Sarah Martin Byrd's Blog

Genesis 7:11

In the six hundredth year of Noah’s life, in the second month, the seventeenth day of the month, the same day were all the fountains of the great deep broken up, and the windows of heaven were opened.

During the past several months I have often wondered, “What in the world am I doing?” Starting a new/small business (that is costing a fortune) on the backside of fifty must mean I am insane, dementia is setting in, or, I am just a glutton for punishment and hard work. When I’m feeling that overwhelming tightness in my chest a soft gentle whisper in my head speaks to me and says, Be still my child and know that I am God.

I sincerely believe that the Lord talks to me in so many different ways, a cool breeze, the chirping of a bird, the rush of the river, a tiny frog as it hops along it’s path to who knows where. One of the ways God reveals Himself to me is through my Guidepost daily devotional. Many a morning I pick it up only to think to myself, “I don’t have time to read,” then the Holy Spirit takes over and reminds me that if I don’t have time for a few minutes with the Savior then I cannot expect Him to give me much of His day.

So many mornings God sends messages to me through the writers of Guidepost. God knew long before the words were ever written what I would need to hear on that exact morning. On April 25th after a long week of writing contractors checks and watching the dollars just fly out the window God told me this from Proverbs 21:5, “The plans of the diligent lead to profit as surely as haste leads to poverty.”

Okay Lord, you can rest assured I am diligent, too deep now to turn back.

Then on May 17th God spoke from Jeremiah 29:11 “For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord…to give you a future with hope.” Then the next day on May 18th He reassured me from Psalm 9:10 saying, “Those who know your name trust in you, for you, Lord, have never forsaken those who seek you.”

One thing I can say for certain is that I do trust God, even when being mocked by friends and family. In many ways I feel a bit like Noah, why in the world would he take on such an undertaking as building an Ark in an area where it never rains? Why? Because Noah trusted in the Lord and sought His will. I cannot even imagine how Noah was laughed and scorned at. Building a boat where there is no water? How stupid is that? Sort of like the comments I hear like: Who would want to camp in Pleasant Ridge?

I don’t know a whole lot about many things, but I do know when the Holy Spirit is nudging me “not” to do something, or “to do” something. Almost a year ago when the campground project began my husband and I planned everything out. Where the store would be, how many campsites, what the roof color would be on the bathhouse, you know important stuff. Then obstacles were thrown in the way, like land not perking for a septic system. We would look at each other and say, “Oh well, it just wasn’t meant to be.” Then by the next day another plan had been revealed to us, one that would turn out to be just as good, or even better than the first one.

A lot about what we may be doing might not make sense to some folks, but there’s a lot that does make sense to us. The good Lord knows we’re not trying to start this business to get rich, we’d just like to have a nice place for people to come and rest for a day or two from driving the interstate. We welcome families who’d like to have a camping spot a bit lower key for the family to sit around the campfire at night and tell a tale or two, or catch a spring lizard in the branch. You know some kids don’t have a clue what a crawdad is?

Of course it would be great to make a little money for retirement days. Hopefully you’ll stop by Byrd’s Branch Campground and Country Store at 225 Martin Byrd Road, Elkin NC 28621 and sit a spell with us on the front porch, have a nice cone of hand-dipped ice cream, drink a bottle of pop, and enjoy some good visiting and story telling.

I have come to welcome the peace I have been blessed with concerning this project, and when I read Psalm 129:12, I know all will be well, shucks Noah was way past his fifties when he took on one of the hugest leaps of faith in history.

“You shall eat the fruit of the labor of your hands; you shall be blessed, and it shall be well with you.”

Sometimes things happen in life that just simply make us sad. No words can explain the heavy weariness that crept into my heart when I heard about the sudden death of a friend a few days ago. Why did a 37 year-old man’s life have to end so tragically? Could it have been stopped, delayed or better yet, just imagined?

I do believe that when it is time for each and every one of us to meet our maker then we will do so at that exact moment. When Jeremy was given life the creator of all things knew exactly the second He would call His child home.

Memories of Jeremy take me way back in time to a very young boy, a light haired fellow less than two years older than my own daughter. Thoughts of days past take me to Pleasant Ridge Baptist Church where I taught Jeremy in Sunday and Vacation Bible School; I can see those sparkling eyes of Jeremy’s now as blue and pure as a clear morning sky. Everyone who knew Jeremy knew that those bewitching eyes held more mischief than most little boys.

