It's hard to be motivated when the air conditioner is broken and at this very moment I was supposed to have been in Hawaii, but I'll put on a good, but sweaty, face and try. My most exciting news is a film production company is interested in my novel, Half-Baked. I sent them the manuscript about a week ago. I don't expect much to happen. I have a friend who's been in "talks" about a film adaptation of his book for as long as I've known him (about 13 years.) Every once in a while, he goes to Hollywood. It's flattering, but also a tad scary because I signed a contract that basically said if they produce a film resembling my book I can't sue them. My daughter and I have been making book trailers. They're pretty fun. Here's the one we made for Half-Baked. (The book Pictureland Entertainment is interested in.) Our family is doing well. I introduced my husband to the library ap and he now listens to audiobooks even when he's rutting around in the yard. We finally got a bid on landscaping our backyard. I'm excited. In July, our family participated in an "I will walk 1000 mile" challenge my oldest son coordinated for us. We had a spreadsheet and recorded our daily walks or runs. Friday night, we ended it with a couple of victory laps around the lake. I didn't think I'd be much use because of my wonky knee, but--hooray--my knee is mostly better and I was able to make a good show. This month we're doing a squat challenge. It's been 20 weeks since our world shut down. We know 4 families who are renting out their houses and moving out of state just so their kids can attend school. I ache for these moms who are trying to homeschool (especially the single, working moms!) and keep kids sane while under house arrest. I couldn't have done it. We love having our two youngest daughters at home with us, and we're grateful most of our children and grandchildren live nearby. All in all, we're richly blessed--even though it's toasty. To stay cool, we go to the beach. A few weeks ago, we took the boat out in Newport Harbor. We tried fishing--without luck--but ended up giving our bait to a friendly seal who followed us for as long as our bait lasted. We also saw a pod of dolphins and a lot of waterfront mansions. I pray this letter finds you all healthy, happy, and with good books on your shelves. |
Sunday, August 2, 2020
Monday Motivation
Tuesday, July 21, 2020
Rave Reviews for The Oblivious Billionaire
5.0 out of 5 stars The Oblivious Billionaire, A Book you
want to read!
on December 31, 2019
Kristy Tate wrote a very good comedy! Haven't enjoyed a book
so much in a long time. Her characters were excellent. I hope she writes a book
about some of the secondary characters soon.
5.0 out of 5 stars Fascinating characters and story
on September 30, 2019
I loved the twists and turns of the plot as well as the
humor that could have been sad. I would have liked more of the life together at
the end of the story. Sweet dreams tonight! ThNk you for the story.
5.0 out of 5 stars Great book!
on January 28, 2019
I enjoyed reading this book! He lost his memory and she is a
nurse and took care of him in the hospital. She thinks she is in love with a
doctor and he is supposed to be engaged to someone else but they fall for each
other anyway. I recommend this book to anyone who likes romance books.
5.0 out of 5 stars The Oblivious Billionaire: A Romantic
Comedy
on May 9, 2019
I enjoyed the way the different couples interacted with each
other and how she made their lives intertwined. It was nice that she finally
woke up to what real love was. Nice way to end it
5.0 out of 5 stars Cute
on January 30, 2019
Charlie is out hiking with her brother & his girlfriend
& his best friend & his girlfriend when they find the injured Zach.
Zach has lost a bit of his memory and Charlie is helping him. The is a cute
love story.
5.0 out
of 5 stars Charlie the zack
on August 30, 2019
I loved the story of Zack and Charlie, that was a great
story
I enjoyed reading the journey of their love , the dog and
twins were a nice touch.
The Oblivious Billionaire and Bake Ziti
Ingredients
1 pound dry ziti pasta
1 onion, chopped
1 pound lean ground beef
2 (26 ounce) jars spaghetti sauce
6 ounces provolone cheese, sliced
1 ½ cups sour cream
6 ounces mozzarella cheese, shredded
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan cheese
Step 1
Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add
ziti pasta, and cook until al dente, about 8 minutes; drain.
Step 2
In a large skillet, brown onion and ground beef over medium
heat. Add spaghetti sauce, and simmer 15 minutes.
Step 3
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Butter a
9x13 inch baking dish. Layer as follows: 1/2 of the ziti, Provolone cheese,
sour cream, 1/2 sauce mixture, remaining ziti, mozzarella cheese and remaining
sauce mixture. Top with grated Parmesan cheese.
