Journal Jots – Blog
Welcome to my Journal Jots blog! This is a broad mix of what’s on my mind, allowing me to feel a little bit closer to some of the most important people in my life—YOU! From news on sales, freebies, giveaways, new releases, and excerpts from works in progress … to my thoughts on my walk with God, daily devotionals, or photos of my family, this is where you’ll find the most current glimpse into my books and my life. I invite you to subscribe in the “subscribe” box on the right side of this page to automatically receive an email whenever I post a blog. Till then, God bless and HAPPY READING!
FRIDAY, AUGUST 31, 2012
Marcy stood at Mrs. Gerson’s kitchen window, in bleak harmony with the rivulets of water that slithered down the pane. It was a slow and steady rain, endless weeping from a gray and dismal sky, and Marcy felt a kinship with it. It showed no signs of letting up, much like the grief in her heart over the loss of her husband. A silent mourning over a spouse who was still very much alive, but whose love was as cold and dead as any corpse.
—A Passion Denied, by Julie Lessman
Ever feel like that? In bleak harmony with the rivulets of water that slither down the pane? Endless weeping from a gray and dismal sky?
Ironically, that’s exactly where I am this morning, sitting outside on my lower deck in the midst of a gray and misty morning. There’s drizzle all around me, weeping from the sky and from my eyes.
Why? I’m not really sure. Maybe it’s because I’ve just been through a week of emotional overload with Aunt Julie, who, I am THRILLED to say, is now back home at Delmar, pneumonia-free and pretty as a picture in her new hairdo, doing better than any of us dared to hope. I always smile and shake my head, because never have I met a more resilient woman. On the verge of death this last week, doctors and nurses told us she had only hours to live—THREE different times, up and down—and the prognosis was so bad that we made funeral arrangements. But God intervened and there is no way I cannot adequately express my appreciation for all of your prayers and support during one of the hardest times I’ve had in a long while. God bless you all—faithful Aarons and Hurs to my Moses, holding my arms up to a God who delivers.
So I should be jumping for joy, right? AJ is out of the woods, A Light in the Window went live for preorder on Amazon (more on this below) and it’s FRIDAY, for pity’s sake—my favorite day of the week! And yet the one song that keeps circling in my brain as it rains all around me is As My Guitar Gently Weeps by George Harrison.
Go figure.
I’m guessing that once I got off that emotional roller-coaster with AJ, my head was dizzy and my legs awobble, sapping my energy and leaving me wrung out. Not exactly a good state of mind for facing impending overdue deadlines where nearly two weeks were snatched from my calendar. That’s the bad news.
The good news? Nothing leads me to the throne of God more than an emotional collapse, where I cling to a Savior who doesn’t just comfort my soul and dry my eyes, He “puts my tears in a bottle,” as Psalm 56:8 says and “rescues those whose spirits are crushed.” Psalm 34:18.
Ah, yes, “crushed.” Or a little blue … or a little tired … or a little overwhelmed.
Most of us really don’t like to cry because we associate it with pain, sorrow or depression and yet there are those good times too—laughing so hard you cry, tender moments that have you tearing up, crackers in the eyes for sympathy purposes, or even those lip-trembling Hallmark commercials, which get me every single time. Of course, I’m a natural weeper, I suppose because I’m SO full of passion and drama and emotion that sometimes I just need to come down from that mountain and weep. You know—crawl up into the lap of a loving God and lean on His strength, His peace, His hope? And, oh, yes … His amazing love and grace … surrounding me like the tender arms of a husband—strong, protective and sure.
Reminding me—All. Over. Again.—that there is no place on earth I would rather be than in the lap of the Father, relying on Him instead of myself. Sinking into that warm, safe cloud of His “everlasting” and “unfailing” love, where I am the “apple of His eye.” It’s there where something amazing and truly supernatural happens. My focus is clear despite the blur of tears because I suddenly remember with total clarity and confidence that in the midst of all that saltwater, He has never let me down. Not once.
Not as a lonely, single 23-year-old estranged from her family.
