Two things happened on the same day. After a healing service at Christ of the Desert, I spoke with one of the women who had recently talked with Amy, who works closely with the families of Mecca and who is instrumental in identifying families with infants who have the greatest need. She said that we could never know how needed those blankets were (and continue to be) for the infants. Many of these families can’t afford clothing for their newborns, and the blankets are all they have. My heart nearly broke when I heard this. I had no idea that the level of poverty was this great among these families. The image of Christ’s birth came to me as I drove home, and I rejoiced that those of you who sent your beautiful handmade blankets had been so generous. I thought about how we wrapped these babies, just as Mary wrapped Jesus, in “swaddling” clothes of love. In Matthew Jesus tells us

“Come, you blessed of the Father,  inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was hungry and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was naked and you clothed me . . . Assuredly, I say unto you, inasmuch as you did it to the least of these, you did it to Me.”

Matthew 25:34-40NKJV

That afternoon when I got home, I received an email from a woman in North Carolina who asked how she might start a chapter of Angels Undercover. With tears in my eyes I wrote back to tell her that this was the first time the question had come up, but that I would be delighted to get more detailed information to her and work with her as she starts our very first East Coast chapter of Angels Undercover.

If any of you would like to start a chapter in your area, let me know. We’re in the earliest planning stages, so all ideas are welcome. If you have friends who like to crochet, knit, or quilt, perhaps you could get together once a month for a potluck luncheon or tea and work together, sharing patterns (and recipes?), and chatting. This year, I would like to go beyond making blankets for our little angels and also invite you to make baby clothes, especially booties, caps, sweaters for newborns – anything appropriate for infants in cold weather.

Please contact me personally if you have additional ideas for our Angels Undercover project as we look forward to helping our little baby angels in Christmas 2009.

Thank you again, dear Angels, for all you’ve done for our Mecca babies. Even now, on these wintry mornings and chilly nights, they are wrapped in your blankets of love.

Because of the huge success of our 2008 project, I’m extending the project for another year.  So get out those knitting needles, crochet hooks, and sewing machines and  breathe a prayer for the baby who will someday be wrapped in the blanket you’re making. Send me an email, if you’d like to be placed on our mailing list for updates.

For everyone who participated this year, I’m just now getting to my handwritten notes and a little thank you gift — so watch your mail boxes during the next couple of weeks. December was an especially busy month, which set me back a bit. I had surgery early in the month, and then worked on a book deadline through the holidays. My book, another mystery for Guideposts book division, was due January 5! (What was I thinking?! ) I missed my deadline by only one day — ta-DA! — and now I’m playing catchup. I’ve promised myself, and my family, that I’ll think very carefully about ever signing another contract with a manuscript due date around the holidays.

Two things came together just in the last few weeks. First was the publication of my last mystery by the same title, ANGELS UNDERCOVER, which at its heart has mysterious goings on (angelic acts of kindness) that play into the larger mystery, one of my favorite stories of all I’ve written. The second thing was my decision to publish a website devoted to my baby blanket project. As I thought about the name, it quickly became obvious that ANGELS UNDERCOVER was perfect. I ran it by my publisher, Guideposts Books, and they loved it.

The preliminary design is done, and though I’m still adding information–such as patterns and a forum where we can share our thoughts and pattern details–you’re welcome to stop by and have a look. The web address is www.angelsundercoverproject.org. Bookmark the page and come back often!

Several of the women had been working on crocheted or knitted blankets and throws for months, which they gave out with more smiles and hugs. Again, the gratitude of those who received them touched my heart. Each was a tangible gift of love that said more than words ever could.   

As I watched, an idea began nipping at the edges of my heart.  I’ve made a number of prayer shawls for friends and family. The idea is that as you crochet or knit, with each stitch you pray for the one you’re making it for. The receiver is blessed beyond all measure (I know this firsthand!) when presented with this gift of love.