Step 4
Bake for 30 minutes in the preheated oven, or until cheeses
are melted.
FROM CHAPTER EIGHT
If
Charlie was surprised to see Chloe following him into the cabin carrying bags
of groceries, she had the grace not to show it.
“I
bought enough to invite the Palmers as well,” Zach offered as an explanation as
he set down the groceries. “Where’s Heath?”
Charlie
put her finger to her lips and pointed at the sofa where the baby lay curled into
a blanket, his thumb still in his mouth.
Zach
wondered if Charlie’s babies would look like Heath and the thought hit him like
a blow to the gut which took him completely by surprise. He fussed over the
bags of groceries to hide his feelings that he didn’t have time to diagnose.
“My
Grandma Alfonsie was half Italian.” Zach pulled out a box of pasta, a container
of Ricotta cheese, six tomatoes, a bushel of mushrooms and a sprig of fresh
basil.
“This
is not a Wonder Weight recipe, I take it,” Charlie said.
“And
I’m making a chocolate cake with Oreo frosting,” Chloe announced and she
proudly pulled out a box of Betty Baker’s fudge cake mix, a can of pre-made
frosting, and a box of Oreos. “Also, not a Wonder Weight recipe.” Chloe
wrinkled her nose at Zach as if sharing a joke. “I think women who are
constantly dieting are so boring.”
“But
health conscious,” Zach said, noticing how Chloe’s words had made Charlie’s
back stiffen.
“Did
you buy any vegetables?” Charlie asked.
“Who
needs vegetables?” Chloe poked out her tongue.
“I
do,” Zach said. “Grandma’s baked ziti wouldn’t be the same without the green
beans in brown butter sauce.”
Charlie
looked as if she wanted to kiss him, which is exactly the look Zach was going
for.
“Do
you want me to make the beans?” Charlie asked.
“Sure,”
Zach said. “Chloe, why don’t you go and invite Mr. and Mrs. Palmer?”
“But
the cake? Shouldn’t I get started on it right away?”
“The
blender would wake the baby,” Zach told her.
Chloe
looked as if she wanted to argue, but after a moment of battling indecision,
she shrugged and went out the door, closing it harder than she needed to.
“Do
you think she was trying to wake Heath?” Charlie asked, staring at the door.
“I
don’t know what she was trying to do,” Zach said, although, he had his suspicions.
“Oh,
I think I know,” Charlie said with a laugh.
“What?”
She
bumped him with her hip. “Don’t play naïve. It doesn’t suit you.”
“How
do you know what suits me?”
She
reached around him and pulled something out of a drawer. Shaking out an apron that
looked like a giant red lobster, she held it up in front of him. “This suits
you.” She put it on him and tied the strings behind his back. “There,” she
announced. “You look Mainely.”
“Mainely?”
“It’s
an old family joke. This apron is the one my grandpa wears when he cooks. Your
grandmother is from Italy, mine is from New England.” She glanced at the
package of Oreos. “I wonder if Chloe is from Candy Land.”
“So
sweet she makes my teeth hurt.”
“Maybe
to you,” Charlie muttered under her breath.
“You
don’t like Chloe?” Zach asked.
“It
doesn’t matter what I like,” Charlie said.
“I’m
guessing Dr. Palmer isn’t going to think much of her after this weekend.”
“Why
would you think that?”
Zach
bit his lip trying to decide what to say. Should he tell Charlie that Chloe
tried to kiss him once at the pond and then again at the grocery store?
“She
came onto you, didn’t she?” Charlie asked. “You have to tell Christian!”
Why?
Because then Palmer would drop Chloe and possibly try and pick up Charlie? The
thought made him ill. Charlie was way too good for Palmer. Why couldn’t she see
that?
“He
needs to figure it out for himself,” Zach told her.
“Why
is she here? If she doesn’t like him, why did she come?” Charlie began to snip
at the beans one at a time.
He
thought about telling Charlie that a woman like her would never understand a woman
like Chloe. But then he decided he would much rather show Charlie how to cut up
the beans than discuss Chloe.
“Here,”
he said. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He positioned himself behind her, brought
his arms around her and placed his hand hers.
“What?
Your grandma has a secret way of bean cutting?”
“Yeah,
doesn’t yours?” He lined up the beans in rows and edged closer to breathe in
Charlie’s warm scent. With his hand over hers, he showed her how to trim the
beans with just a couple strokes. “See?”
If
he kissed her neck, what would she do?
