Journal Jots – Blog

In your relationships with one another,

have the same mindset as Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God,

did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;  

rather, hemade himself nothing by taking

 the very nature of a servant.

—Phillipians 2:5-7

You probably don’t know this about me, but I’m a booth freak. And worse yet, a booth freak with a temper, compounded by a booth freak with a temper whose KEY trigger in life is discourtesy.

Not a good combination for a peaceful family dinner out.

I cannot count how many times I have butted heads with hostesses, waitresses, maitre d’s, you name it, due to snotty attitudes, condescending looks or just downright rudeness on the part of the service industry. Let me repeat that—I said “service” industry. What can I say—it’s my #1 trigger in life, especially in a restaurant. And don’t even get me started if a booth is involved.

Case in point:  Once on vacation, we went to a lovely restaurant in Florida on New Year’s Eve right as they opened the doors at 5:00 PM. We were not only the first people to arrive, but the ONLY people in the restaurant for the next 20 minutes. The hostess, all of sixteen years of age, it appeared, never broke a smile, but simply nodded and pulled the appropriate number of menus from her rack. Shoulders squared, she then proceeded to walk to the very middle of this very spacious room with booths on two walls and tables and chairs in the middle, to seat us at the very middle table.

I know it’s crazy, but I have this pet peeve in a restaurant that I do not like anybody walking behind me. Blame it on the fact I was #12 out of 13 kids and probably got thumped on the back on a regular basis at the dinner table by siblings walking by, or maybe I’m overly skittish because my sisters would lie in wait at the top of the stairs to jump out and scare me behind my back all the time. Whatever the reason, I just flat-out get a chill at the notion of people scooting or walking behind me while I’m eating. Which probably helps explain my obsession with booths because usually booths butt up against each other so your back is not exposed.

So anyway, this child hostess waves her hand at this very lovely table in the middle of the room and already I can see the fear on my family’s faces as my eyes scan the twenty-something (God’s truth!) empty booths with windows overlooking the parking lot.  “Excuse me,” I say in my kindest tone with my most humble smile, “but would it be okay if we sat at a booth instead?” I ask, waving my hand at the sumptuous array of paisley stuffed booths. “I’m sorry,” the reply came in a cool tone, “but those are reserved.” I blinked. “Reserved?” I say, wondering if anybody on the planet other than me EVER made a reservation that specifically requested a booth, much less twenty of them on a given night in an empty restaurant. “But there’s nobody there now,” I say sweetly, “and it’s only 5:05 PM, so are you sure we can’t be seated there? I have this thing about booths, you see.”

No, apparently she did not because she continued to argue with me and I with her until my family were hiding under the linen-clad table. Well, we ate at that very table that night and yes, you guessed it—my meal was ruined. But … not because of the table, the food or the service. Nope. It was because I’d lost my temper, ruined my family’s dinner and mine and acted less like a Christian than the rude hostess with the twenty earrings in each ear. Because you see, at least I knew I was supposed to serve others … this poor thing apparently didn’t.

Rather, He made Himself nothing by taking

 the very nature of a servant.

Oh, the tales I could tell—of tussles in Wal-Marts, of roadside frays and shouting matches in dining establishments, undeniable proof that I am not the servant of God I like to think I am. Because in order to serve Him, I am called to serve others—every minute of every day, whether in a good mood or bad, in a just situation or unjust … in a booth or at a table.

So today, I would like to offer my deepest apologies to every single waitress, hostess, restaurant manager, Wal-mart greeter and checker on the planet—forgive me for the angst I caused you. Forgive me for not being the Christian God has called me to be. Forgive me for not following the example of Jesus in being the customer, the consumer, the patron that He wants me to be.

Because the truth is the customer is not always right, at least not if he or she serves a God who laid down His life to serve others.

I wish you and yours a wonderful weekend … and let’s make it even better by serving someone today with our hearts as well as our hands.

