"Mama! The Chocolate's Here!"

I took the stairs two at a time to the third floor of the Jennings Building and ran down the two hallways that formed an “L” to get to Apartment 8. By the time I arrived, I was out of breath.

Mama dried her hands on a dishtowel. “Where’s the fire?” That wasn’t very funny, considering that the Jennings Building suffered a fire of some sort on one of its three levels every few months.

“The candy’s in!” Mama knew why I was dancing a jig around the kitchen.

 “Settle down, Sharon Kay. Do they have the Wayne peanut clusters with the maple filling?”

 “Yes, ma’am!” They’re opening the boxes and filling the bins now. They have both kinds—the maple and the vanilla. And they got chocolate stars and kisses and chocolate covered peanuts and raisins and vanilla drops and toffee and…”

 “Whoa! Slow down, girl.” She went to her pocketbook, pulled out her change purse, and handed me a quarter. “Get twenty-five cents’ worth of the maple crème nut clusters.”

 “Yes, ma’am! They got hazelnut snowballs, too.”

 “Good. That will be for another week. Just the clusters today.”

The ladies at the candy counter of Murphy’s dimestore knew me by name. They also knew I had just been in the store taking inventory of the shipment of the season’s first chocolate candy. Several of the candy bins were heaped with fresh, shiny chocolate candy already. It was a big deal when the first chocolate of autumn arrived.

Stores didn’t carry chocolate candy in the summertime for two reasons. First, it would melt. Second, the worms would come. Too often I had bought leftover chocolate candy bars at Hook’s Drug Store, only to open them and find tiny worms crawling around. I’m sure they were the larva of something or other that also liked chocolate. Mama said she thought the eggs must already have been in the chocolate, waiting to hatch when warm weather came and the chocolate was soft. That’s a mystery I never solved.

The two ladies who worked the counter greeted me with broad smiles.

 “Twice in one day?” said the shorter and plumper of the two. “What can I get for you?”

 “A quarter’s worth of the maple clusters, please.” I had the quarter and a dime ready to hand over. While I waited, breathing in the fragrance of all the candies mingled together, I eyed the chocolate covered mixed nuts. How I longed to buy some of those! Brazil nuts, cashews, almonds, pecans—all covered with a thick coating of chocolate deliciousness. But, alas, they were too rich for my…Mama’s…pocketbook. Someday. Someday. 

The clerk handed the white sack over the counter. “Anything else?”

 “Yes, please. Ten cents’ worth of the Spanish peanuts.” 

I paid for those with my own money. I always appreciated it when folks would drink their soda pop and leave the empty bottles standing up against a building or laying in the gravel along the train tracks. I’d gather them up and take them to the corner newsstand, where the owner would give me two cents deposit back for each bottle, as long as it was in good shape. Two cents plus two cents plus two cents plus two cents plus two cents equaled enough to buy two ounces of warm, freshly roasted Spanish peanuts. Looking back with grown-up eyes, I think those salesclerks, sweet ladies that they were, sometimes gave me a wee bit more than I paid for.

 When I got home with the Wayne maple crème peanut clusters, Mama already had the coffee brewing. Fresh chocolate was an event, and Mama made it into a special memory, as well. She limited our intake for that day to two clusters each, to make sure that we had a couple more days’ worth of celebration.

Moral of the story? Don’t take your chocolate for granted. Four months without it is a long time.

That Tuesday with Annabelle

 Think of the perfect September day. August’s sultry dog days are history. Puffball clouds drift across the azure sky. The colors of autumn are starting to wash over early-turning trees.

That Tuesday was the perfect September day. Morning news droned from the TV, as I hurried around to get ready to meet my friend Annabelle at Cracker Barrel for breakfast.

“We interrupt this program to bring you breaking news.” The announcer’s voice carried a heavy weight of import. I froze in my steps and pivoted to face the TV. He explained the horror I saw on the screen. A plane had flown into one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center.

I immediately called Annabelle. “Is your TV on? If not, turn it on now!” I gripped the phone tightly while I awaited her return.

Her voice trembled. “Oh, no! Dear Lord, n…!”

“Nooooooooooooo!” I screamed as a second plane flew into the other twin.

Hearing the first report, I thought it surely was an accident. Had the pilot suffered a heart attack? Had some control gone awry? What happened? When the second plane hit, I, along with the rest of the world, knew it was no accident. The United States of America was under attack!

My friend and I were greatly shaken. For a few moments, we prayed and wept together.

“Do you still want to meet for breakfast?” I said.

“Yes. I need to.”

“So do I.”

I couldn’t believe Cracker Barrel. Everything was business as usual. What had I expected? A pall? A somberness? Something. Yes.