Not when my father died after God healed our relationship.
Not when my marriage was hanging by a thread.
Not when my son was diagnosed with cancer.
Not when a tumor took my appendix and eleven inches of colon.
Not when my car was totaled with me in it on the way to a prayer meeting.
Not in the face of two total rewrites on plots my editor challenged.
Not when Aunt Julie almost died last year and finally survived hospice.
And not last week when she faced death once again.
Nope, He was always there, always comforting, always carrying my load. Always loving me through the trials and tribulations in my life.
And for that alone, the tears are worth it, prying my fingers loose from the busyness of life and making me focus on the faithfulness of Jesus. Because I am of like mind with Emma Malloy in A Heart Revealed when she says:
“No one escapes being hurt in this life, Sean, because unfortunately, we live in a fallen world. But please believe me when I say . . .” Her voice gentled, as soothing and peaceful as the patter of rain on the marble sill. “There’s a great gift in pain.”
Oh my, yes, and it’s called joy and hope and peace when life forces us to cling tight to the Lover of our Souls Who turns our “wailing into dancing” and “clothes us with joy.”
Have a great week and may all your tears be tears of joy over the goodness of God in your life.
HUGE FAVOR!!!! When you get a chance, PLEASE hop on over to Amazon.com to “LIKE” (and preorder if you want!) my new e-book, A Light in the Window, which features my daughter Amy as Marceline Murphy O’Connor on a cover my talented husband designed. Here’s the link and THANK YOU!!
GIVEAWAYS!!!
Join 
me and a host of other contributing authors for a FACEBOOK PARTY ON TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4 (8 PM EST, 7 PM CST, 6 PM MST AND 5 PM PST) where you can win books, gift certificates or a Beautiful Pearl Necklace.
I am privileged to be one of many authors who are part of the fabulous new devotional called Mother of Pearl, which celebrates the collective iridescence of motherhood. Margaret McSweeney presents a collection of heartfelt vignettes from authors who communicate the importance of the unique relationships between mothers and their children, between granddaughters and grandmothers and between children and the mother-figures in their lives.
Check out the Pearl Girls Faceback page at: http://www.facebook.com/PearlGirlsCommunity.
Then show up at the Facebook party at the following link for lots of fun and prizes!!
http://www.facebook.com/events/442400879145523/
Hugs,
Julie
SATURDAY, AUGUST 25, 2012
“For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord.
So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.”
—Romans 14:8
I gotta tell you — this has been one rugged week, which is why I am late with this Jot. As I write this, I am sitting in a hospital room with my precious Aunt Julie who has literally been on a roller-coaster with death since late Wednesday night when she went to the emergency room, unable to keep food down.
She looked awful when we arrived in the ER—pale, breathing rapidly and eyes glazed. As the responsible party, let me tell you that I quaked in my sandals when the ER doctor told me our only option might be a feeding tube inserted in her stomach, something my aunt most adamantly specified in her end-of-life dictates that she did NOT want. They finally settled her in a room at 2:00 AM, and my husband and I left exhausted, weighed down by the decision that loomed before us.
The next day, AJ was sitting up in bed comfortably and looked like a million bucks, bolting down breakfast and most of her lunch like a college football player. I exhaled a HUGE sigh of relief and felt almost giddy when the doc said she should be able to go home in a day or two.
And then her heart rate went crazy and her blood pressure plummeted, and two different doctors and two different nurses told us to prepare for the end because her organs were shutting down.
Frantic, I called my cousin in Kansas City and told her to come, then notified the rest of the family. The next day, doctors’ jaws were dropping (literally!!) when they stared at Aunt Julie while she plowed through huge mounds of pureed lunch like a farmer after a hunger strike. One doc just shook his head and said he didn’t know what to say. But I did—PRAISE GOD!!!
The next morning, she took a turn for the worse, and they feared she would die in hours. That was yesterday. Today, she is still chowing down tons of food and the kidney failure is reversing and she looks like a million bucks again.