Hugs,

Julie

“Like the air that I breathe,” she whispered,

so softly he almost missed it. “No,” she said carefully,

chin elevated and eyes bright, “He is the air that I breathe, Patrick.

The reason I live each day with hope despite trial or tribulation.

The strength in my bones when I’m too weak to go on.

The very Presence in my heart that brings

peace and joy to my soul.”

—Marceline Murphy,

A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story

 by Julie Lessman

Yep, it’s Friday the 13^th, but I gotta tell you—this is my lucky day! Because if you’re reading this Friday morning, I am off-road biking with the love of my life. And you want to know why? Because I finished my edits on Marcy and Patrick’s prequel last night, so WHOO-HOO!!

And it that isn’t enough to sparkle my day, my sweet hubby threw together a quick composite for my agent of what we’d like to see the cover look like (and yes, I included it down below!!), and it motivated me SO much that I kept the doc open on my computer the whole time I did edits. It’s GORGEOUS, and I hope it gets you as excited about this book as it has me!! PLEASE NOTE: This is ONLY an idea of what I am thinking of for the cover, NOT the final cover, and I don’t even know if the final cover will end up looking anything like this, but I love the idea of it anyway.  Although I wasn’t able to use my daughter’s face for this comp because she’s out of town two weeks studying for the bar, the picture on this cover looks just like her! So if we go with this comp for a cover, I’d like to reshoot it with my daughter in an 1895-ish hairstyle and make the snow globe (which is prominent in the story) more colorful and the “light in the window” more defined.

Anyway, since I just finished the edits, I thought it would be appropriate to include an excerpt between Marcy and Patrick who are only friends, mind you, since Sam is courting Marcy. Unfortunately (because you KNOW how much I love kissing scenes), there is only one kiss between Marcy and Patrick throughout this entire book (until the very end, that is), and that kiss ends with a slap. Sigh. But … it’s a slow-growth kind of love that ends with a bang-up finish, so I hope you’ll enjoy Marcy and Patrick’s beginnings as much as I do!

  This is a scene where Patrick is walking Marcy and her best friend Julie home (Sam’s sister), and I’ve included the pictures of the models I envision for a young Marcy and Patrick to help you picture them too.

I hope you enjoy it and happy weekend!

Hugs,

Julie

 

A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story

By Julie Lessman

 

One Woman. Two Men.

One stirs her pulse and the other her faith.

But who will win her heart?

“Well, here we are—home, sweet, home.” Julie stifled a yawn before she gave Marcy a hug, hands latched to her arms as she studied her in the moonlight. “You sure you don’t want to spend the night, Marce? Mother promised French toast.”

Marcy shook her head, the wisps of gold silk fluttering on her neck drawing Patrick’s gaze. “No, Jewels, better not. I promised Mother I’d help sew new curtains, bright and early.” Her full lips curved in a beautiful smile that triggered Patrick’s pulse. “If you and I spend half the night talking, I’m pretty sure there will be very little ‘bright’ or ‘early.”

Julie laughed. “All right, but I can’t say Sam won’t be disappointed.”

Sam. Patrick averted his eyes to stare at the sidewalk, Julie’s remark causing a twinge in his gut. His best friend and Marcy’s beau.

Marcy laughed. “Not if it means more French toast for him,” she teased. “Good-night, Jewels—I’ll be over later in the day to study, okay?”

“Sounds good, Marce. G’night, Patrick.”

“Good night, Julie,” Patrick said, waiting until she entered her house before continuing on. They walked in silence, Patrick suddenly nervous with a woman for the first time in his life. His tongue felt so thick, it was several moments before he managed to eke out a comment. “Sounds like you and Sam have really hit it off,” he said quietly.

She hugged her arms to her waist, as if the subject made her uncomfortable, but her soft tone told him all he needed to know, causing his heart to sink in his chest. “We get along well,” she said carefully, “despite the unlikely match.” A nervous chuckle toppled from her lips. “But then, like you, I’ve been part of the family since I was five, so it’s a comfortable fit.”