Tuesday, July 14, 2020
Did Your Life Turn Out the Way You Thought It Would?
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Monday, July 13, 2020
The First Chapter of The Billionaire and the Books
I'm working on my next Better Late Romance--a holiday novella for the Authors of Main Street box set.
To get in the holiday spirit (which is tricky, because the temperature is hovering around 90 degrees here), I've marked down my Christmas Collection to only 0.99 cents. Hurry and get it quick before the price, like the temperature, rises.
 |
| Only 0.99 for a few days. Get your copy now. |
The First Chapter of:
The Billionaire Buys the Books
Lauren
slipped on her shoes and slid away from the piano. Hardly anyone in the
well-heeled crowd noticed the cessation of music. After silently closing the
instrument’s lid, she stood, rolled her shoulders, and flexed her fingers. If
she hurried, she’d be able to grab a bite to eat and peruse the book display
tables.
LeAnne
Gardener, the conference Grand Poohbah, bustled across the room, a tablet in
her hand. The scowl hovering between her brows made Lauren worry that not
everyone had noticed she’d stopped playing. Fortunately, LeAnne directed her
scowl and energy at the caterers loitering near the refreshment table.
Lauren
walked as fast as she could without actually breaking into a trot. Books first.
Food second.
The
book display had been set up in one of the hotel’s smallest conference rooms.
The overstuffed chairs, end tables, tapestry rugs were striving to create a
comfy-homey feel, but they were no match for the flickering overhead lighting,
pale nondescript walls, and recycled air.
Lauren,
like the rest of the staff, wore all black, but she because she was about
thirty years older than most of the valets and caterers, she felt like an old
crow in funeral garb. She would have liked to meet Sophia Lawson, her dream
agent, in something not quite so severe and boring, but since the only way
she’d been able to afford the conference was by agreeing to play the piano for
the evening soiree reserved just for the literary professionals, she didn’t
have a choice. But since she’d spent almost all of her adult life without a lot
of options, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and bent over the
artistically arranged piles of books, searching for The Polly the Pirate
series.
She
brightened when she spotted the brightly colored books stacked in a far corner.
Lovingly, she picked one up and flipped it open. These books had been her
refuge when she’d been a lonely-only child of a dying mother and a grieving
father. And now, she had the chance to meet the author, Gloria Spicer, and, if
she was very lucky, get a chance to try and sell her book to Gloria’s agent,
Mimsy Wharton—the premier middle-grade literary agent at Wharton Literary
Agency.
When
raised voices interrupted Lauren, she glanced over her shoulder and made
eye-contact with a man in an ill-fitting suit. His dark hair had a smattering
of gray at the temples and lines crinkled around his eyes.
“I’m
trying to find a gift for my mom,” he said. “Can you help me?”
Feeling
the clock ticking down her minutes until she needed to return to her piano
bench, Lauren hesitated. Social conditioning mingling with the sincere desire
to engage in book talk kicked in. “Sure. What kind of books does your mom like?”
He
tucked his hands into his pockets. “I have no idea. That’s why I’m asking you.”
Irritation
flicked through her. “If you, her son, don’t know, why would you expect me to
know?”
“Because
you work here, don’t you?”
“Well,
yes.” Technically, she’d been hired to play the piano, not help cranky
book-buyers.
His
brow furrowed and Lauren took compassion on him. “Does she like fiction or
nonfiction?”
He
blew out a breath.
Lauren
fished around for more information. “What does she like to do?”
“She’s
a real estate agent.” His expression turned hopeful. “Are there any books about
houses?”
“Does
she like decorating?” An idea hit Lauren and she strode toward the Greta Boris
mystery series she’d spied early on a front table featuring an interior
decorator amateur sleuth. She picked up The Color of Envy. Annie
couldn’t get enough of these books.
The
man’s eyebrows shot up. “I can’t give her a murder mystery.”
“Why
not?” Maybe she was more a Hallmark sort of gal? Lauren got that. For almost a
year after her ex-husband’s violent death, she could only read light and fluffy
books. Even the Twilight books had been too heavy, even though they hadn’t
bothered children in the least. Annie continued her obsession with Greta Boris
and James had devoured a steady stream of Michael Creighton’s books at that
bleak time.
“I
don’t want to give her any ideas,” the man said.
“Oh,
okay. How about a book of poems?” Lauren’s gaze landed on a book with a bouquet
of roses on the cover. “These should be harmless enough.”