Jeremy’s smile was contagious; you could not help but love him even when he was un-loveable. I remember the time Sue Norman and I took our VBS class to Carter Falls, Jeremy threw a rock and hit Abigail Simmons in the head. Of course he didn’t mean too, it just seemed like old man Trouble always followed closely in Jeremy’s footsteps or was hovering up ahead. Other outings down by the creek below my house for scavenger hunts found Jeremy and Wendy Sidden forever fighting to see who could get the most attention. That my friend was a never ending battle between those two.

Being so close in age to my daughter, Jeremy was around my house quite a bit while they were growing up; of course she had a crush on him as well ninety-nine percent of the female population even close to his age. Jeremy was a fine looking young man who could have been anything he wanted to be with the personality that he had… but there was just one problem; Jeremy, like many of us have demons and we sometimes don’t know how to control them.

No, I am not here to bash Jeremy or put him on a pedestal, I am here to tell you that even though there was a lot of bad that overpowered the good in him, he was a special young man, a person that you could see struggling with life, a free spirit who lived life wide open. One day may find him helping a neighbor the next jumping on an airplane and heading across country on a whim. Jeremy was the kind of person that would help you even before you asked, a man who would give to you and not expect anything in return.

I’ll never forget the times Jeremy helped us get up hay. He was very allergic to the hay, his eyes would swell up, water, and turn beet red. I always kept Benadryl around just for him. Yes, those were the days when life was carefree, Jeremy and Gary Pardue would roll and tumble off the hay trailer wrestling and cutting-up, oh what I’d give to see that again and hear the laughter. Little boys grow up and become grown men who forget the simple things, the things that center us and make us stable and whole. The world takes over and we give in to pressures and addictions. We make idols of other things other than God.

Jeremy and I had many conversations within this last year; I didn’t beat around the bush with him. My husband and I, as well as his family and multitudes of friends tried to help Jeremy find his way, but it just wasn’t meant to be, he was on a path to destruction, unfortunately hurting some people along the way.

One of the last conversations I had with Jeremy was in the sanctuary of our church a few months back. He was sitting behind me sobbing, a broken man. I could hear him so I went to him. I hugged him and he cried, not ashamed to bear his soul. Jeremy didn’t want to be naughty, he knew Jesus and wanted to be a better person, but the sin was stronger than the flesh. That day I told Jeremy that I loved him and assured him we all are sinners, everyone struggles, no one is without blemish. That day I cherish because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jeremy Darnell knew that I loved him, good, bad and all, just like Jesus loves us.

Until we meet again, rest in peace my friend.

Jeremy Matthew Darnell

11/7/77 – 4/17/15

For the first time in months I have been sitting at my iMac for the past several hours doing what I love to do, write. I just finished a rough draft of a cute little children’s story with a powerful message titled, “Millie Mouse.” (I know I’m hung up on mice.)

There are a couple of stories behind this anecdote. Around Christmas time last year a friend of mine sent me a picture that her grandson had taken of a mouse peeping out from the branches of a Christmas tree they had just brought home.

She asked me if I could write a story about the little mouse. My friend gave me all kinds of ideas, but of course her thoughts came from her head and my story had to come from my head/heart. So, my tale barely resembles the ideas she gave me.

Then a few years back another friend of mine asked me if I would write a story for her son and daughter-in-law who were getting ready to tell their young son that he was adopted. I wrote the story, and thought that was that.

When my first friend sent me the picture of the tiny mouse in the Christmas tree all I could think about was that the mouse must be orphaned and right a way the little boy named Billy that I had wrote the adoption story about weighed heavy on my mind. So that’s how the story was created, two ideas combined into one children’s story.

Isn’t that the way of most writings? We observe, mix up our findings, add to and take away, then before we know it a tale is born.

I hope through the words of “Millie Mouse” kids who are struggling with living with a new family will one day read the book and know, as long as they are with someone who loves them, and takes care of them then they are with, “Family.”

On another note things are moving right along with my husband’s new, “Coming out of retirement… because he is bored,” venture.

Byrd’s Branch Campground started the birthing process late last summer. (It takes a while to birth a campground, sort of like an elephant.) One day while strolling over a piece of property we own down along the branch I made the same request I’d been making for years.

I said, “Since you’re retired do you think we could clean up along the creek and maybe put in a little picnic area?”

