It’s raining, it’s pouring the old man is snoring. Yes, really. I woke this morning to my husband Jerry snoring, and the rain pitter-pattering on my window. What a glorious day to be alive.

I love rain. For me it is God’s way of telling me to slow down, to sit back and listen. Have you ever heard the rain talking to you? Of course you have. All kinds of things run through my head as the rain bounces off the tin roof of my camper. Or, when it blows sideways and tings off the windows of my house. Rain has a language all of it’s own.

When I was a little girl nothing made me happier than to go out and play in the rain. Now as an older lady I must admit I like to listen, and watch the rain from the comforts of inside. I can almost feel the rain on my skin as I think back to my childhood. Cool, wet, sometimes stinging when it came down really fast. Precious memories.

For me rain is a gift. But then there are days like today when it has been pouring for hours and I begin to wonder about flooding. Having grown up near the Big Elkin Creek, I’ve seen it out of its banks many times. I’ve also watched the New River creep up until finally it swallows the riverbank, and oozes out, wider, and wider onto the land.

In my new novel, The River Keeper, by the way this title is not set in stone. I’ve had two other titles popping into my head. Which one do you like? The River Keeper, Children of the River, or The River Children? Please let me know.

Anyway, in the book, my main character, a little girl named Callie is left alone after her family is swept away by a terrible ice damn break on the New River. She goes to live with her grandma, a lady she barely knows. Callie loves her Granny Jane, but she didn’t know she’d ever have to love her enough to live with her. In the story, the river and her missing family haunt Callie. But, she never blames the river.

Callie says, “I don’t know why people hate the river for flooding? Don’t reckon’ it’s the rivers fault. The rain and them frozen chunks of ice is what’s done made this river so raging mad.”

You know, Callie’s right. A river just rolls along peaceful as can be. Then one day the rain starts pouring and before the poor river knows it, it is out of its banks consuming everything it comes in contact with. Life is sort of like that. One day we are coasting along, not a bother in the world. The sun is shining. The birds are singing their song of joy. Then all of a sudden we get a bad report from a medical test, or hear of a loved one who is ill. Or maybe a terrible accident has claimed the life of a child.

In life there are no guarantees. Never once in all the pages of God’s Word does He tell us that living on this earth will be great all the time. I suppose I am kind of sad today. A schoolmate told me yesterday that Hospice told him he has from three to six weeks to live. Then I have a close friend whose sister is deathly ill. Plus, another friend is battling a mental issue that could be fatal, while yet another friend is trying to raise her nine-month-old grandson. Then, there is my dear friend that is plagued with the rigors of MS everyday.

Are these burdens that we feel for others like the rain, a gift or a curse? To be honest, for me they are a little of both. My heart aches for hurting people. Their misery sometimes creeps out of the confines of my being and floods my soul with sorrow. Most of the time I feel so helpless. Don’t you know Noah felt this way too? As God closed the door to the ark and all of mankind was shut out, don’t you wonder if Noah felt helpless? Don’t you think he felt sorry for those who were not allowed to enter the ark?

In this sad world of unbelievers I can only say to you: I am not a very righteous person like Noah was. I am just a pitiful sinner, washed in the blood of Christ. Saved by Grace. I will never live up to the standards of Jesus, but while I try, I’ll be praying for God’s mercy to wrap all of my friends and family up in His arms of comfort. To heal the ones that is in His will to heal, and to hold the others in His loving arms of peace and comfort.

On this side of Heaven we’ll never know how powerful our prayers are. Just like the mighty river cannot contain all the rain that sometimes pours into its banks, I too am filled. Prayers for the sick, suffering, and un-saved flow from me. No matter what we endure on this earth, the most important thing to be concerned about is at the end of your life will the door be slammed in your face? Or, will you be welcomed into eternity?

Genesis 7:1, 16

And the Lord said unto Noah, Come thou and all thy house into the ark; for thee have I seen righteous before me in this generation.

And they that went in, went in male and female of all flesh, as God had commanded him: and the Lord shut him in.

Picture note: The banks of the New River were running full this weekend, but my Granddaughter Emma caught two fish anyway. However she didn’t want to hold it, so her friend Kayli helped her out.

This past weekend kicked off another fun-filled season of festivals in, and around my hometown of Elkin, North Carolina. After being mostly inside all winter, snuggled up to my computer it felt so, so, good to get out into the world. I felt like a caterpillar bursting forth from its cocoon. Now free to once again socialize, visit old friends, and meet new ones. If you know me you appreciate the fact that I’ve never met a stranger. I just simply love people. Though I must admit, some I can do without after the first encounter. For the most part I just enjoy getting to know a person.