That’s my Aunt Julie—resilient, stubborn, spunky and never say die! Sounds like the perfect romance heroine, doesn’t it???
I gotta tell you—I have NEVER liked roller-coasters, EVER, because a CDQ like me just doesn’t handle the ups and downs all that well, which is a good thing I guess, because it means I cling to God all the more. Whether I am rejoicing during the giddy highs or careening down at breakneck speed to what I am sure will be my sudden death, HE is the only thing that brings stability and peace and hope, no matter the highs or lows, no matter the laughing or the mourning. Because the bottom line in life or death is the truth of the Scripture above. “Whether we live or whether we die … we are the Lord’s,” and never have I been happier to know that than now.
Your prayers for my Aunt Julie and me and my family are greatly appreciated, no matter where God takes this, no matter what His decision may be. I cannot thank you enough for your friendship … and she and I can’t thank you enough for your prayers!
Hugs,
Julie
NOTE: THE FOLLOWING GIVEAWAY ENDS TODAY (SATURDAY NIGHT, 8/25) AT MIDNIGHT!!!
THREE CHANCES TO WIN!!! Win your choice of any of my books INCLUDING A Love Surrendered or A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story (e-book only) at INKSPIRATIONAL MESSAGES BLOG. Hope to see you there! Here’s the link:
http://inkspirationalmessages.com/2012/08/welcome-julie-lessman/
FRIDAY, AUGUST 17, 2012
“His breathing was ragged like hers, warm and sweet
with the faint scent of chocolate from his chocolate cream pie, and when his gaze
lowered to her lips, heat coiled through her so strong,
it sapped all moisture from her throat.
—A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story
—by Julie Lessman
Okay, okay, I have an addiction to romance, but thankfully, only the kind with God in the middle. And guess what I’ve learned through 34 years of marriage?? Passion for romance is not only what God wants for us, but also what He wants from us—passion in our romance with Him that leaves us breathless and cherished and oh, SO very grateful for His hand in our lives.
As a matter of fact, I’m pretty crazy about passion in any form, be it spiritually or romantically, which is why I am SO excited about my upcoming Christmas e-book, A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story. Not only was I passionate about writing this prequel to Marcy and Patrick’s story in the first place, but I’m passionate about the cover my talented artist husband created (which features my daughter Amy holding a snow globe that is part of the story) AND the story itself!
A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story begins in 1895 following a decade of explosive industrial growth and immigration that Mark Twain called America’s “Gilded Age,” when the nation plummets into the worst economic depression at that time.
Marceline O’Connor and her best friend Julie O’Rourke have been selected to assist Sister Mary Frances with the Christmas play fundraiser for the St. Mary’s parish soup kitchen. The play is called A Light in the Window, based on the Irish custom of placing a candle in the window on Christmas Eve to welcome strangers as if welcoming the Holy Family.
One of the reasons I am so passionate about this story is because of the poignant message behind this beautiful Irish custom, a message driven home by the play itself and Marcy’s grandmother Mima when she arrives for Christmas. Mima cautions Marcy to guard her heart for the type of man who will respond to the “light in the window,” meaning the message of Christ in her heart. Marcy soon discovers that although two men have professed their undying love for her, only one has responded to “the light in the window.” This is a message I learned myself as a young woman and a message I long to pass on.
And so, in honor of the release of my final cover, I thought it fitting to give you another sneak peek at this very special story, which will be available for pre-order SOON (as an e-book only, although I will have some contests where I will send a printed ms. out to the winner if need be).
But before I do, here are a few opportunities for you to win a copy of it or any of my books, including A Love Surrendered.
GIVEAWAYS!!!
HURRY!! THE FOLLOWING GIVEAWAY ENDS TODAY, FRIDAY, 8/17, AT 5:00 PM CENTRAL TIME!!