LeAnne
marched into the room. The scowl between her brows deepened when she spotted
Lauren. She pointed at the open door.
Sighing,
Lauren glanced at her watch. She’d missed her food opportunity. “I have to get
back to work.”
“But
don’t you work here?” the man asked.
“I
do. Just not in this room.”
He
seemed genuinely perplexed.
“I
should have made that clear,” Lauren said.
LeAnne
cleared her throat.
“Excuse
me,” Lauren said, brushing her hand on the man’s arm in an apology before
heading for the door and the piano in the ballroom.
#
Ron
watched the woman go. Had she been flirting with him? He was hopeless when it
came to women. And men. The only people he really felt comfortable around were
his co-workers—fellow engineers who got excited over numbers, charts, and
graphs. He softened when he thought of Margo—she had helped him navigates his
world his entire life and was especially good at handling their mother. So, why
was he here and not Margo?
Ron
picked up the book the woman in black had recommended and took it to the
cashier. Along the way, his gaze landed on a book with the picture of a beagle
on it. The Billionaire’s Beagle. If the sale of his patent went through,
he’d make a billion dollars. The thought still made his breath catch. On a
whim, he bought the book. His mother liked dogs and she loved money. A lot.
That was part of the reason he hadn’t told her about the impending deal.
After
making his purchase and waiting for the girl to gift wrap it, he headed back to
the conference. Soiree, he reminded himself of his mother’s word for the
event. What was Mom doing here? She was a realtor, not a bookish person. His
gaze swept the room and his stomach sickened when he spotted his mom at a table
with her best friend, Lois Hampton.
He
trusted Lois about as far as he could throw her, and if he’d ever be given the
chance, he’d chuck Lois out of his mom’s life. The woman was a sponge. Why
couldn’t mom see her for who she was?
Mom
spotted him and lifted a bony arm to wave him over. With heavy feet, he
navigated the room. Skirting past the tables where people in fancy clothes sat
sipping wine and nibbling on pretentious pieces of food pretending to be art.
“Darling!”
Mom stood to embrace him in a bony hug. Had she always been so brittle? He
chided himself for not visiting more often.
She
pulled away and laced her fingers through his. “I’m so glad we could connect.”
Ron
pushed his fingers through his hair. “I wish I could stay longer.”
She
reclaimed her chair and motioned for Ron to take the seat beside her. “I wish I
hadn’t already committed to this conference.” She lowered her voice. “Thanks to
Lois, we were able to smuggle you in.”
Ron
sat beside Mom and wished, for not the first time, that his mom could be more
like the seventy-five years old women who stayed at home to garden, knit, or
bake cookies, and less like... Lois.
“You
remember Lois, darling?” Mom laid her hand on Lois’s arm.
“Of
course,” Ron said. “How are you, Lois?”
Lois’s
smile didn’t reach her shrewd eyes. “I’m well.” Thanks to ample amounts of yoga
sessions and plastic surgery, both Lois and Mom looked closer to his age than
their own. Their Botox cheeks and bee-sting fat lips made him twitchy and
uncomfortable.
Ron
considered the plate before him. It held what looked like a scallop, topped
with a cherry tomato and some sort of green and orange shoots. A puce colored
sauce and been drizzled across the plate. His stomach, in want of a burger,
growled.
Ron
glanced around at their table mates—two women who each had two stacks of books
at their elbows as if their towers were competing for height, a man lost in
thought, scribbling on a notepad, another man in bottle-lens glasses with his
nose buried in a book. These were the true bookworms. Mom and Loise didn’t fit
at this table.
“I
bought you something.” Ron put the gift-wrapped book on the table and slid it
toward Mom.
Her
eyes lit up. “Thanks, sweetie.” She turned to Lois. “He’s always so thoughtful.
Never visits without bringing a gift.” She tore into the paper. The light in
her eyes dimmed when she spotted the book. “A dog book?”
“You
like dogs, right? This is a romantic comedy. And it takes place in Laguna
Beach.” Why was he trying to sell this book?
Mom
regained her composure. “Your company is a gift in and of itself,” she said in
a high bright voice.
Music
began to play. Most around him paid little attention to the swell of sound
coming from the corner of the room, but Ron swiveled in the direction of the
piano. The woman he’d met earlier in the book salon sat on the bench. Rachmaninoff,
one of his favorite composers. One of his mentor professors had always listened
to classical music at the lab while he worked, and Ron had carried on the
tradition even after Joseph had retired.