At the Jonesville Jubilee in Jonesville, North Carolina, I was thrilled when some of my old friends dropped by to see me: Gloria and her mom, Tammy, Hal and Bonnie, and Billy and Lori, to mention a few. My very dear friend Dare would have been there, but she’s in the hospital. Please say a prayer for her.

Yes, it is hard work standing up all day attending festivals. Most of the time you’re either too hot or too cold. The wind is blowing all your stuff off the table, or the dark clouds overhead are threatening to poor out their bounty. At the end of the day I am hoarse from talking too much. And, my back and legs ache, but it is all worth it.

This year I am especially looking forward to seeing all my friends at the festivals. I finally have an answer when you ask me, when I’ll have a new book coming out. This fall! I’m also pretty excited about a children’s Christmas picture book that I’ve been working on for a few years.  Lord willing, and my illustrator comes through, I should be able to release it this fall also. I think I am more excited about this second and third book release than I was with my first one. I was scared to death a year and a half ago when I first held, Guardian Spirit in my hand. I thought, well, here it is. Now what do I do with it?

I’m not much wiser than I was then, but at least I’m not as scared. One of the biggest reasons is because I’ve got so many readers, friends, and family who encourage me and lift me up every day in one way or the other. You don’t know what a blessing you are when you come and want to talk to me, to share a thought or two about my writing, or, to ask my advice about something. Like I said before: I’m not much wiser, or smarter, than I was about all this book writing, publishing, editing stuff, but, if I can help in any way I’m more than happy to. Why? Because that’s what friends are for. If one falls down, a friend should be there to help him up.

Then there are the new friends I made this weekend, like Ann Black. I felt so privileged that she would share the details of her soon to be released novel with me. The story is about a woman in Yadkin County who had a lawsuit brought up against her in 1955 for practicing medicine without a license. There is so much more to her story, but I won’t spoil it for you. I will however let you know when it is released.

I also met another local author, Dr. S. Jason Couch. He has recently written and published a historical book called, Images of America, Elkin. He and his wife is such a nice couple. I enjoyed swapping publishing stories with Jason. If you haven’t seen Jason’s book, look it up on Amazon. You can purchase it online, or if you’re in Elkin, I’m sure Diana’s Bookstore stocks it, as well as Elk Pharmacy. If you’re from in or around Elkin the book is a must have.

As I wonder back through the years of my life I remember childhood chums. Some, who were once close, are now distant. And others who were only acquaintances are now cherished friends. I have found that some friends, are friends for life, and others are fair weather friends. But, a true friend is closer than a brother.

When I think of the word friend, so many faces flash through my mind. To try and name you all would be impossible. But, if you are one of the truly special people in my life you know who you are. And, I just want you to know how very blessed you make me feel. I pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up. And I also pity the man who has no one to share his joy, or sorrow with. Blessings to you all.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work; If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!

Footnote: You never know who might show up at a festival. Virginia Foxx attended The Jonesville Jubilee on May 5. I’m not much into politics, but Mrs. Foxx was nice enough to send me a congratulations letter when my first novel was released, and I really appreciate that.

Are miracles still taking place in this crazy, topsy-turvy world we live in? Yes, I believe they are.

What about the ability to get up in the mornings? Isn’t it a miracle the way blood pumps through our bodies, and our lungs retract and expand, pulling life-giving air into our being? Man can do lots of things, but he cannot create a living, breathing, spirit filled man, woman or child. If you still don’t believe in miracles think about this.

How did you feel the first time you held your newborn son or daughter? Amazed, scared, humbled? I know I was scared to death. Don’t you think the ability to bear children is a miracle in its self? Not to mention when grandchildren come along and they snuggle up to you during naptime or wrap their fist around your finger. At eight-years old my granddaughter Emma is all grown up. But, sometimes she forgets how big she is and will grab my hand as we are walking side by side. And when she spends the night, in sleep she’ll still snuggle up to me. These are the miracles that go unnoticed by many.

I also believe God is still in the healing business. Not just our sick, broken bodies, but also our spirit. God has given scientists and doctors the ability to transplant organs, to develop cancer fighting drugs, and medicine to prevent polio. Do you honestly think without God, our feeble minds could do all of that? A broken spirit can also be easily healed. All you have to do is pray and ask The Lord, and you’ll be soaring with the eagles. A spirit at peace is worth more than any material thing you’ll ever possess.

The above are some pretty profound miracles in my life. Then there are the miracles that happen when we selfishly pray for things that we really don’t need, but desperately want. A little over two years ago a publishing company contacted me about my novel, Guardian Spirit. I had sent them a query and they were asking me if they could publish my book. This was something I had prayed about for years, and now it was really going to happen. A miracle.

For those of you who know the publishing business you realize getting published by a traditional publishing house (that’s a publishing company that you don’t have to pay to get your book published) is pretty rare. That is unless you are already famous, or know somebody high up in one of the big New York City literary agencies. For me it seemed impossible.

