israel: You saw for yourselves that I spoke to you from heaven.” Exodus 20:22

Margin Call: Raising a glass to dreamers

If you’re feeling down about the future of American business, may I suggest buying milk.

Trek out to the Shatto Milk Co. country store near Osborn and chug a glass of ice-cold chocolate milk. It will be refreshing on a hot day and the story behind it is pure inspiration in a bottle.

The first time I met Leroy Shatto, I was a new ag reporter at the News-Press. A group of German farmers wanted to see an American dairy, and Leroy gladly opened up his milking barn. At that time, it was a typical Missouri dairy, milking cows twice a day, selling commodity milk at razor-thin margins and bracing for the next drop in prices.

One facebook friend at a time

Of all the things Facebook has given our society, the greatest, I believe, is that it has transformed the word friend into a verb.

Before the social networking site pervaded interactions, you could only make friends or be friends. On Facebook, you put up a page with your photos, as much personal information as you feel comfortable sharing and give status updates about what you’re up to.

If you want someone to be able to look at your data, to know if you are going out to dinner tonight, have to mow the yard or are so excited it’s finally Friday!, you can send a request to be their friend on Facebook. For short, you friend them.

The awkward social sentences this generates are manifold.

Margin Call: Pony Express rides again!

Pony Express Rider

Dueling mayors attended the send-off for the Pony Express this week.

Mayor Ken Shearin, standing tall in a Stetson, administered the oath to the riders who on Tuesday morning re-enacted the historic event of the first letter to leave St. Joseph for the West Coast.

From the rooftop of the Patee House Museum, Bob Ford resurrected Meriweather Jeff Thompson, who was mayor when the Pony Express launched.

Thompson was a colorful character, a native Virginian who fancied himself a poet. He sided with the Confederacy in the Civil War and tore the flag from St. Joseph’s post office.

Historians still point to that moment as the beginning of the end of St. Joseph’s meteoric rise.

Margin Call: A potholed path to progress

Fear of a flat tire kept me from making it all the way down the next great Avenue of Progress.

Beaver Street is poised to be the long-awaited viaduct into St. Joseph’s industrial South Side. A new bridge will spring off King Hill Avenue, span the railroad tracks and touch down just east of Stockyards Expressway at Beaver Street.

The little street won’t show up on most maps and requires a lot of zooming before it registers on Google Maps.

It’s hard to find at street level, as well, since it has no signs or markings of any sort. The road is just to the north of the former Seitz plant on Stockyards Expressway. Midwest Scrap Management now has a busy recycling operation at the site.

Beaver Street is paved, in a way, with a chip-and-seal covering, although it’s been awhile since it was either chipped or sealed. The potholes are deep enough a call to a tow truck might be in order if you fell in one.