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine a casual suggestion turning into a public campground, camp store, and bathhouse. Slowly but surely, and inch by inch the over-grown landscape started to appear out from under the wild Rose bushes and thorn thickets. As the land opened up we realized how pretty the property was and how special it seemed.

Unfortunately the old spring on the property had to be converted into a small pond, but that had turned out all right too and seemed to fit with the campground theme. We named it “The Frog Smooching Pond.” (That’s another story.) So here we are, soon to be proprietors of Byrd’s Branch Campground and Camp Store. Call us dreamers, crazy, entrepreneurs or whatever, just call us.

I’d be lying if I said I was not a bit nervous, but then again I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a lot excited. You never know about a project like this, but from the very beginning the husband and I have felt God’s hand over it, and I can’t help but think of the movie, “The Field of Dreams,” Build it and they will come…

Isaiah 66:2

For all those things hath mine hand made, and all those things have been, saith the Lord…

Matthew 7:7-8

Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:

For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened.

One of my favorite sayings is, “If you don’t ask you’ll never know the answer.” I’ve never been one to shy away from life. I sort of take the bull by the horns and hang on for the ride. I’ve always figured if you want something ask for it, what’s the worst that can happen? Maybe you’ll get turned down and, if that happens then whatever it was that you were asking for was probably not meant to be.

Sometimes I get to pondering about life, where I’ve been and where I want to go. I may be knocking on old ages door, but I’m not in the grave yet, I have dreams, a brain, a tiny amount of memory capacity left, and enough energy to get through most days without a nap. Not to mention my imagination still runs wild, almost as wide open as it did in my teenage years, too bad the body can’t keep up with the mind.

In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells us to ask him and we will find answers. That the right doors of life will open to us if we seek His perfect will. I am almost eight years into my full time writing career. The door of wealth has not opened for me, but I must admit I’ve never asked God to make me wealthy, just for enough. Doors have opened for me though and revealed a path worth much more than dollars and cents:

1. The door of devotion: Even though I have been advised to juice up my writing I have kept my words, and the thoughts of my characters clean.

2. The door of accomplishment: No, none of my books have hit the New York Times Bestsellers list, and they probably never will. However, I am satisfied with my work as long as I keep getting heart-felt reviews from all those who follow my writing. To touch some ones heart with my stories is all the fame I could ever hope to achieve. (Okay, a few extra dollars wouldn’t be too bad either.)

3. The door of friendship: I could never in a hundred pages list all the people who have touched my life these past few years. The ones I have met at book signings while attending festivals, libraries, schools, retirement centers, book clubs, and simply meeting individuals on the street who stop me to comment on my work. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for loving my stories and telling the world about them. I especially want to thank all those who have gone to Amazon.com and posted reviews, I am humbled by your kind words.

4. The door of patience: It takes much patience to write a novel. You have to sometimes wait for the characters to speak to you, I don’t call this writers block, it’s simply God telling me to slow down and listen for a while. It takes even more patience while working with an editor to polish up the grammar, punctuation, and plot holes. The hours spent agonizing over publishing companies, and sending out queries are grueling. Yes, one must knock on the door of patience if one wants to survive the practice of putting words to paper.

5. The door of commitment: You’ll never know how many times I have been tempted to throw up my hands and pitch my stories into the woodstove. Why am I doing this? I’m just wasting my time, who is even reading this stuff anyway? Then I get an email, a phone call or note from someone telling me how my novel changed their life, or that one of my books was the best story they ever read. Wow! That’s why I keep doing what I do.

6. The door of creativity: Why do I love to write? Here are a few reasons. Writing brings an inner release to me. My thoughts and feelings come out and I can go anywhere I want to with my stories, the Blue Ridge Mountains, off to the Coast of Jekyll Island, a dip in New River, or to the manger the night Jesus was born. I might even take a stroll through Central Park or a bike ride around Cades Cove, or I might get thrown into a dark, lonesome coal mine. Another reason I like to write is I can invent any character I want to and make them any way I want them to be, loveable, rich, mean, poor, tall, bald, robust, or meek and humble. I have to write because it’s the only way I can shut up these voices in my head.

Many doors will open to us, and many will close. Some will open easily, others will get jammed and we’ll have to tug and pull to get to life’s answers. It’s been a hard winter for me. As my last blog stated I’ve been shut up in an office doing tasks that had to be done, but all the while the creative part of my brain was being smothered. Now the office door has opened and I have been set free.