He
took in the woman at the piano. She really was lovely. Willowy, blonde,
pink-cheeked. Her fingers stroked the keys with grace. Could he muster the
nerve to talk to her again? No. What would be the point? His work was in Massachusetts,
and she and her piano were in Orange County.
A
middle-aged woman in a red dress stopped beside Lois. “I’m so excited about
this,” she gushed. “I emailed you my manuscript immediately after our
conversation. Did you get it?”
Lois
plastered on a polite smile and winked at Mom. “Let me see.” Lois pulled her
phone out of her Kate Spade bag and tapped on it. “Why, yes. Here it is. Hadley
Brighton, right?”
The
woman’s expression fell. “No, Mary Hadley. I sent you The Tales From the
Edge.”
“That’s
right.” Lois regained her composure. “Riveting.” Lois laid her hand on Mom’s
arm. “Do you remember my telling you about it?” She turned back to the Mary.
“This is @MOM. She’s the mastermind behind Cerealan Skye Publishing.”
“You’re
a publisher?” Mary placed her hand on her heart as if to slow its beating.
Wait.
What? Ron forgot all about Rachmaninoff and the lovely woman at the piano and
he turned his attention to Mom. The realtor. Not publisher.
“She’s
definitely someone to know,” Lois said.
Everyone
else at the table lasered their attention on Mom. She flushed beneath their
collective gazes.
“I’ve
never heard of Cerealan Blue Publishing,” the woman with the tallest stack of
books said.
Me
neither, Ron thought.
“They’re
very prestigious,” Lois said. “a discriminating boutique firm.”
“We’re
still fairly new,” Mom said, sliding a Lois a conspiratorial glance.
When
the soiree finally ended and the lovely woman at the piano slid off her bench and
closed the piano lid, Ron hoped to have a moment alone with Mom.
“I’m
sorry, sweetie,” Mom said. “But the evening has just started for me. Most of
the deals are made at the bar.”
“The
bar?” Ron echoed.
Mom
plucked the linen napkin off her lap and laid it beside her the plate of her
barely touched crème brulee. “You’re welcome to join us.”
The
others at the table had taken their books and headed for where ever. Lois stood
a few feet away, tapping her size-six foot.
Fighting
the tension headache brewing beneath his brow, Ron scrunched his forehead. “What’s
this publishing company?”
“Oh
darling, it’s the most brilliant scheme,” Mom whispered.
Scheme?
He didn’t like schemes. He liked numbers, graphs, formulas, mathematical equations.
To him, schemes and Lois were synonymous and he wanted nothing to do with
either. If only he could convince his mom to feel the same.
“I
can’t wait to tell you all about it. You’ll be at the house tomorrow when I get
home?”
“I’m
catching a red-eye to Boston in the evening.”
Mom
wilted with relief. “Oh good. We’ll have lots of time to chat. Have you seen
@SISTER?”
“We’re
going to brunch tomorrow.”
“Oh,
I’m sorry to miss that. But work is work. You know how it is.” She patted his
chest before kissing his cheek. “Ta, darling. Can’t wait to have our gab-session.”
But
Ron didn’t know how it was. His work he understood—although, granted, most of
the world didn’t. Even though people were surrounded by micro-WHATEVERS, not
very people had any interest in them. Until they got sick.
His
app, if used, would help stop with the spread of disease.
Mom’s
work, until a few months ago, had been selling houses. Before that, she’d been
a make-up artist selling fifty-dollar tubes of lipstick. Before that, she’d
been an organization guru. Mom had the ability to reinvent herself more than
anyone he knew. Maybe that’s why his biologist father had fallen in love with
her. She was more chameleon than human.
There
were things about himself that Ron would like to change—like the ability to
converse with pretty pianists—but he lacked the skill. He was more like his
father than his mother in that regard.
Thursday, July 2, 2020
Research on Memory Loss for The Oblivious Billionaire
Get Your Copy Here
I remember when I'd been feeling a bit stymied with my work in progress, The Oblivious Billionaire. In part, because it's a fluffy rom-com, and until that Sunday, I didn't think it would have much depth.
It's the story of a rich man who loses seven years of his memory, and, of course, meets and falls in love with a woman who--although she doesn't suffer from memory loss--also needs to wake up to reality.
I was about fifty pages in and despite the great scenes I had planned, I was having trouble putting words on the page.