A comfortable fit. Patrick swallowed hard, his response stuck in his throat at the image that conjured—Sam kissing Marcy, their bodies so close, the very thought seared the walls of his mind.

His silence must have given her pause because he sensed her tentative glance, and when she spoke, her tone was gentle with just a hint of concern. “So, for me, it’s the best of both worlds, you see. Not only am I able to grow close with a boy for whom I’ve had a school-girl crush since I was eight and spend time with his family I adore but …” Her hand lighted on his arm with a feather touch, halting both him and the breath in his lungs. “I have the added blessing of forging a dear friendship with his best friend as well.”

A friendship. The words inflicted a blow to his hope as effectively as Marcy’s hand had to his cheek the night she’d the whacked him for kissing her on her porch. Forcing a casual air, he flashed a bright smile, determined to pursue the friendship Father Fitz suggested. “Then, a winning scenario for us all, I’d say.”

She grinned, her relief evident in the sparkle of her eyes. “Agreed.” She peeked up with a curious smile. “So, Patrick … how is your college fund coming and just exactly what field of study do you hope to pursue?”

You.

He returned her grin. “Well, by Christmas, I should have the funds needed for the spring semester at Boston College where I hope to study journalism and English literature.”

Her eyebrows rose considerably, suggesting surprise that a rogue would entertain any field of study other than women. “Very impressive,” she said with a wide span of eyes.

He laughed, the surprise in her tone coaxing another flash of teeth. “Yes, hard as it is to believe, Miss Murphy, rogues can actually read and write too.”

She had the grace to blush. “Touché. I seem to be prone to all kinds of misconceptions where you’re concerned, so please forgive me.”

“Don’t fret over it, Marcy,” he said, burying his hands in his pockets. “Till now, my reputation for roguery far exceeded my aptitude for the written word, but that’s about to change come January.”

“Really?” Her voice held an interest and respect he hadn’t heard before, at least not when it came to him. Hands clasped like a little girl, she looked up with such a glow of enthusiasm, it plucked at his heart. “What do you hope to do with your life?”

Marry you, Marceline … on my way to editorship of The Boston Herald. He cleared his throat, tamping down desires that may never be met. “Well, you may not know this, Miss Murphy, but I was editor of the St. Mary’s Gazette two years running, as well as founder and first-year president of the Lantern Club.”

She came to dead stop, the whites of her eyes expanding along with the gape of her mouth. “You? You’re responsible for the Lantern Club?” she whispered, almost in awe. “But how? Why?”

He chuckled. “Well, contrary to my dismal conduct record at St. Mary’s, my grades in literature and English Composition were actually pretty good, which is one of the reasons Father Fitz took me under his wing in the first place.” He slid her a sideways grin. “I was in his office for detention so much, we discovered a mutual love of books and verse. Turns out we shared the same favorites—Mark Twain and Stephen Crane. So when I read that both Twain and Crane were part of a writers group that formed two years ago in New York, I was fascinated. It seems this group of esteemed writers actually shared their work during literary banquets held every Saturday evening where one of the members would read a piece they’d written, which the others would then critique. Only negative criticism was allowed, mind you, and the highest regard a reading could be given was complete silence.” He snatched a gumball from an overhanging limb of a sweet gum tree and launched it down the cobblestone street, watching it skip bricks like a stone across water. “So I suggested to Father Fitz that St. Mary’s do the same, and he agreed.”

She slowed in front of her house, turning toward him with a hand on the gate. “Goodness,” she said with a chuckle, “You couldn’t have shocked me more than if you told me we were going to be a priest.”

A slow grin curled his lips as he ducked his head to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, I can assure you most wholeheartedly, Miss Murphy, that will never happen.”

