Fiction from the Ragged Edge of Faith
Across the Bridge felt the most personal of the three novels I’ve written. As I’ve watched Todd’s body slowly decline these past nine years, I’ve struggled with God and the suffering in the world.
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My world changed forever 13 years ago when I became a mom. I lay in the hospital bed with my newborn daughter’s crib next to me and my husband sitting nearby. I was in so much pain I felt like I couldn’t move. “Sara’s turning blue!” Todd said, panicked.
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Todd had his breathing tests this week, and it wasn’t good news—it’s never great because his breathing weakens every 6 months, but usually just a few points. However, the decline was 9 points in the last 6 months, 16 points over
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In maintaining the rules of the world I’ve created with strokes of a pen, I have a better appreciation for why God doesn’t always intervene in our lives. Different genres of literature are set in various times and places, and
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The Strawberry Festival is over, but fortunately the Keweenaw is still producing the little red berries. It’s some solace in a summer that’s slow in coming. In Snow Country, Beth found hope in Pastor Chip’s words. “It’s going to take
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As we celebrate Mother’s Day, we honor the many women who have shaped our lives and have had sisu to persevere through the winters of life.
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“The burden of grief is heavy, like the snow that crushed that old barn out in the field, but spring will come and the snow will melt.” In my novel Snow Country, Louisa comforts her granddaughter, who is grieving her
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“Did you think I was as old as you?!” He looked at me incredulously. Ouch. I was at a coffee shop with a writing group. A fellow writer also grew up in the area. “What school did you go to?”
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