Join me for my Seeker post entitled “Kiss-ology 101: Warming up the Pages with Romantic Tension.” I’ll include plenty of excerpts from upcoming books and have a giveaway of any of my books including A Love Surrendered or A Light in the Window, so hope to see you there!
http://seekerville.blogspot.com/2012/08/kiss-ology-101-warming-up-pages-with.html
AUGUST 17-22, 2012:
Win your choice of any of my books INCLUDING A Love Surrendered or A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story (e-book only) at HARDCOVER FEEDBACK BLOG. Hope to see you there! Here’s the link:
http://hardcoverfeedback.blogspot.com/2012/08/julie-lessman-interview-and-giveaway.html
AUGUST 24 – 25, 2012:
THREE CHANCES TO WIN!!! Win your choice of any of my books INCLUDING A Love Surrendered or A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story (e-book only) at INKSPIRATIONAL MESSAGES BLOG. Hope to see you there! Here’s the link:
http://inkspirationalmessages.com/
And now, without further ado, here is a sneak peek at a scene from A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story where Marcy and Patrick are doing dishes at the St. Mary’s soup kitchen where they both volunteer, following a very serious discussion about Marcy and her romantic relationship with Sam O’Rourke.
A Light in the Window: An Irish Christmas Love Story
One Woman. Two Men.
One stirs her pulse and the other her faith.
But who will win her heart?
“Shall we toss to see who mops the floor?” she asked, forcing a levity to her tone she didn’t quite feel.
He slipped the now damp dishtowel over a brass hook bolted to the side of the cabinet and turned, a glimmer of tease invading his serious gaze. “Odd, I wouldn’t have pegged you for a gambling woman, Miss Murphy.” He slanted against the counter, arms folded.
She flipped a stray curl over her shoulders and sashayed into the kitchen, dishrag in hand and a smirk on her face. “Of course I am, Mr. O’Connor—I gambled on friendship with you, didn’t I?”
Fishing a coin from his pocket, he shot her a grin. “That was a matter of intelligence, not risk.” He lobbed a nickel at her and she caught it one-handed, coaxing a throaty chuckle from his lips. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before, Marceline?”
“Because I have,” she said with a cocky smile, feeling a bit reckless. She strutted over and fisted her hand, thumb tucked and dishrag dangling while she positioned the coin on top. “Julie and I used to toss to see who got to read a book first, you know.”
His teeth gleamed white. “How decadent.”
Her smile was smug. “No, Mr. Wiseacre, ‘decadent’ will be me enjoying an oatmeal cookie at the table with feet propped while you mop the floor.” She arched a brow. “Ready?” With practiced dexterity, she popped her thumb beneath the nickel, and it launched in the air, her breathing suspended while the coin toppled over and over.
Plunk. With a devious smile, Patrick snatched it just inches from her hand and slapped it on top of his. “Call it.”
She pursed her lips, eyes squinted as she tried to visualize which side of the coin it might be. “Heads,” she said with a confident hike of her chin, praying her intuition was correct.
His groan rose in the air when he lifted his palm. “I hate mopping the floor,” he muttered, slipping the nickel back in his pocket.
Giddy over her win, she giggled. “Don’t be a baby, Patrick, a little soapy water won’t hurt you.” Mischief bubbled up along with her laughter as she sloshed the rag in the sudsy dishwater and flicked it at him, intending only to splatter a few drops his way. She gasped when the rag accidentally flew from her hand. Eyes wide, her jaw dropped as it pelted him in the face and fell to the floor, leaving soapy water sluicing down his dark-bristled cheek. “Oh, P-patrick, I am so s-sorry …” Her voice trailed off into a fit of giggles she could no more stop than the water stains that dribbled down his trousers into a puddle at his feet.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that, darlin’ …” he said with a glint of retaliation. Whisking the sopping rag up off of the floor, he squeezed it with a lightning thrust of his arm, showering Marcy’s torso—and Miss Clara’s apron front—with soapy water.
Marcy shrieked and giggled, but not before dousing Patrick’s chest with a slash of her hand in the sink, slamming him with a wave of dirty dishwater before she darted away. Flushed with excitement, she felt like a little girl again, having a pillow fight with Julie. Adrenaline coursed while she scrambled to the other side of the table, her breathing hard and hands braced to a chair. “Come on, Patrick—truce,” she begged, tone breathless.