Could this miracle happen twice in my lifetime? Yes, it could. This past Saturday I received a signed contract from, Ambassador International Publishing. The contract says that my next work, The Color of My Heart will be published sometime late this fall. A miracle? Yes it is.

We never know why some things happen. For lots of reasons, my first publisher, Lucky Press will not be publishing any more books, but God provided, and along came Ambassador International. I will forever be thankful to Lucky Press for believing in me and giving my work that first chance to be read by the world. I truly believe all things happen for a reason. Even when we think things are going badly, God has a plan.

This past year and a half has been some of the most challenging months of my life, but also the most rewarding. Why, because many years ago, God created a girl named Sarah. He had plans for her. Plans to prosper and do well. He had a plan to use her to spread His word.

Yes, God has preformed many miracles in my life. He lifted me up out of the churning waters of the Atlantic Ocean in 1978 and saved me from drowning. Why, because He had things for me to do. In my own strength I am no more than a weak kitten. But, with God’s grace anything is possible. All you have to do is believe and live in the shadow of the cross. Don’t let the miracles all around you go un-noticed and un-appreciated.

John 3:2

The same came to Jesus by night, and said unto him, Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him.

I love the 1998 movie, Field of Dreams, which stars Kevin Costner. It has been a long time favorite of mine. It inspires a feeling of hope in me. Even after fourteen years the quote from the movie, “Build it, and they will come,” often rivets through my mind.

I have a tin ornament that hangs in front of me at my desk that my editor gave me for Christmas this past year. It has a picture painted on it of a lady with curled red hair, red lips, flashy dress and beads around her neck. It’s not really a true replica of me except for the red hair, because there’s not much flash in me. But, the words on the ornament say a lot about who I am. They read, “create” and “tell it.”

Our lives are sort of like the saying in that movie. If we don’t build it, or create it, they won’t come. If we never write the story, then there’s nothing for anyone to read. We all have hopes and dreams. Some of our visions are more far-fetched than others. But no matter how old we become we should keep the fires of creativity ignited within ourselves. As a writer I need to put words down on paper. I long to think of plots that have never been written, and put an unexpected twist to the tale.

I just finished a pretty good novel, but it was so predictable. I knew exactly what was going to happen from about a quarter of the way in, all the way to the finish. I suppose some would be disappointed without the expected; boy gets girl ending. I for one know love does not always have a rosy outcome. Life is not a fairy tale with a prince charming waiting to kiss away our tears. Even though I’ve been blessed in that department, it took a long time for my toad to turn into a prince.

One of the great parts of being an author is other writers ask you to read their work. In the past year or so I’ve had the opportunity to read three new manuscripts from locals. One was a how-to book, which was very entertaining because it was filled with humor. The next one was written by an old acquaintance. It was a pretty far out story about UFO’s and microchips implanted into fingers, giving people the capability to transfer themselves anywhere in the world. I’m not into that sort of thing, but here again, many people are. I saw a lot of potential in the man’s story.

This weekend I read another newly written book by a local. This man’s memoirs are hilarious. With all the mishaps he’s encountered in his life it’s a miracle he survived with only one missing toe. The book is really good, and hopefully he’ll find a market for it.

Each of these authors has asked me the same question: I’ve written this book, now what do I do with it? Great question. The first author decided to self-publish his how-to book. The second UFO guy is working with an editor, trying to polish his work and get it ready to send out to publishing companies. The third fellow will soon be stopping by to pick up his manuscript, and what will I tell him? First I’ll say: “You need an editor.”

No publishing company is going to take any of us seriously if we don’t send them a cleaned up product. It’s sort of like trying to sell a used car. Who wants to buy a vehicle that has visible defects? The windshield is cracked. The back bumper crushed. The battery is dead, and it needs new tires. The same goes for a manuscript. Are you going to send a publisher a story that is filled with mis-spelled words, punctuation errors, and run-on sentences and paragraphs? You might try, but you won’t get very far.

In this competitive business of publishing you have to shine yourself up. Polish the exterior and make sure the guts are running smoothly. A good story is the bottom line, but there are literally thousands of great stories being sent to publishing houses and agents every day. If an editor is turned off right away by errors, then they’ll never wade through the mistakes to read the end. There’s too much competition out there to just write your story and think: Since it’s written, they’ll come. Not going to happen.

Being an author starts with creating. Then, you refine the story. Take it up a notch or two during several re-writes. When you think spell check has caught all your errors you send it to your editor and then she’ll tear it to pieces.

If writing the story was all there was to it, then I’d have at least a dozen written by now. The whole process is time consuming and tedious. You have to have the patience of Job and the skin of an alligator. But there is one thing for sure: If you don’t write it, they won’t come. And if you don’t polish it, then it won’t shine.