She laughed and opened the gate. “Thank you for walking me home, Patrick.” She paused to study him with a tilt of her head, her smile ebbing considerably. “I misjudged you terribly,” she whispered, a hint of sadness in her eyes, “Can you ever forgive me?”

He found himself staring, certain he’d never met a more beautiful woman—inside and out. “There’s nothing to forgive, Marcy,” he said quietly. “You weren’t far off in your judgments, I’m ashamed to say, nor with your slap.”  His smile was sheepish as he rubbed the side of his face, his beard rough against his palm. “In fact, I suspect you may have knocked some sense in to me that night on your porch because ever since, I …” He dropped his gaze to the street, unwilling for her to see the longing in his eyes. “Find myself wanting to be a better man.”

When she didn’t respond, he glanced up, shocked to see tears glimmering. She gave him a tremulous smile while she quickly swiped at her eyes. “That is possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, Patrick O’Connor.” She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, exhaling shaky air. “Thank you.”

“No, Marcy,” he whispered, “It’s I who needs to thank you.”

She shook her head, “But I didn’t do anything, Patrick,” she insisted, nibbling the edge of her lip with a guilty smile. “Except slap you silly.”

A grin creased his lips. “That you did, Marceline, but then I deserved it for losing my Irish temper, which,” he said with a note of levity, “it appears, has met its match.”

She chuckled and held out her hand. “How about I forgive you and you forgive me, and then God can forgive us both, deal?”

He studied her with a squint, ignoring her hand. “You know, Marcy, I see lots of people who profess God, but not many who live it, at least not like you.” He hesitated, trying to understand the quiet depth of faith she seemed to possess. “God is pretty important to you, isn’t he?” he said softly, hardly believing he was pursuing a conversation about God with a woman.

Her hand slowly sank to the side of her skirt where her fingers fiddled with the edge of her pocket, gaze drifting to the ground. “Like the air that I breathe,” she whispered, so softly he almost missed it. When she finally looked up, more tears glistened along with a fierce passion that seemed so out of character for the calm and gentle woman he was privileged to know. “No,” she said carefully, chin elevated and eyes bright, “He is the air that I breathe, Patrick. The reason I live each day with hope despite trial or tribulation. The strength in my bones when I’m too weak to go on. The very Presence in my heart that brings peace and joy to my soul.” A soft smile lighted on her lips as her gaze finally connected with his. “And,” she said quietly, the barest trace of sympathy edging her smile, “something I suspect you might relate to as well—the only One Who has ever truly taken my loneliness away.”

He blinked, blood heating his cheeks at the notion that she could read his mind, see into his soul the ugly truth he worked so hard to hide. He was alone. No matter the women that jockeyed for his attention or the mother or brother that occupied his home or even the best friend who knew him better than anyone else or a kind parish priest. The simple truth was, Patrick O’Connor was a lonely human being. A man searching for love through the affections of a pretty woman … or peace at the bottom of a bottle or mug. A chill shivered his soul. And somehow the woman before him knew it, as surely as he knew it himself.

He coughed to deflect his embarrassment, stepping back to plunge his hands in his pockets once again. “Well, I guess I better let you go—”

He stilled at the touch of her hand, the terrifying gentleness in her eyes. “He’s a force to be reckoned with, Patrick, and you will be too … with Him by your side.” And lifting on tiptoe, she pressed the softest of kisses to his cheek, paralyzing him to the spot. “Good night, dear friend,” she whispered.

He followed her to the door with his eyes, unable to move or breath or blink until he heard the click of the lock, and then he sucked in air like sustenance, never surer that Marceline Murphy was meant to be his. Bowing his head, he beseeched the Almighty right then and there for the very woman who was leading him home—to God and to a life he never dared to imagine.

A force to be reckoned with. He shook his head. Him? Exhaling slowly, he made his way down the cobblestone street. “No, Marceline,” he whispered, the faintest of smiles tipping the edge of his mouth. “That would be you.”