But during a Sunday church service, a cute girl shared a story of a woman that she met while serving a mission. This woman had lost seven years of her memory and didn't remember her conversion to the gospel or the friends she'd made since her baptism.
Because of the coincidence of the circumstances and the similar lapse of years, I felt as if heaven was urging me to write my story.
I reached out to the woman, and she was gracious and kind. Her words are golden and suddenly my story didn't seem as fluffy or shallow as I had thought. Here's a summary of her message. I hope you'll find it as touching as I do.
I reached out to the woman, and she was gracious and kind. Her words are golden and suddenly my story didn't seem as fluffy or shallow as I had thought. Here's a summary of her message. I hope you'll find it as touching as I do.
Some surprises that I faced were not knowing or recognizing people I had known or met in the past 6 years when I lost my memory. I went back and I acted the age I thought I was. It was hard with my friends because we had to be reintroduced and they had to try to explain our friendship and all the times we had spent together. It was also hard with my family because I had no recollection of where we now lived or how my siblings had grown and changed. I had no memory of my 4 yr old cousin.
I would want people to know that is is a hard experience to go through but the only way for things to get back to normal is I have to be treated like normal. No one could expect me to be the person I used to be. Traumatic brain injuries permanently alter your personality. Even if you get your memory back, you'll never really be the same. A few lessons I have learned from this experience are savor every moment and treat everyone as if that is the last time you'll ever see them. After this experience, I came to see that every day is special and everything can change in an instant. Take chances because you may not get another one. Tell people how you feel. After my accident, I came to find that my fear of rejection was smaller than my fear of missing out on something amazing. I have also come much closer to God and have been strengthening my relationship with Him because I know today is the only day we are promised, and I want to do all I can to serve him every day.
The Oblivious Billionaire is the second book in my Misbehaving Billionaire's series. It's free today. You can get your copy HERE
Thursday, June 25, 2020
What Blessings Have You Found in the Great Covid-19 Detour?
“Some luck lies in not getting what you thought you wanted
but getting what you have, which once you have got it you may be smart enough
to see is what you would have wanted had you known.” – Garrison Keillor
It’s June. Shouldn’t the flu season be over by now? Why are
people still getting sick? Why are the numbers rising instead of falling? Where
is the end? What lies at the end of this road?
This isn’t the year I had planned. I know that almost
everyone on the planet is feeling the same, but that knowledge doesn’t help.
In some ways, I feel like it’s the analogy of planning a
trip to Italy, buying guide books, maps, reading up on the Renaissance, practicing
Italian, buying a wardrobe of summery clothes, plus sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat. Now that you’re all packed with a passport in your hand, you board
the plane, settle in for a long flight with your novel, The Florence Affair,
the pilot suddenly announces there’s been a change of plans. You’re not
going to Italy, after all. You’re heading to the Scottish Highlands.
You really don’t know anything about Scotland. Maybe twenty
years ago you may have read Outlander, but that wasn’t much of an introduction.
Plus, your suitcase has a pair of sandals, not hiking boots. You’re dumped off
the plane. The people are lovely and kind, and supposedly they’re speaking
English, but it’s a dialect you can barely understand. You ditch your clothes
and stock up on sweaters, wool socks. Eventually, as the shock wears off, you
discover castles, wide skies, you explore fairy ponds and go in search of the
Loch Ness Monster.
You find yourself in a life you never could have supposed.
Unplanned and yet, beautiful. The scriptures tell us in Proverbs, Trust in
the LORD with all your heart; and lean not unto your own understanding.
In all your ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct
your paths.
What blessings have you found in the great covid 19 detour?
What beyond your imagination things have come your way in the past three
months?
If you’re not seeing them, here are a few inspirational quotes
to help you look a little closer.
“There is in every true woman’s heart a spark of heavenly
fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity; but which kindles
up, and beams and blazes in the dark hour of adversity. “
– Washington Irving
“Embrace uncertainty. Some of the most beautiful chapters in
our lives won’t have a title until much later.” – Bob Goff
“Infuse your life with action. Don’t wait for it to happen.
Make it happen. Make your own future. Make your own hope. Make your own love.
And whatever your beliefs, honor your creator, not by passively waiting for
grace to come down from upon high, but by doing what you can to make grace
happen… yourself, right now, right down here on Earth.” – Bradley Whitford
“We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as
to have the life that is waiting for us.” – Joseph Campbell
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