Mark 10: 13-16

13) And they brought young children to him, that he should touch them: and his disciples rebuked those that brought them.

14) But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.

15) Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter there-in.

16) And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them.

Once upon a time in the land of un-cared for children there lived a little girl, a small boy, and a stuffed giraffe. All day long the little girl longed for her parents to take notice of her. To pat her on the head and say, “I love you.” Or better yet, feed her. At night the small child would lie in bed breathing in the smell of her urine stained mattress. Her cover was that of a rat gnawed blanket. She tried to remember what she had eaten that day, and all she could think of was a small handful of stale cereal, and some water. Her little tummy rumbled and twisted inside her protruding stomach. Sleep came slowly; a dirty, old, stuffed giraffe didn’t easily satisfy a hungry belly. But, the tiny bit of a girl with the matted brown hair and eyes too big for her face snuggled up to Mr. Giraffe anyway.

On the other side of the bed the little girl’s year-older brother laid on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling. When finally his baby sister’s tears are silenced by sleep, he gently reaches over and pulls the nasty blanket up under her chin. The six-year-old boy is his little sister’s only dependable caregiver.

Neither has seen their parents awake all day. Both lie in a drunken, drug induced coma. Never once caring if there is food in the house, or clean clothes for themselves or their children to wear. The little boy doesn’t remember there ever being sheets on the bed or a hot supper in the oven. He’s afraid to go to school for fear something will happen to his sister. Some would call these children abused, but that would not be the true definition for these tikes. They are prisoners of war, held captive by circumstances of birth.

These two small tots are not alone in the land of un-cared for children. There’s three-year-old Annie, whose mother’s depression comes and goes. Annie spends a lot of time locked in a closet. Mommy says it’s for her own protection.

Seth lives with his poor grandpa, a man who is broke and too old to even care for himself, much less an energetic nine-year-old. Seth gets into a lot of trouble at school. He’s different, and most of the other students treat him that way. If they only knew what goes on in his world after the school bell rings.

Eight-month-old Layla depends on her grandmother for care. She will never know who her daddy is, because her mother doesn’t even know. Layla’s mom loves herself, and pills more than her baby girl. When she does come around, she hardly notices the bright-eyed bundle. Layla’s grandma should be enjoying her retirement, cruising around with not a care in the world, but instead she’s changing messy diapers and getting up at the crack of dawn to feed her hungry grand daughter. Does she complain, no? She just wants little Layla to know that she is wanted. Grandma’s only pray is that she will stay healthy enough to raise little Layla. For without her, she would have no one.

I could go on and on about the kids who live in the land of un-cared for children. Some of these circumstances may seem exaggerated, but I’m afraid to tell you that they are sugar-coated compared to the way some children have to survive.

My heart aches when I look into the eyes of some of these innocent offspring. I see things that I think some cannot. Why? Maybe because there were times in my childhood that I wasn’t sure I’d survive. I guess I see myself in those eyes. Little hearts become easily scared. And, as we all know scars never go away. They may fade with time, but they never leave us.

Jesus speaks of the little children often in His word. He rebuked His disciples for not letting them come to him. Jesus proved His love for the children when he took them up in His arms and blessed them. Are we not to live by Jesus’ example?

I know many of you, like myself, know children who live in conditions un-fit for an animal. What can we do about it? Lot’s of times, unfortunately, nothing. But, we need to be aware of the small things we might do. Give a child a hug. Wrap them up in yours arms, dirt and all. Listen to them. Let them know they are valuable, not only to you, but especially to God. Make them feel special in some small way.

April is National Child Abuse Prevention month. Five children die every day from abuse. We can help change the life of a child this April. How? By caring enough to put action to our words. A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds. Approximately 80% of children that die from abuse are under the age of 4.

For more information and statistics go to, www.childhelp.org or call the National Child Abuse Hotline at: 1-800-422-4453. Crisis counselors are available 24/7. Please help save the children.

Guardian Spirit, a lady’s journey to freedom from abuse for her and her children. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_AEq4_D_3s

I recently finished reading my seventeenth novel written by, Mary Higgins Clark titled, I’ll Walk Alone. I hadn’t read one of her books in a couple of years and had forgot what a talented writer she is. For thirty-five years she has been writing heart-pounding thrillers. She truly is the queen of suspense.

However, I do I know why I switch around and read so many different writer’s work. I get bored reading the same author all the time. Before I was half way through I’ll Walk Alone I knew the villain, and it wasn’t the person Mary Higgins Clark was leading you to believe it was. Enough said. I don’t want to ruin the ending for you.

I keep a list of books I’ve read. Yes, I’ve been hooked by Danielle Steele and am not ashamed to tell you that I have read fifty-five books written by her. But, I haven’t read any of Danielle’s work in a couple of years. Why, because they were becoming too predictable.