The hostess greeted us cheerfully and seated us immediately. We put in our coffee orders and opened the menus—which we ignored, as we looked around the restaurant. People were talking and laughing, sipping coffee, clattering silverware against earthenware plates.

“They don’t have a clue, Annabelle. They don’t know what has happened.” I had to restrain myself, because I wanted to stand up and let them know that this morning their world had changed forever. No. Let them laugh. Let them enjoy a few more minutes of peace. They’ll know soon enough.

My favorite server came to take our orders.

“Have you heard the news?” I said.

Her smile vanished. “Yes. We’re listening in the kitchen.”

Going our separate ways after breakfast was hard. We recognized that we had shared a significant historical tragedy, one that every American living at the time and old enough to understand would have a story to tell. I know I will never forget that Tuesday with Annabelle.

'Tis the Season for Cozy Cottage Concerts!

How many people can you fit comfortably into your living or family room? Seven? Twenty? That's a perfect number for a comfy Cozy Cottage Concert! If you plan it around Christmas, it becomes a comfy Cozy Cottage Christmas Concert. Invite your favorite folks over for snacks and a storytelling performance by Sharon Kirk Clifton. Some restrictions apply. The stories must be a part of Sharon's regular repertoire, all of which are family-friendly, and the "cottage" must be smoke-free. Contact Sharon for more information. (See contact information on the "Storytelling Programs" page of this blog.)

Introducing The Innkeeper's Wife

The Innkeeper's Wife is a project that has captivated my heart from the very beginning. It is a first-person storytelling drama that spans Jesus' life from His incarnation to His ascension and concluding with the events of Pentecost.

* * *

As the innkeeper's spouse, I tell of His miraculous birth from the perspective of Mary's midwife. Since both Mary and Joseph are kinsmen of my husband, we will have many occasions to host them, especially at the time of Passover each year. When the wee Babe becomes a man and begins His ministry, I do the best I can to keep up with news about Him.

I'm there with the other women on that horrible day when pure, holy, sinless Love gives Himself to be crucified. 

* * *

Whether I'm working on a writing project--fiction or nonfiction--or a storytelling program, I revel in the research aspect nearly as much as presentation of the final product, because I learn so much--more than I would ever be able to include in a single program, which is why no two live performances are ever exactly the same. I let the Lord lead. He customizes each program.

Be thinking about when your church, women's fellowship, youth group, children's worship, etc., would like to schedule a presentation. Though The Innkeeper's Wife is always in season, it is especially suitable for Christmas, Resurrection, Passover, and Pentecost observances.

Contact for more information.

The Way I See It: "Merry Christmas!"

No. 1

Here we are, once again, in the beautiful Advent season. And here we are, once again, trying to make a lost world wish us a merry Christmas as we go through the check-out line. The sad truth is that we may as well say, “Merry Giftmas,” since that pretty much plumbs the depth of understanding for most people. 

When I greet folks, I’ll say, “Merry Christmas.” I may even emphasize His title: Christ. If I know someone is Jewish, I’ll say, “Happy Hanukkah!” Jesus celebrated Hanukkah. It’s a beautiful, meaningful time that reminds us of God’s loving care for His chosen people. I’m glad that it comes around the same time as we Christ-followers celebrate the incarnation of God’s Son, our Savior, the Light of the World.

The way I see it is this: CHRISTmas is our holy day. Why would I want to force non-believers to greet me in a prescribed way. It’s meaningless to them. If they want to, I’m not going to get upset or offended, but I’m not going to demand it. I want my life to reflect my Lord. Perhaps the Kingdom of God would be better served if, instead of demanding a certain greeting—or even signage—we looked for opportunities to engage in dialogue explaining the importance of our holy days of Christmas, Resurrection Sunday, and, yes, Thanksgiving, speaking the Truth in love.

That’s the way I see it.

A Nation of Uncivil Cry-Babies

Barronelle Stutzman, floral artist

Barronelle Stutzman thought she knew the young man who had been her customer for several years. Whenever he came into her shop where she created her floral artistry, he always asked for her. They shared many cordial conversations. She knew he was gay; he knew she was a Christian.

Then one day he announced he was getting "married" to his partner, and he wanted her to create the floral arrangements for their union. Barronelle respectfully explained to him that she could not do that. As a follower of Christ, she accepted God's definition of marriage as being a sacred ceremony among one man, one woman, and Christ. She told her friend that it was a covenant with the church. To use her art to celebrate something that would violate her core beliefs was unthinkable. Her customer seemed to understand. She went on to recommend other florists in the area who could do the job. He seemed to accept her answer.

Some time later, she was notified that she was being sued. Since then, she has be harassed and maligned by members and supporters of the LGBTQ faction of our country.