I can’t wait to start attending street festivals and book signing. But more importantly I can’t wait to finish writing my next novel and share it with you. I’m still deciding on the title. In the mean time I have a couple of events coming up. I’ll be at the Elkin Public Library Monday evening March 23, at 7pm to talk about my latest novel, “The River Keeper.” Then I’ll be at the Yadkin Senior Center in Jonesville, NC on Monday April 27 at 11am. For other upcoming events check out the “Book Signing” page on my website at: www.SarahMartinByrd.com

Mid-October of last year the secretary at my home church had to resign to take care of her very ill husband. And guess who the assistant secretary is that was called to fill in? Yep, that’s right, me. If all had of went as planned I was to undergo a couple of weeks of training before the “real” secretary resigned. Unfortunately, because of her husband’s rapid decline in health those two weeks was reduced to a one-day training period.

My knowledge of how the former secretary did certain jobs in the church office was lacking in so many ways. When phrases like “Quicken,” “Quick Books,” and “Revelation” were brought up I thought the Baptist church I attend had started speaking in tongues. I found myself lost in a deep, dark abyss of numbers, an accounting game I was clue-less about. Sure I can balance my own checkbook, but it’s not the same when you’re accountable for other people’s money.

For the past several months now I wake before dawn, (hot flash) and right away my thoughts become consumed with just how overwhelmed I am. My chest becomes tight and much needed sleep is an illusive stranger. Yes, even I become stressed sometimes.

It’s hard for a creative brain to have to become so disciplined. You see, I am a word person, not a numbers guru, and my PC computer knowledge (PC is what the church uses) is like a first grader trying to program a guided missile. Working with a PC has made me appreciate my iMac even more.

Speaking of my iMac, as most of you know from a previous blog my nine-year old iMac breathed it’s last breath several months ago. I was hopeful that the hard drive was not fried and all my years of entries could be salvaged and entered into my brand new iMac’s memory… but a phone call from the tech guy quenched all hope of that happening. The supposed “know-it-all” computer guy said, “I have some bad news.” Five words you never want to hear. All was lost, over three thousand pictures, dozens of novel drafts, stories yet to be read by unknown eyes, and thousands of documents that only I could know what they are good for.

During these sleepless mornings every single one of those documents invade my thoughts and taunt me with the fact that they are free from the memory banks of my old computer. Words, letters and stories dance through the silence of the pre-dawn mist, giggling with glee at my misery.

For the past four months the dark shadows of night have followed me into the day at my church job. I’ve pouted and pitied my mere existence as I’ve tried to reconcile bank accounts, run reports and decipher Social Security tax laws. Oh poor, poor me, trying to figure out the running of a church office, schedule and plan for this years book signings, and… come up with a new book idea that will knock the socks off my readers. Woe is me.

How selfish and pathetic do I sound? Why, I might ask did it take the secretary/treasurer search committee so long to find the perfect candidate to fill the void at the church office? Because the new secretary had to be the person God wanted her, or him to be, and it had to happen in His time.

I am so very excited to announce that the new secretary started training with me a couple of weeks ago. She is going to be an awesome secretary, treasurer, and new friend.

Even though I am thankful that my days of being a so-called secretary are numbered, I am even happier that my months of “struggling” to be a church treasurer are coming to an end.

I know God has a purpose in all of this, for some reason He wanted me to stretch my limits and step out of my comfort zone. Many times these past few months I have thrown my hands into the air and said, “God, I can’t do this.” And each time His answer has been, “Yes you can my child, just let go and let Me show you.”

It’s hard for a psychotic, control freak to put her life on hold, step away from what she knows and into a world of the unknown. She had much rather be playing with words in the confines of her own little space.

I can honestly say that I have learned so many new things these past months, situations and strategies that will be useful in the days ahead. Most importantly I am reassured that “The Light” will always guide me out of the darkness. I just have to trust and let go of my own will.

Sitting here today writing this article, I feel like the weight of all those numbers have finally been lifted from my weak mind. I am back to something I know a little bit about, writing. And… this week a dear friend of mine found someone to salvage the hard drive of my old computer, so… I can honestly say, all is right in my world again.