This got me to thinking about my own writing. Now that I’m working on book number four, I’m wondering if my readers will think my work is predictable? I hope not. I really don’t want to be classified in one particular genre. My first published novel is young adult, and I am finding myself drawn to writing in a young person’s voice, but I’m not stuck there. My first and third novel, In the Coal Mine Shadows and The Color of My Heart are both a bit gritty. Not intended for the young at heart.

I have other authors that I’ve followed through the years, Sandra Brown, twenty-seven books read, Nora Roberts, fourteen, Fern Michaels, thirteen. The list goes on and on. Looking back through my notebook I see Kathleen Woodwiss’s name and remember how much I loved Ashes In The Wind and Shanna, and Jude Deveraux’s, The Summer House. I even got into reading the gory tales by John Saul for a while. After making myself finish book number six, titled, The Right Hand of Evil, I was pretty sure John Saul must be evil himself to think up such horrific stories, and about children too!

Since keeping track, I can count over seventy-five different authors I’ve read books by. Some of the best stories were by first time authors, like Katherine Stockett, Mary Netreba, Shauna Kelley, and L.Y. Marlow. A couple of these gals are famous and the other two, like me, are struggling to be noticed by the literary world. Maybe we’ll get there someday and maybe we won’t. Either way we’ll keep trying.

A friend of mine, who has read all three of my books, emailed me the other day. Knowing I’m having trouble with my tendonitis elbow she said, “Please don’t stop writing, you’re too good.” She’ll never know how much those words meant to me. She didn’t have to say them, so, I think she really meant them. We all need encouragement, no matter how thick skinned we seem.

I am so thankful for everyone who has read my book, Guardian Spirit. It blesses my heart when people stop me on the street or in the grocery store and ask me when I’ll have another book for sale. Some are acquaintances, others are strangers, but you are all a part of me, because you have read my inner thoughts. What we write is a reflection of ourselves. No, I don’t want to be classified in one particular genre, but I do want to be known as the writer with a lot of heart, an inspiration, sort of mysterious and captivating, magical you might say.

Before the end of this year, hopefully one way or another I’ll have another book on the market for you to read. And, I can assure you of one thing; I don’t think you’ll say it’s just like the first one. Books are like children. They may have the same parent but they are all different. Even if you have ten kids, each will be unique in its own way. That’s what I want to do. I want to create with the same genes, but change up the hair, the personality, and the intrigue.

Every one of us comes from the same breath of life. Some don’t believe that, and I really feel sorry for you, but it’s a fact. We all have different talents and qualities. Some of us are nurturers, some are leaches, others will give you the shirt off their backs, but it takes all of us to make up this old world. One of the best parts of growing older is being able to accept people for who they are, and what they believe.

Not every book will be as great as James Alexander Thorn’s, Follow the River, and some will be better. The awesome part of reading is that you never know what you’ll find when you turn those pages. As the story twists and weaves it’s way into our minds sometimes I think I have the ending all figured out. Many times I’m right, but the best books are the ones that leave me thinking: Wow, I wasn’t expecting that.

What is my genre? Let’s see… Young adult, historical fiction, multicultural, Christian, inspirational, family saga, suspense, those are just a few of the ways I classify my writing. Even if I have a dozen novels published, I hope you will be pleased when you open each one and find something you didn’t expect. I like surprises, don’t you?

There’s nothing like an adventurous road trip to clear your head and let your tendonitis elbow rest. I love to hit the highway with no particular destination in mind except to forge deeper into the old South.

All we knew when we struck out on a trip last week was that we were going to Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana. Why, because we had never been to those states. My husband, Jerry only has five more states to visit and he will have been in all fifty. I have twelve more. Slowly but surely we’re checking each one off our bucket list.

On the first day of our six-day excursion we are five and a half hours into the trip and trapped. There are cars, trucks, tractor and trailers, and SUV’s all around us. Going through Downtown Atlanta, the ten to twelve lanes of traffic were jam-packed. Not my idea of a leisurely, Saturday, afternoon drive. The big city is not for me. Give me a two-lane highway with gentle rolling hills and cows grazing on each side of the road over city lights any day. Scarlet and Rhett, you can have Atlanta.

Camping on the road is truly an amazing experience. I’ve stayed at some pretty grand places in my day: A resort in Cancun Mexico, Kauai, and some ritzy place in New York City, but those spots don’t hold a candle to my old salvage yard RV. Inside I have everything I need, plus, I get to sleep on my own sheets with my favorite pillow, not to mention the atmosphere in a campground. People who camp are a different breed; we’re earthy folks who love to be outside enjoying God’s creation.

Each night as Jerry and I sat in a different campground we tentatively planned the next day’s excursion. I’ve learned that if I travel the same path every day I experience the same things, the same scenery, sounds and souls. How boring is that?