By the time I got home that niggling idea had worked its way into the center of my heart. What about prayer blankies for the babies? I checked my shelves of stacked yarns — many left over from other projects. I hadn’t known until that minute how they could be used. Then it came to me: Simple granny squares made from those yarns could be stitched together make up beautiful baby blankets. With each stitch would be a prayer for that baby and his or her family. I would probably never know the child’s name, but God knows. He knows that little one just as intimately as he knows me. “You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb.”  (Psalm 139:13) 

I began work immediately on the first prayer blankie, and I’m nearly finished (photo coming soon) and will soon begin another. Would you like to join me? If you are a quilter, knitter, or crochet-er and would like to make a prayer blankie for a baby or toddler, I would love to hear from you. Just post a comment on this page, or send me an email for further instructions.  I will also be posting easy patterns and ideas for designs on my website. What a blessing it would be to gather as many prayer blankies as possible for these precious little children.

There are many prayers I whisper as I stitch together this baby blanket – that this child will be cared for physically and emotionally now and in the years to come; that this little one will someday, somehow, understand he is loved by Someone who loves him as if he is the only one in the world to love; and that especially, the child might come to know the One who says, “I have loved you with an everylasting love, therefore in lovingkindness I have drawn you. . .”

This year I avoided Christmas as long as I could.  I have boxes of ornaments and decorations stacked in the garage from years past, but I decided to do something different. I put up a tabletop Christmas tree with clear lights, filled its branches with white doves, and set a silver star at the top. I call it my peace tree, and every morning when I rise — usually while it’s still dark, I turn on the lights and I am reminded to pray for peace in our world–in Iraq, in Israel and Palestine, in Darfur . . .  oh my, the list goes on. And I pray for families here and around the world who have so little, who live in constant fear of attack because of war or political injustice. I pray for those I know by name in war-torn areas. Such as Fr. Andrew White, an Anglican priest from England, who at great risk to his own life, pastors a church in Baghdad. His shrinking congregation is made up of women and children because most of the men have been killed. He has MS, yet he is giving his life to those he shepherds. And I pray for those people in our country, in my community, who live in poverty. Many live on the streets, unsafe and cold, not knowing where their next meal is coming from. Some are mentally ill. Some are children.

I can’t pray beside my little peace tree without think about the prayer of St. Francis of Assisi: Lord, make me an instrument of your peace . . . 

I can’t pray beside my little peace tree without considering how I can be that instrument. What can I do to make a difference, when the need is so great?

I can’t pray beside my little peace tree without thinking about the over-the-top consumerism in our culture: false values that fly at us like reindeer on speed, without thinking about how I get caught up in the “wants” versus “needs,” and too often coming down on the side of “wants.” It’s too easy. Yet when I think about the heartbreaking conditions of the poor around the world, I want to weep because of my own insensitivity.  

A few days ago I put out my creche, which besides my peace tree, is the only other Christmas “decoration” in our home. My mother handpainted the nativity figures when I was a child, and it’s been a special treasure through the years. I hid a tiny cross in the manger, a tradition begun by St. Fransis of Assisi.  Such a simple tradition, yet to me this year, it’s one of the most precious reminders of why this Child came into this war torn, troubled world: not as a King, but as a Savior.

Sacrifice. Not a word we associate with Christmas in this season of giving and receiving. Yet, when I think about it, isn’t that what the heart of Christ’s message was all about? I have to ask myself what will I sacrifice this year, this week before Christmas, this day, that will bring peace to one child or one family. Mother Teresa was once asked how she could go on with her work when the need was so great. “One child at a time,” she replied.

Peace comes with a price. What will I give of myself that just might make a difference in one life this week, in one life this new year?

I don’t think about my Parkinson’s diagnosis very often — at least, I don’t dwell on it — but as I bounced around with my granddaughter in the inflatable jumper, it struck me that in the not too distant future, I will be unable to jump and soar and hop with Mia or her little siblings that will surely follow. It made those few minutes even more precious. As I drove home that day, I reflected on other areas of my life that will someday be acutely affected by the disease — the walks I enjoy every morning, playing the piano, typing (a necessity for an author), photography . . . and the list goes on. Before I knew it I had worked myself into an award-winning pity party.

I had to stop (not literally — I was on the freeway!) and reassess what makes life precious. Is it only the physical movement I now enjoy? Or is it something deeper? When it comes to time with either of my daughters or my granddaughter, it’s just being with them that gives me the greatest joy. Yes, hopping around in the inflatable jumper was fun. But holding Mia after she fell asleep at lunch that day, planting a kiss on that sweet forehead, listening to her sing Row, Row, Row Your Boat after we were back in the car — those moments were even more precious. Unforgettable. And doable in my future.