Thanks to everyone who has been patiently waiting to hear what I’ve been up to these past few months. I hope you will spread the word and tell everyone that I should have another novel ready in a few months, that is if those dreaded numbers have not scarred my creative mind forever.

Luke 6:38

Give, and it shall be given unto you: good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again.

Here we are at the close of another year. I always feel sort of giddy as Father Time transports me into another New Year. Looking back there have been hard times, and sad happenings, but the good things of life far outshine the bad. I am blessed. I certainly haven’t done anything to deserve these blessings, or the promise of another moment, much less another year, but I’m thankful for each and every second.

Regardless of what I might, or might not deserve here I am on the threshold of 2015. What will the days unfold? Will the continued warmth of good health shine upon my family, or will the dreaded “C” word invade our lives as it has some of my dearest friends?

I could worry about the days ahead, but I choose to look for the good things, to search out the marvelous mysteries and mazes of life. To appreciate the sunrise even though I don’t enjoy the early rising. To smile at the gray in my hair and be thankful that chemo treatments have not taken the strands away. To look at the few extra pounds that seem to camp out around my middle and be hopeful that those love handles can be worked off, why, because I’m healthy enough to exercise.

One of the most amazing things about this year has been that my husband (who retired last year) and I have not poisoned each other. I must admit the first few weeks…okay, months of him looking over my shoulder every minute were a bit smothering, but we have become accustomed to each others never ceasing presence and all is well. In fact we are gearing up for a new adventure in life that hopefully will come together in the coming year. I’ll tell you more about that later, but it has a lot to do with being outside, camping, and hiking. Sounds like me doesn’t it?

What will the New Year bring? Are there resolutions that I need to write down and stick to? Of course, my list would be endless, but I’m not the “resolution making” kind of gal.

Why should we say we’re going to go on a diet on January 1st? What’s wrong with right now? The same can be said for all of our bad habits. The human side of us longs to put off the unpleasant things in life, to postpone cleaning out those messy and dirty closets in our houses… and in our hearts.

Why do we make such a big deal out of a New Year? Shouldn’t we be living everyday the way God would like for us to? We should be helpful and kind to one another, or as my preacher says, “We need to love up on people.”

Luke 6:38 says, Give and it shall be given unto you. I truly believe this. So if I “were” to make a New Year’s Resolution it would be one thing: Give more of my time to God, and all other things will be measured unto me… again, and again, and again.

Happy New Year!

It is the Eve of Christmas and I just simply want to share with you an article that ran in the Tribune, our local newspaper here in Elkin, NC. Area school children were asked to write a short essay on “What Christmas Means to Them.” I want to share what my Granddaughter, Emma wrote. I do believe she is a pretty smart young lady. Her heartfelt message says it all, enjoy.

“What Christmas means to me is celebrating Jesus. To me, Christmas is not about the presents. It is about the true reason. The true reason why we celebrate Christmas is because of Jesus’ Birth. When Jesus was born He got three gifts. We get a lot of gifts that sometimes we take for granted.

On Christmas, we should be thankful for the gifts we have because some people don’t have anything. What we do have is Him. He is with us all the time.”

Emma Jolly

Enjoy your family, the simple things in life, and rejoice in The Savior of the World’s birth.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

For weeks now a special friend of mine has been slowly fading into the sunset. Everyday she moves a little slower, and takes about twice as long as she once did to crank up in the mornings. It is such an awful feeling not being able to stop the aging process.

This special friend holds so much knowledge inside her memory. Copies of all my books, thoughts, blogs and business correspondence fills her gigabits. As I speak my friend Macintosh OS X is swirling her little kaleidoscope ball around trying to boot up. It’s been twenty minutes so this might just be the final moments of her life. All I can say right now is thank goodness for my MacBook that I’m using right now.

My OS X, she’s been a good one though. Nine years of loyal service. I can’t begin to tell you how many hours a week we have shared together. Who could ask for more? Me, that’s who, what will I do if the computer whizzes at Computer Tree can’t pull all my old stuff out of her wireless system and put it on my new, not yet purchased Macintosh OS whatever the latest version computer.

I must admit I am having a major panic attack. Why oh why do things grow old and die, a question that has been asked from the beginning of time. For everything there is a season, a time to live and a time to die. I get it, but that doesn’t make losing things, especially loved ones any easier. So this week I will be laying my old Mac girl to rest in the great computer graveyard in the sky, and I’ll embark on a new journey with a new friend. I can only hope that my new best buddy will be as loyal as my old Mac OS X. Rest in peace my partner in crime.