 

Faith had given him a glimpse of something holy and rare,

a passion most pure. And despite the raging desire pumping

through his veins at the moment, he meant to have it as well.  

With—or without—the woman before him.

—Mitch Dennehy, A Passion Redeemed by Julie Lessman

Purity. Regrettably, a rare commodity in today’s world—except for those committed to doing things the right way—God’s way. Yeah, yeah, I know it seems passé to even talk about purity in a world where approximately 70 to 90% of people will live together before marriage, but the truth is that purity before marriage is a key component that God (the Milton Bradley in the game of life) set before us to show us the way to blessing in a relationship or marriage. Because regardless of what the world wants you to think, it was God who created marriage and intimacy in the first place, so He knows exactly how to make it work.

My good friend, Casey Herringshaw, is wrapping up an exceptional series on not settling that I hope each of you will check out on her “Committed to Purity” page.  Last year, I was privileged to be a contributor to her “Purity Before Marriage” series that you will also find at the link above, but I thought it might be beneficial to repost my article here today as well at the end of this post. Ironically, just as I was getting ready to do so, a dear reader friend of mine sent me a letter asking me to pray for a situation that could involve “purity” down the road, so this is for all those young women out there who love God but are struggling in today’s amoral society. I SO feel for you and SO understand where you are coming from. I have been there during one of the most “free love” eras of all time—the 60s and 70s, and I want to offer you some encouragement and proof that the most potent kind of passion you can ever experience is truly “a passion most pure.”

GIVEAWAY!!!

July 11-12, 2012: Join me at Seekerville for my July blog, “The Queen of Quirk,” where we’ll talk about giving your characters fun and memorable quirks that will enhance your writing. One comment puts you in the drawing for your choice of any of my books including my October release, A Love Surrendered, Marcy and Patrick’s prequel, A Light in the Window or book 1 of my new “Heart of San Francisco” series Love at Any Cost. Hope to see you there, and here’s the link:

http://seekerville.blogspot.com/

Have a GREAT weekend, and here’s the post that appeared on Casey’s blog on April 7, 2011.

Hugs,

Julie

It grieves me to admit it, but as a “wild child” of the 60s and 70s, purity was the very last thing I was concerned about. But … I am happy to say, the very thing God used to give me the desire of my heart—a man who would cherish me with all of his. In short, the kind of love born of … well, to coin a phrase … “a passion most pure.”

As number twelve of thirteen children in a pretty dysfunctional family, I was starved for love, so let me tell you—the “free love” era of the 60s and 70s sounded real good to me. Only guess what? It wasn’t free. Nope, it cost me a bundle in heartbreak, low self-esteem, depression and a few other things that impacted the rest of my life … and not in a good way.

But, oh, the pull of romance for a little girl who never felt loved! From the age of eight when I first sneaked downstairs to watch forbidden romantic movies while my parents were asleep, to the moment I turned the last page of Gone With the Wind at the age of twelve, I knew I wanted to be loved like that. To have a man think I was beautiful and to be loved, cherished and protected as the most important thing in his life. To be special to someone who was special to me.

It wasn’t until I was 23 years old and gave my heart to Christ that I finally understood that I was “special” to someone. Maybe not to the boyfriend who dumped me or the boys who told me they loved me to coax me into loving them, but to a God who said, “I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness,” —Jeremiah 31:3. And oh my, how my life changed on a dime!!

I went from being heartbroken, used and abused in my quest for love to channeling all that passion for romance into loving God, drinking in His love, submerging myself in His Word and basking in the glow of being “special to Someone who was special to me.” I finally understood that the kind of love my heart longed—and the kind of love He longed for me to have—was rooted in Him, in His Word and in application of His precepts.