It seems to me that when faced with a life-changing diagnosis — whether Parkinson’s or cancer — I have a choice. I can fret over what may come in the future. Or I can take delight in the gift of this day, this hour, this moment in time. I can dream those dreams about books I have yet to write; I can take delight in spending time with good friends, “Jeepin” through the desert with my adventurous hubby, and enjoying hot political debates with other rabelrousers. Life is full of wonder! If I’m so busy worrying about tomorrow, I’ll miss out on the wonders of today — treasured moments with my husband or friends, good books to read — or write (!), keeping in touch with the special people in my life with phone calls, letters, and e-mail.

My husband once bought me a license plate holder that stated: So Many Stories, So Little Time. We didn’t know then what we know now about my health. But shouldn’t we all feel that way about doing those things we love each day? Being with those people we love — or touching lives with a phone call or note — as if it’s the last time we can?

Can I trust God with my tomorrows? A dear minister, Pastor Earl Lee, years ago preached annually on Psalm 37. He called it the Cycle of Victorious Living. It’s remained one of my favorite passages of Scripture to this day:

Trust in the Lord, and do good;

Dwell in the land, and feed on his faithfulness.

Delight yourself also in the Lord,

And he shall give you the desires of your heart.

Commit your way to the Lord,

Trust also in him,

And he shall bring it to pass.

Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him.

Do not fret . . .

Psalm 37:3-5, 7 NKJV

Trust, delight, commit, and rest . . . and do not fret. Never have these words held greater meaning and comfort. No matter my tomorrows, no matter what challenges lie ahead, his grace is sufficient. And I can rest in that promise.

I treasure you every day.

My precious one,

Consider the seasons. Winter, with its new-fallen snow, covers the seeds of new life in its frozen depths. Spring, with its blossoms and trees, soon turns into summer’s warm, long days. Then, before winter sets in again, autumn arrives with its dazzling show of color.

The rhythm of your life is like that, beloved. Your beauty in Me, your acts of love for others, your servant’s heart, and your sacrifice of prayer will grow and change with each season of your life. There is glorious expectancy in such a plan. No season is more beautiful than another, but each is part of the life cycle I designed.

With you in your tomorrows,

The Lord God

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,

His mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22-23 NRSV

* * *

God makes everything happen at the right time.

Yet none of us can ever fully understand all He has done,

and He puts questions in our minds about the past and the future.

I know the best thing we can do is to always enjoy life,

because God’s gift to us is the happiness we get from our food and drink

and from the work we do.

Ecclesiastes 3:11-12

Patterns. Rhythms. Seasons. None more beautiful than another — but each part of our Creator’s design. I don’t know about you, but I understand the glorious expectancy and comfort (!) that comes with belonging to the One who created us with a plan — no matter what season of life we’re in. There is nothing haphazard about his Creation, whether our seasons or the earth’s. There is nothing haphazard about our life journey when we walk beside him. I can’t wait to see what happens next!

My other favorites are the warthogs, but they were sleeping in this morning, so we didn’t get to chat. Fenton, our 1000 lb male zebra, was quite talkative today. Actually, lately he’s found a lot to talk about in the wee dark hours of the morning, which always makes us laugh. His bray is much like a donkey’s, only ten times louder. We hear there’s a search on to find Fenton a girlfriend, and we suspect that’s what he’s talking about to the others we hear answering him — the crowned cranes and Ankole cattle.

Speaking of the crowned cranes, it’s almost time for them to start dancing again. At certain times of the year, these tall birds hop back and forth on their spindly legs, flap their wings and jut out their long necks in a rhythmic wobble — their reddish punk-rock coifs gleaming in the sun. The sight can’t help but make you smile. There’s only one sight more entertaining — the humans standing outside the crowned crane enclosure, hopping back and forth, flapping their elbows, trying to get the birds to dance. (I won’t mention how I know this is true.)

But a rare sight was mine this morning. One of our usually shy Cheetas was napping in the sun. I sat down on a bench in the shade of a desert willow, and watched this magnificent feline stretch and yawn, roll over, and rub his ears with his paws– just the way our cats do. For a while, his head was at an angle where his world must have appeared upside down — a feline behavior I’ve always found enviable. I’ve discovered you don’t talk to an animal like a Cheeta. There’s something about the wonder, the awe, the power, the silent and magnificent beauty such an animal elicits. So I sit and watch — and perhaps, even listen — when I’m lucky enough to see one. It’s a sacred moment, one that always makes me consider the God who created this animal.