The first night of our trip we stayed in Montgomery, Alabama. The campground wasn’t anything fancy but it did have cable TV. I know, cable TV and camping? Oh well, what can I say we’re “modern” campers. The next morning our destination was the white sandy beaches of Gulf Shores, Alabama.  Here we camped on the Intercoastal Waterway, chilling out while watching boats pass by. We walked a short distance to the marina and had supper at Lulu’s. Lulu’s is owned by Lucy Buffett, Jimmy Buffett’s sister. Neither she, nor Jimmy was there, but the food and atmosphere were great.

Day three came early. We headed to Fort Morgan, Alabama to ride the ferry across Mobile Bay to Dolphin Island, then on to downtown New Orleans and Bourbon Street. You’re thinking, Sarah Byrd on Bourbon Street? Well, maybe in my younger day. I was not impressed. I didn’t see the draw factor. Maybe I missed the sparkle. I suppose the promise of going to Houma, Louisiana, home of J. Paul from the swamp people show was overshadowing the partying town, either that or I’m getting really old.

Day four took us deep in to alligator country. We booked a swamp tour with Munson’s World Famous Swamp Tours in Schriever, Louisiana. The two hour boat ride into the bayou revealed lots of hungry gators, some really unusual birds, probably a couple of dozen raccoons, buzzards, a bald eagle, an apple blossom snail and a snake. Yes, the two-hour trip was more than worth the twenty bucks a piece that it cost. We didn’t meet J. Paul, but our boat captain’s sister lives next door to him. Close enough for me to say I know him, don’t you think?

Day five found us programming our Tom Tom for home, but not before traveling on the Natchez Trace Parkway. This two-lane road is 444 miles long and stretches from Natchez, Mississippi to Nashville, Tennessee. It is a lot like the Blue Ridge Parkway that runs through my home state of North Carolina.  After traveling several miles on the parkway and seeing a couple of red foxes and lots of wild turkeys we pulled off at a sign that read, “ The Emerald Mound.”

The Emerald Mound is the second largest Native American ceremonial mound in the United States. It’s original name was Selzertown site and dates back to somewhere between 1200 to 1730. Later the name was changed to Emerald Mound after a nearby plantation. The mound covers eight acres. As Jerry and I climbed the steps to the artificial plateau it felt sort of spiritual. At the top gazing down at our RV below I wondered about the Native Americans who had once trod on the same ground where I now stood. It was sort of like I was trespassing. Then we saw the bear scat, and knew it was time to go. The old fellow was probably close by protecting this sacred ground.

If I hadn’t left the safe haven of my home I would never had seen these amazing things, nor would I have slept along the banks of the Mississippi River and watched a tiny tug boat push thirty-five barges up the river. I would not have happened upon the Noccalula Falls in Gladsden, Alabama, or rode an elevator 260 feet into Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga, Tennessee, then strolled down a carved out path of rock, one-half mile into the mountain to see the magnificent Ruby Falls.

I saw black squirrels, which are pretty rare and rumor has it that if you see one you’ll have good luck. Must be true, because most of the time I feel like the luckiest lady on earth. I wouldn’t have heard the story of an Indian maiden who threw herself into the Noccalula Falls because she did not want to marry a brave from another tribe that she did not love. Look at all I would have missed if I had not ventured into lands unknown.

In life I long to hike along trails un-traveled, but in death I want to be sure of my destination. As Easter approaches, knowing there is an empty tomb, I rest assured that when all my earthly voyages are over I will make one final journey. To a place like none I have ever experienced. To a land where there is no darkness or pain, a paradise of beauty beyond imagination. My final GPS entry is set for heaven. High gas prices won’t keep me away, because I have a one-way ticket, and the price has already been paid by my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

John 14:3

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.

Most young people don’t know what a boot strap is. I have a pair of cowboy boots that date back to the 1970’s. At the top are loops for me to put my fingers in so I can pull them on. I haven’t worn those boots in probably twenty years, but I can’t seem to part with them. They’ve danced a jig or two in their day and there’s also a hunk of leather missing from the toe where the one and only horse I ever owned stepped on my foot. (That’s another story.) Boy, if those boots could only talk.

I look back on those days and I cringe at some of the stuff I did. I also stand proud at the thought of things accomplished. I’m not one to talk about myself but I want to share a couple of things with you. Even positive gals like me get down and out sometimes. Being the control freak that I am I’m having a hard time with menopause, hot flashes and all the other stuff that comes with age. These life changes are completely out of my control so, all I can say is: Lord help me, and my family, to get through this.

Another situation that seems completely out of my control is finding an agent to represent my next novel, The Color of My Heart. I’ve sent out over one hundred queries and still counting. When do I stop? When do I throw my hands up and say, “This just isn’t working?”