You see, I like to think of God as Milton Bradley. He made the game of “Life” and wants us to win (reap His blessings), so he gave us the rules to follow (His precepts). In fact, this is the key message in A Passion Most Pure—Deuteronomy 30, choosing life or death, blessing or curse. It’s really quite simple. If you choose life (doing things God’s way), you will be blessed. If you choose death (doing things your own way), you will be cursed. God didn’t set it up like this to “lord” it over us, no pun intended, but so He could bless us with good things simply because He LOVES us!

So many young girls today equate strong sexual feelings with love, so they move in with their boyfriends for a while, may or may not get married and then wonder why the marriage or relationship doesn’t work. Because although sexual attraction is nice, it doesn’t sustain a marriage or a relationship and will eventually fade when the marriage or relationship does. Not only that, but I truly believe young women cut themselves off from God’s blessings in a relationship when they go against God’s precepts (the Deuteronomy 30 principal mentioned above).

I believe this so strongly, in fact, that I drummed it into my kid’s heads from little on. Imagine my joy and shock when my college-age son told me what he said to his roommate, a Christian young man who was sleeping with his Christian girlfriend. “But I thought you loved her?” my son told his friend, and the friend answered, “I do, which is why it’s so hard to stop.” My son’s response? “No, because if you really loved her, you’d want God’s best for her instead of cutting off His blessings by giving in to your own lust.”

Let me tell you—that was a “proud mom” moment, for sure!

Now for anyone who says, “That’s all good and fine for you, Julie, but it’s just too difficult to stay pure in today’s amoral society where everyone is doing it and morality is considered odd. As mentioned above, one of the key Scriptures in A Passion Most Pure is Deuteronomy 30, and Vs. 11 comes right out and says “it’s not too difficult for you or beyond your reach.” Why? Because Vs. 14 says “it is in your mouth and in your heart so you may obey it.” Notice it says “mouth” first, “heart” second. I believe that speaking and praying God’s Word over and over helps to put it in your heart so you can obey it.

And for those who call purity prudish? I hope you all agree there’s nothing prudish about my heroine, Faith O’Connor in A Passion Most Pure, just as there was nothing prudish or unrealistic about me as a new Christian in my twenties. We’re talking real women with real desires trusting God’s Word to lead them to His best. Easy? No. Doable? Yes, with God’s grace! Before I was a Christian, I was honest enough to know that doing things my way had never yielded me any happiness, only heartbreak. But, WOW, once I started applying God’s precepts, the blessings started to flow and heartbreak took a hike.

Believe me, I know because I’ve lived it, proved it. Whenever I went out on date, I would set moral boundaries (just like Faith did with Mitch in A Passion Most Pure). I soon discovered when guys realized I meant what I said, most of them didn’t take me out past four dates. This happened once with a guy I particularly liked and had a lot of fun with, so I actually phoned to ask him why he’d stopped calling. He basically told me that yeah, he’d had a great time, too, but that he could “find a girl who would give him a great time and sex as well.” I was stunned, but soon realized that what God’s morality was actually doing for me was keeping the wrong guys away (along with the hurt) and saving me for the right one AND the right time (my honeymoon). In fact, setting moral boundaries was such a part of my single Christian life I actually told my husband on our fourth date I really had enjoyed dating him and wished him well. “What are you talking about?” he asked, and I told him about my four-date experiences. God bless that man because he promptly asked me out for the fifth time, and the rest is beautiful history! This year I am celebrating 34 years of wedded bliss to a man who makes me feel as if I am living my own personal romance novel.

Seven years into my marriage, the realization of what God had done for me came full circle one morning when I was still half asleep and feeling down about a nightmare I had. In the dream, I’d been single and depressed about the fact that no one would ever love me. Trust me, as the only unmarried one in a family of thirteen kids until I was 28 years old, the loneliness and despair in that dream felt more than real! All of a sudden my husband moved in the bed beside me, and the following Scripture drifted in my mind as gently as a whisper from God: “God honors those who honor Him.” I remember lying there with tears in my eyes because once again, God had proven His Word true. And since He is “no respecter of persons,” what He did for me, He can do for you!