A little strange, this early morning ritual. I talk to the warthogs, the zebras, and the vultures; I dance with the crowned cranes; and I meditate with the big cats. Then I put my ball cap back on — the one that proclaims, “Life is Good” — and I trot back home to begin another day of writing.

One winter nearly a decade ago, my husband and I lived in Salamanca, Spain. The winter was long, dreary, bitter cold, and seemingly endless. The winds blew across the plains, bringing blasts of horizontal frigid rain. We lived in center of the medieval section of the city, and the weather added a wonderful sense of “atmosphere” to the experience (especially because I was writing Distant Bells at the time, which is set in Salamanca), but winter seemed to have settled in to stay. One weekend, we rented a car and drove south a few hours to Carceres to visit some ancient ruins. The first morning, when I opened my window in the Parador — an ancient castle turned into a hotel — to peer out it was as if spring had arrived overnight! Birdsong filled the air. Flowers were blooming and the more glorious sight of all — storks were nesting in gigantic nests on the roofs of neighboring buildings! The air smelled of orange blossoms. We seemed to have magically stepped from winter into spring. It made me think of Narnia when Aslan returned.

Spring is a time of renewal. For me, it’s also a time to rejoice. Last year — after receiving two life-changing diagnoses, one life-threatening, the other neurologically progressive — it seemed that winter had settled in to stay. But spring is here! God’s love and grace and joy and peace seem somehow more precious with each passing day. He sees us through our winters. We may not always feel his presence, usually because we’re too busy worrying about the storm that whirls around us, but he is with us. In fact, he never left us — not for one “winter” moment.

There is a time for everything,

a season for every activity under heaven.

A time to be born and a time to die.

A time to plant and a time to harvest.

A time to kill and a time to heal.

A time to tear down and a time to rebuild.

A time to cry and a time to laugh.

A time to grieve and a time to dance.

A time to scatter stones

and a time to gather stones.

A time to embrace and a time to turn away.

A time to search and a time to lose.

A time to keep and a time to throw away.

A time to tear and a time to mend.

A time to be quiet and a time to speak up.

A time to love and a time to hate.

A time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 NLT

By early October there was an empty spot in the garage where my beautiful little Lexus sports car had been parked. In its place, came my kickin,’ revvin,’ rockin’ and rollin’ Jeep Wrangler. It wasn’t long after that we took off for our first camping trip. Make that, my first camping trip since I camped in the High Sierras with my Girl Scout troop when I was nine. Tom is an old pro at camping. He and his buddies have camped and river rafted in the most primitive of places for years. I don’t do primitive. I require gourmet food, a bathroom nearby, a tent that can zip out creepy-crawly critters, a night-light for reading, and a cushy bed.

Many of our friends can’t understand our fascination with the desert. They’re quick to point out its shortcomings: Too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter. Harsh, windy, sandy, uncomfortable. I agree about the harsh conditions. But maybe that’s part of its draw — nature is in charge here. We are but sojourners, the most insignificant of visitors. Our only charge? To be committed to Creation care. And to breathe in its beauty — that rare beauty that not everyone sees.

One of the things I like best about the desert is how it constantly changes. I glory in the beauty of the rocky, jagged peaks, refined by centuries of earthquake upheaval and weathering; dunes, wind-rippled and sparkling in the sun; wildflowers with colors made more glorious because of their contrast with the soft hues of the landscape; oases surrounded by century-old palms and tiny blue pupfish in their ponds; streams that bubble and sing, framed by desert willows, their branches providing shade and shelter to the ever-present roadrunners and songbirds. There is no sweeter song than that of desert birds in the spring.

The most breathtaking beauty of all is the desert sunrise. To take photos, I was up by five, bundled from head to toe. I put on the coffee (Starbucks, of course) and waited with my camera for the first light of dawn. As the sun rose I thought back to the dark days of uncertainty in the summer, and with the Psalmist, I was able to say, “Weeping may endure for the night, but joy comes in the morning.” Amen!

A happy camper on the old Butterfield Stage Route.