I went to the doctor this morning for my six-month lab work to monitor my cholesterol, and such. While I was there I had the doctor look at my elbow, which has been giving me a fit for a couple of months. The final verdict: tendonitis. Typing and writing for hours every day have my tendons inflamed. Miss Doctor Lady told me she could give me oral steroids or a shot of steroids in the elbow. But, she was honest. She told me that the shot might last only a month. She said that as long as I was over working the tendons in my right arm I would have the inflammation and pain. So unless I give up my writing I’m going to hurt.

That is not good news to someone who stays on the computer or laptop for hours, every day. So, all this has got me to thinking. What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? What would I be doing if not writing my stories? I have no idea. I think I could be a good volunteer at Hospice, and I know that would be very rewarding, but would I be happy? Would I be doing what I’m destined to do?

I don’t know about you guys, but sometimes I can feel the devil breathing down my neck; the hot, steamy air from his lungs penetrating my skin, blistering me to my very soul. Any time I get down and out, wondering which way to turn, I have to remind myself that old Satan doesn’t want me to succeed, so I must be getting pretty close to finding an agent or, maybe, I just need to go at it on my own, like I did with Guardian Spirit, and find myself a publisher. I might even venture into the land of self-publishing.

Either way, I’m going to reach down, link my fingers in the rich smelling leather of those old boot straps of mine and pull myself up out of this muck of self-groveling. I believe those boots, and myself have a few more stories to tell, and not even the booger-man himself is going to stop me. Look out world, Sarah Martin Byrd is not going to quit living and roll over and die just because of a few setbacks. I’m ready, but I’m not in a hurry to give up on this old world. Even with the hot flashes and tendonitis, life is good. We must never forget that getting old is a privilege denied to many. Count your blessings, not your aches, pains and disappointments. There may be rainy days, but the rainbow is never far away.

Does anyone in the world think there is something wrong with messing with the sun’s true time, or, “standard time” as we call it? Frankly, I’ve never understood it. When I was a youngster I enjoyed the longer days. I could romp around in the woods and play outside until bedtime. As an adult these longer summer days are not filled with play, but work.

Daylight savings time wears me out. It’s hard to shut down. By six or six-thirty every day I like to make my way inside. Stir up some supper, take a bath, and relax. But now that daylight savings time has been declared, there’s three more hours of daylight at six o’clock in the afternoon. It’s hard to stop doing outside work when there are weeds to pull, beans to pick and sunlight left to do it in?  To go straight from busy to bed is impossible for me. Therefore, I do not like setting my clocks forward.

I really don’t get it. In early March it doesn’t get dark until six-thirty. What’s wrong with that? If we keep the clocks on standard time by June it will be daylight until seven or seven-thirty. Isn’t that enough daylight to get everything done outside that we need to?

The first recorded mention of Daylight Savings Time was way back in 1784. Benjamin Franklin didn’t like the idea of changing the time. Franklin said, “People need to get up when the sun rises.” He even proposed that church bells should be rung and cannons be set off to wake people at the crack of dawn. That’s where his slogan, “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise,” came from.

I tend to agree with Mr. Ben Franklin about keeping the time by the way the Lord set the sun in the sky. The old saying, “It’s not nice to mess with Mother Nature,” surely applies to daylight savings time. But what’s a body to do? I’ve known old timers to keep their watches set on standard time during daylight savings time. A couple of times over the years I’ve been stubborn and left my watch on standard time too. But that gets frustrating after a while, and I give in and adjust my watch to man’s time, not the suns.

There are many countries around the world that do not use daylight savings time, including one state in the good old USA, Arizona. So unless I want to move across the country I guess I’ll have to accept the inevitable and spring forward just like everybody else.

But, that doesn’t mean I have to like it. There are documented assumptions as to why daylight savings time is a good thing, but nothing has been completely proven to back these assumptions up. No studies have shown that by going on daylight savings time more energy is conserved. No one can prove to me the world is a better place because of the time change. To me it’s like telling God He is wrong, of course we humans know better than Him, so we’ll just change time.

When we take it upon our selves to alter the rotation of the earth I think we’re really messing up. During daylight savings time when the sun is straight overhead it should be high noon, but it’s not, it’s one o’clock.

Before fancy time pieces our ancestors looked to the sky for the time of day. I’m sorry, but I think God knows a bit more about the sun than we do; after all He hung the darn thing. He plainly told us in Genesis that he gave us the sun for several reasons and one of them was for signs. Like, here’s your sign, look at the sun if you want to know the time of day. Something to think about, don’t you think?

Genesis 1:14

And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years:

I met a man last week that had been dead since February 8, 1987. That’s right, twenty-five years deceased. This man, who most refer to as the River Man and I spent a little over two hours behind closed doors, alone, on the campus of Wilkes Community College last Tuesday. And, I wasn’t scared one bit.