Dipping the dishrag into the dirty water once again, he casually tossed the sodden rag back and forth while he ambled toward the table with a wicked grin. “Sure, Marceline—right after I even the score.”
Her stomach skittered as she pleaded, eyes darting to the door and back with a nervous laugh. “Miss Clara will be back any minute, and she said not to start any trouble.”
Step by step, his grin never wavered as he rounded the table. “I didn’t.”
“Patrick, please—I’ll be good, I promise.” Her body pulsed with adrenaline as she skirted the table in the opposite direction, praying Miss Clara would return before she got soaked.
His husky chuckle sent goose bumps up her arms. “I know, Marcy—good and wet.”
With a wild shriek she made a break for the door, laughing so hard, she didn’t hear him coming until he whirled her around. Her laughter turned to squeals when she tried to get away, but he clamped a steel arm to her waist while he held the rag dangerously close to her neck. “Repeat after me, Marceline,” he whispered, eyes issuing a challenge. “Patrick, I’m a brat, I’m sorry, and I will never do this again.”
Pulse sprinting, she giggled, eyes flicking from him to the rag in his hand, weighing her options. “And if I don’t?”
One dark brow jutted high as his smile eased into a grin. “You won’t have to bathe tonight, darlin’.”
His words warmed both her cheeks and her temper. “You wouldn’t,” she dared.
“Only one way to find out.” There was a bit of the devil in his eye, the rag dangling precariously close to her neck
Marcy sucked in a deep breath. “All right, Patrick,” she said, skin tingling with mischief and eye on the rag, “I’m a brat, I’m sorry, and I … won’t promise—” Lunging, she whipped the rag from his hands so fast, he never saw it coming, christening him with dirty dishwater like Father Fitz christened babies in the back of the church.
He hooked her waist before she could escape, and her high-pitch giggles merged with his husky laughter as she flailed in his arms, a death grip on the soppy rag thrashing over their heads. Dishwater flew every which way while he tried to reclaim it, but Marcy hid it behind her back with squeals of laughter. Locking her to his chest with one arm, he circled her waist with his other, his breath warm on her cheek as he grappled to claim the win.
“Give … it … up … Patrick,” she breathed, her words punctuated by shrieks and shallow rasps as she tried to wrestle free, “you will … never win …”
Her words seemed to paralyze him, and in a single heave of her breath, his body stilled against hers. She could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest, the hot press of his arm at the small of her back, the wild hammering of her pulse in her ears. All at once, she was painfully aware of his nearness, bare inches away from the dark stubble that peppered his jaw. His hard-muscled chest was so close she could almost feel the dampness of his shirt while the familiar scent of spices and pine whirled her senses. His breathing was ragged like hers, warm and sweet with the faint scent of chocolate from his chocolate cream pie, and when his gaze lowered to her lips, heat coiled through her so strong, it sapped all moisture from her throat.
The silence was deafening as he stared, a battle waging in eyes that eclipsed to a dark fervor, shocking her when they quivered her belly. “I will never give up, Marceline,” he whispered, his words a tender caress. His lips parted to emit shallow breaths, and fire singed when his glance flickered to her mouth once again.
“T-take it …” she whispered, alarm curling in her stomach. Dear Lord, had he meant to kiss me? Prodding the rag to his chest, she pushed him away while heat throbbed in her cheeks. She took an awkward step back, gaze on the floor as she buffed at her arms with brisk motion. “Goodness, Miss Clara will have our hides,” she said with nervous chuckle, unable to look at him even yet. “You win, Patrick—I surrender.” She forced a casual tone and attempted to side-step him on her way to the broom closet.
Her heart seized when he halted her with a gentle hand. “Marcy …” His voice was somber and steeped with regret. “Please forgive me …”
“For what?” A deep voice sounded from the door, shattering what was left of Marcy’s calm.
Meet Julie