On another note…

I’m gearing up for book launch #4. The River Keeper and I, as well as my other novels, Guardian Spirit, The Color of My Heart, and my little children’s picture book Matty theManger Mouse will be at Speedy Chef, 685 North Bridge Street Elkin on Friday, November 7th from 3 until 6. If you haven’t been able to get your signed copy this will be an opportune time to pick up a good read and have a great meal.

I want to thank Speedy Chef for hosting this 4th book launch. Also, for every copy of The River Keeper that I sell on Friday, I’ll donate one dollar to the Elkin Valley Trails Association. See you on Friday.

I love life! It is ever changing, and ever challenging. We never know what the day, week or month will bring. It’s like we get up in the morning and are handed a whole passel of gifts. One day that gift may be a surprise box of happiness, another day may bring bad news, or, that phone call in the middle of the night that makes you break out in a cold sweat.

I had sort of one of those surprises two weeks ago. While cleaning up some property down by Byrd’s Branch somehow a sneaky old spider crept up my pant leg and took a generous bite out of my right calf. Actually I didn’t feel a thing, my leg just started itching and upon inspection a blister about the size of the end of my pinky was present. There was also a black dot in the middle of the blister. I thought, oh well, another mosquito bite.

By the next day it was obvious it was not a mosquito that had feasted on my O+ blood. The bite now had a blazing red area around it as big as a quarter. Not being one to enjoy going to the doctor I patiently waited for six days for this bite to get better, but it progressively got worse, so I “bite” the bullet and call the doctor.

Sure enough it is pretty badly infected and the doc says the four-letter, or, in this case the ten-letter word that I hate hearing… antibiotic. Drugs and myself do not gee-haw. I can’t take penicillin so I am given another form of antibiotic, that was last Wednesday. All seems well until Friday night when I notice my upper lip tingling, I think… I’m getting a nasty fever blister. By bedtime half of my upper lip is swelled. I go on to bed not thinking much about it.

Around 5am I get up and go into the bathroom. Flipping on the light I glance in the mirror and jump back wondering what kind of monster has invaded my house and taken up residence in my gown. Sure enough the freaky image in the mirror is none other than myself. My lips are so swelled it looks like I have been pumped full of Botox by a really bad plastic surgeon. I do a little self-exam, I can swallow, tongue is not swollen, so I decide to lie back down for a while and give the hubby a few more minutes of beauty sleep.

By 6am I am up again and now I have a pocket of fluid under my left eye and I just feel sort of funny, time to “bite” the bullet again and head to the ER. Long story short, I get a maximum dose of Benadryl in one butt cheek, and a maximum dose of a steroid in the other butt cheek, plus, a pill of some kind, and four prescriptions to take home with me.

I wish I could say that was the end of it, but the new antibiotic that the ER doctor put me on to finish clearing up the spider bite didn’t agree with me either, so by Tuesday I am back in the doctors office with ugly red whelps all over my arms. This time the doctor gives me a topical antibiotic to put on the bite, and a new ten-day supply of Prednisone.

We never know when a creepy old spider will invade our life. The old widow, or recluse may come in the form of cancer, kidney stones, heart disease, or a toothache. Sickness is a master of disguise. Sometimes it rears its ugly face with swollen lips, and other times it hides deep inside us for weeks, or, maybe months before it entangles us in its grasp.

Facing an illness makes us realize that we are destructible. We are simply skin, bones, water, blood and sinew. During my little ordeal I felt completely out of control. My well-being was in the hands of doctors and medicine. I was venerable, not a place I enjoy being. Something as small as a spider bite had swept me up in a whirlwind of Prednisone highs, and antibiotic allergic reactions. But I have no doubt that everything happens for a reason. And, I know that when I am spiraling out of control, my God is in control. So, whatever happens to me the Master is holding me by the hand.

Isaiah 41:13

For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.

(On another note, I am so excited about the release of my new novel, The River Keeper. Hopefully I will have a launch date soon, and set a time and place where you can stop by and pick your copy up. In the meantime, just email me at, sbyrd@embarqmail.com if you want an advanced copy.)

Do you ever look back at your life and think, “If I could only do that over?” There are lots of things in life that you can do over. A bad haircut will grow out and you can start all over again with a new style. A golf shot can be done over, and over again, likewise with a tennis volley, or basketball shot. You get to try again and again.