Here’s how it all began. Over a year ago I was visiting with my friends, Bonnie and Dr. Hal Stuart. Dr. Stuart was asking me about my future writing endeavors, so I proceeded to tell him about a story that was forming in my mind. The setting was to be along the New River in Alleghany and Grayson counties.

Dr. Stuart asked me if I knew of a man named Bob Pate? I hadn’t. He told me I should go up to the Wilkes Community College Library and read about his oral histories. Okay, I thought, but why? Then he told me Bob Pate played a major role in stopping the New River from being dammed up by a hydroelectric power plant that was to have been built in the early 1970’s. Now I was interested. This was fitting right in with the novel I was soon to begin, called The River Keeper.

About 20,000 words into writing the river keeper’s story, I knew it was time to pay Bob Pate a visit. It seemed I couldn’t write another word until I researched the River Man.

The librarian at Wilkes Community College was most helpful. She brought me two videos, and about a dozen manila folders stuffed full of information about Bob Pate. For the next two hours I sat mesmerized by the River Man while local historian, Jay Anderson, was interviewing him. The interview took place a couple of years before Bob Pate’s death. Honestly, I could write a book about the River Man. We connected in so many ways. He was drawn to rivers and old people, and I am too.

I’ve always felt comfortable around my elders; though the older I get the harder it is to find someone older than me. But really, Bob Pate, who lived in Hamptonville, got his first taste of public recognition during an environmental battle while working to prevent the damming of the New River in 1976. Though he is probably best known for the 400-plus mile canoe trip that he led down the Yadkin River in 1982 from the W. Kerr Scott Dam near Wilkesboro to Georgetown, South Carolina. The trip led to the formation of the Yadkin River Trails Association and the creation of more than a dozen new parks and access sites along the river.

As the River Man drifted down the Yadkin he stopped and chatted with the locals, many who were getting along in years. Pate began to realize that soon these people would pass on and their life story would die right along with them. So, a dream formed in Pate’s mind. He would video these people and let them tell their stories. This is a quote from Pate, copied from the September 1985 issue of The State magazine. “The oral history is a spin-off of our river trips. It was meeting the people along the river and having to leave and know I might never see them again that got me to realizing how important these human treasures were and that we needed to preserve them.”

One of Pate’s favorite interviews was with Rebecca C. “Becky” Goforth of the Windy Gap section of Wilkes County. She had been a teacher at Shady Grove School in the early 1940’s. Here is some sound advice that Miss Becky left us with that we should abide today. “No one ought to teach school unless they can see the soul inside a child.” All I’ve got to say about that is, AMEN Miss Becky!

I also found that Bob Pate had interviewed my great uncle, Raymond Pruitt, from the Friendship community in Surry County. Pate states in the article that Raymond Pruitt is a true backwoodsman. Pruitt tells the time by the sun and doctors with herbs. He grows and eats ginseng. Uncle Raymond’s quote from The State magazine says, “They say it’ll (ginseng) make you hug the women.” Then he proceeds to tell Pate, “I hug them pretty good – especially the good-looking ones.” I’m told Uncle Raymond always was a lady’s man.

The story of Bob Pate and his expeditions are endless. He made over 150 videotapes of elderly people and events in Wilkes, Surry, Yadkin and Iredell Counties. Later he traveled to southern Mexico exploring rivers, and the people who lived along them.

In the interview with Jay Anderson Pate speaks often of his wife Dorothy, she was always with him on his river excursions. “Dorothy,” Pate says, “Would do the cooking and take care of all our medical needs. But, she made it perfectly clear from the beginning that if I turned her over in the canoe, the cooking would stop. I was real careful.”

I could go on and on about this man and his love of rivers, people, and the outdoors. Pate was a man that would much rather stand behind a camera than in front of it. I am so thankful for the two hours I spent with him and would suggest you take the time to do the same. There is so much to be learned from this quite, humble man. Here is a quote from Pate during the video interview. “Probably when I die everybody will be sad because I’m not going to leave anything.” Pate goes on to say, “I’m going to the river Jordan and whoever owns me can come get me there.”

Pate and his wife Dorothy received the Governor’s Award in 1983 for their volunteer work in protecting the environment. He literally gave his all for the preservation of our waters. His love for the river can be felt as he talks about his work. I’ll close with my favorite quote from Pate, “When you go out on the river, it is another world. It can take you on it’s back and ride you and show you some of the most beautiful things you have ever seen.” I feel exactly the same way when I’m out on the water.

Can a person be soul mates with a spirit? Yes, I believe they can, because I found mine with Bob Pate. Thank you River Man for sharing your life with me. And, thank you Dr. Hal Stuart for introducing us. You never know what might turn up when you’re doing a little research. There are treasures everywhere, if we’ll only seek them.