Barronelle is not the only victim of our current uncivil disobedience. Most of America is aware of Jack Phillips, owner of Masterpiece Cakeshop, and his legal battles to save his business after he refused to use his amazing artistic gift to create a cake for another gay "marriage." It took the Supreme Court to vindicate him.

Then there's Maxine Waters, California senator (D), who loathes all things Trump, including his cabinet. Who hasn't seen and heard her curbside harangue in which she gathers a crowd of rabble-rousers and incites them to violence and harassment against President Trump, Vice-President Pence, and all cabinet members and appointees. That is one angry, bitter woman. Unfortunately, many are listening to her and following her orders.

Our liberties are being trampled underfoot. Many of those who perform these egregious deeds have never read the First Amendment, let alone the U.S. Constitution, short document that it is. The Declaration of Independence also has much to say that relates to what we now experience.

What we are seeing in our country today is reminiscent of the early days of the French Revolution, and the vitriol is aimed at Christians, conservatives, and anyone who dares to stand against the ultra-liberal agenda. A few days ago, White House Press Secretary Sarah Huckabee Sanders and her family were asked to leave the Red Hen Restaurant in Lexington, Virginia, for the horrible crime of being a member of the President's staff. Threats have been made against her family, including her children.

Recently, at Kilroy's, an Indianapolis, Indiana, bar and grill, a man was refused service and escorted out the door by the bouncer. His friends left with him. What had he done to deserve this kind of treatment. Was he drunk and disorderly? Had he tried to start a barroom brawl? Was he not wearing a shirt and shoes? What? None of the above. He was wearing a cross necklace that the bouncer deemed "too big." It was perhaps 1-1/2-inches tall. Others in the restaurant were wearing larger pieces of jewelry and chains, according to customers who witnessed the incident.

Essentially, the Red Hen manager and the Kilroy's bouncer were saying, "We don't serve your kind." Jack Phillips, Barronelle Stutzman, and others who are faithful believers and live their lives according to the Bible have a good reason for declining business that would violate their faith. Why would LGBTQ customers even want someone to make a cake, create floral arrangements, take photographs, provide music, etc., who would not want to be there, who would not support and celebrate the event?

I, too, am a follower of Jesus Christ. I do not do that which would violate my faith. I'm a storyteller. I don't tell for Hallowe'en events. There are other events I would and have declined.

Please understand this truth. If a Christian declines to provide a service or product for a particular event, that event is the reason for the declination. It is not a personal attack against you. Barronelle says she misses her gay customer and hopes he'll come back to visit. I'm sure Jack feels the same way about the ones who sued him. Christ's followers are not haters. Quite the contrary is true.

The actions taken by the eateries I cited were personal. That was obvious. They declined service because they opposed the man wearing a cross and the woman who served on the President's staff. Kilroy's and Red Hen's way of acting out their dislike was with rudeness. Both Barronelle Stutzman and Jack Phillips were kind, courteous, and respectful.

Let the free market work. 

You don't like "my kind"? Fine. I'll go elsewhere. I'm civilized. I treat people respectfully because I'm the Christ-following kind, and He tells me that all humanity is created in His image. He tells me to love my enemies and to return unkindness with kindness. He says I should pray for my enemies. He tells me that He loves those who would mock me as much as He loves me. Can you believe that? That's called grace. And He has given me so much grace that I'm compelled to serve it to others.

I do need to give you a word or two of caution, though. If you make it personal, and it's obvious that you don't like my kind and word of that gets out, my kind will do you a favor. We won't patronize your business, because we don't want to cause you undue stress by our presence. We'll stay away, but we won't spit at you. We won't take you to court just for refusing to accept our business. We won't trash your business or attack your family. We won't yell obscenities at you or incite a mob of rabble-rousers to surround you and your family. We won't try to shame you or threaten to kidnap your children. We'll just go elsewhere to do our business. And when your bottom line turns from black to red, you'll understand why.

The God of the Impossible

Here's your assignment. You have 21 days to come from the other side of the world with a family immigrating to the United States, a family that speaks very little English. Once here, you must help them get to the little mission house serving as a landing place for them while they get oriented; gather documentation needed for ... everything; help the husband to navigate the job-search jungle; tap into every resource you can think of to locate and secure clean, affordable, safe lodging; find reliable transportation to and from the job; and get your own furniture and household goods out of storage and make arrangements for transporting those items to their new home. Twenty-one days, two of which were consumed with the effects of jet lag at the beginning. How will you ever do that? It's daunting. No. More than that. IT'S IMPOSSIBLE!

Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”*

You see, God has a people, a band of bold believers willing to say, "I can help with that!" God is always right on time! That's how God works. He's seldom early, but He's never late.

Get them to the mission house with their luggage? Check!

Documentation? Check!

Job? Check!

Lodging? Check!

Transportation? Still to be discovered. 

Household goods moved? Pending, but arranged.

Six days left. Hey! That's exactly how long God used to speak the universe into being and form man to be His image bearers.

To God be the glory!

*Matthew 9:26
Any names used have been changed to protect their privacy. Thank you for reading.

Dead in 20 Minutes!

"EMERGENCY ALERT! Ballistic missile threat inbound to Hawaii. 

Seek immediate shelter. This is not a drill!"

You may recognize that message as one sent out to mobile phones and television stations in Hawaii on the morning of Saturday, 14 January. For months, our 50th state has been preparing for a missile attack from the crazy man in North Korea. Part of that preparation includes drills, of course. Apparently, there have been other drills, but this time someone pressed the wrong button, and the message exploded. It was at the time of a shift change. Someone may have gotten distracted. A few minutes later, a tweet went out cancelling the alert. At the time of this writing, we've yet to hear of the far-reaching consequences of this OOPS! moment.

A missile's trip from North Korea to Hawaii would take about 20 minutes. That set me to thinking, If I had 20 minutes to live, 20 minutes before I and everyone within miles of me would be vaporized, 20 minutes before my faith in Jesus Christ would become sight, as I suddenly saw Him Face to face, what would I do?

I would hope I wouldn't panic. Testimony from other Christians who have received a death sentence or a close call, say, from a cancer diagnosis, help to inform me about that. God often imparts an almost supernatural peace. (Search this blog to find the entries of a series I wrote a few years ago entitled The Gospel According Joe. "Joe," a friend of mine, is now with the Lord.)

So what would I do? Call people I love and express to them the depth of my love? They already know it. I have no problem telling folks that I love them. It comes naturally because God first loved me and tells or shows me so all of the time.

The first thing I'd do is call one person. He says he's an atheist. He wants nothing to do with God. He's convinced that those who follow Christ are mentally unstable. If someone tries to discuss spiritual issues, he mutters and walks away. He's cold to the Gospel.

I'd prayerfully try to contact him, praying that he'd answer his cell phone and actually listen to me--praying that, before the missile hit, my friend would repent and accept Christ. If any time remained, I'd go looking for others to tell. It would be a crisis witness, with no time to be gentle, no time to establish a relationship.

That's what I believe I would do. I wouldn't worry a whole lot about offending people in those moments. I would simply speak Truth quickly.

What would you do with that 20 minutes?

What's to Fear?

As I consider all of my fellow believers, business owners, who are targeted by the secular religionists bent on suppressing the freedom of Christians to live out their faith, I wonder what it is about Christ followers that presents such a dangerous threat to the secular religionists? Is it our love for humanity? Our honesty? Our desire to be responsible stewards of God's creation? Our humanitarian works here in this country and around the world? Our strong work ethic? Our charitable giving? Our respect for the rule of law, the U.S.Constitution, and those entrusted with the protection of our citizens? What is it?

Sure, we're people of the Book. We live our lives according to its teachings because every word in the original languages is God-breathed, inspired. But we don't force our beliefs on anyone else. God tells us to share the Gospel, the Good News, but we do that only with those willing to listen. Even then, their response is up to them. So why do the secular religionists feel so threatened that they go on the offensive to squelch our Constitutional freedoms? Are they afraid that if we're allowed to share our beliefs with others, those who listen might begin to think for themselves; they might inexplicably start to reason on their own? Then that could possibly lead to accepting the Bible as Truth and becoming Christ followers themselves? Is that the core fear?

The question is rhetorical, of course. We know the answer.

Church Discipline: A Loving Act?

As I write this, I'm listening to John MacArthur give the most beautiful, most comprehensive explanation of church discipline I've ever heard. He's framing it as a great act of love. We know the Good Shepherd goes after that one lost (straying, also?) lamb, but through church discipline, administered according to the Scriptures with compassion, humility (for none of us are without sin), love, and truth, Father allows us to be a part of that act of drawing the wayward lamb to repentance and restoration. He does not simply let His sinning child wander farther from the Savior. That would be cruel.

Why does He let us have a part in the reclaiming and restoring of that person from our faith community? I think it gives each member of the body opportunity to closely examine his own spiritual condition. We're not to exercise church discipline to make ourselves feel self-righteous, for we have no grounds for such arrogance. We're all wretched sinners, even on our best days.

Of course, the one being disciplined may refuse to accept it. The Bible also instructs us on how to respond to that circumstance. Whatever the outcome, we cannot cease to pray.