Unfortunately, there are some things that can’t be fixed with a do-over. What about spiteful words spoken about someone? You can’t take words back. Once those syllables have passed your lips they are forever. You can try to do-over a relationship by asking for forgiveness; sometimes you are pardoned for your foolishness, sometimes not. Do-over’s are not guaranteed.

I have many regrets that haunt me, but one especially darkens my thoughts. Back in 1990 my husband, Jerry and I were able to buy a tract of land that had once been owned by my great-great-grand-pappy, Ardel Carter. This piece of land had a bountiful spring that had supplied water to the homeplace up on the hill for generations. I cherished this old springhead, maybe too much and that’s why I lost it.

I thought a couple of weeping willow trees would be beautiful down by the old spring. So I went to the local hardware store and purchased two strapping young willows and planted them by the banks of the creek. One grew and the other one died. But I was not to be bested. I went to my daddy’s house and broke off a sturdy branch of his weeping willow and transported it back to the creek bank of my ancestors and stuck it down in the edge of the water. It took root and before long both willows were head high, then before I knew it they were towering toward the sun, reaching for the stars.

The willows were majestic looking and added a bit of nostalgia to this special place by the creek. Everyone loved the spot and many pictures were taken by the ancient springhouse. Wedding portraits, snow scenes, and shots for my website. Memories were made that will last a lifetime, and longer. But as with most things nothing stays the same. One day I opened the springhouse door and could not believe my eyes. There were weeping willow roots growing all through the spring water. I proceeded to get my shovel and tried to chop the mangled spirals of thirsty tentacles to death.

Thinking I had massacred the beastly fibers, I left reassured that all was well down by the spring. That was not the case, as weeks turned into years the dreaded roots only grew and became thirstier. Stretching through the spring, digging their fingers into the earth, disturbing the silt and clogging up the old spring more and more with each passing season. No matter how hard I tried, I could not keep the roots out of the spring. And, something else was happening; the area around the springhouse became damp and marsh like. It seemed there was water everywhere, and as if matters were not bad enough the old springhouse that my grandpa Ardel had built roughly 150 years before was slowly but surely dissolving into the earth. The back beam was completely rotted out and the front of the structure was bowing in the middle.

My wonderful husband tried his best to save the historic springhouse by jacking it up and replacing the rotten beams, but the old building was tried of standing. It groaned with the weight of time, and so was I. I had ruined the family spring, and there was no choice but to tear down the beloved springhouse.

I wish I could take back planting those willow trees. Dreaded willows, dreaded roots. Oh how I wish I had never transplanted those stranglers in the ground. I knew better, but the beauty of the weeping branches deceived me into thinking all would be well.

For several weeks after the springhouse came down Jerry and I dug and probed into the sappy dirt trying to find the original springhead, but to no avail. Those unruly willow roots had redirected the springhead into a dozen leaking spouts scattered all over the place. There was no way to save the spring. The loss of it burdened me. Could there be a ray of hope for the old spring?

After weeks of trying to save the spring I realized my husbands suggestion of digging a small pond at the spring site was the only solution. So this past weekend the spring was transformed into a lovely little pond. Or, it will be once the grass is sown and comes up. When the pond was hollowed out the guy that dug it for us turned off his machine and meandered over to us and said, “ I can see it now, you and Jerry sitting here on this bench holding hands and gazing out over the water.” I said, yes and there might just be a little smooching going on too.”

So therefore the old spring has been dubbed the “ smooching pond.” God has a way of fixing everything, if we only trust, believe, and see the good in all things. All that we have here on earth will vanish, or become smothered and clogged by a bunch of roots. We can drown in despair, or we can raise our voices up to the heavens and thank God that He is the God of second chances and do-over’s.

But, do not be deluded, there are two do-over’s that I know for sure will not happen, one is life. We only get an allotted amount of days here on this beautiful earth. We only have one chance to get living right. And, when it’s your time to pass on, and you’re standing by the pearly gates waiting for your name to be called, you will not get a do-over if your name is not written in the Book of Life. You will not be given another chance to come back to earth and do-over your decision to follow Christ.

I beg you, don’t put off making the most important decision of your life. Secure your eternity by making sure Jesus knows your name. God Bless you all.

Luke13:27