Friday’s PET scan was different. That tech had gone through her spiel, explaining I wouldn’t feel anything. No sensation of the concoction going in, no sense of it circulating, no side effects. “Just stay away from pregnant women, children under five, and young animals for the next eighteen hours,” she said. “Oh, and don’t share a bathroom with anyone.”

“No side effects?” I asked. “Then how do you explain Spiderman?”

She laughed. “I wish.”

But that was on Friday when I was still a stranger to scans. This is five days later. I’m an old pro. The idea of glowing medical substances and a photo shoot of my insides is now far less terrifying than, say, a bank robbery. It’s just a funny coincidence that they have you raise your hands over your head. Like it’s a stick-up.

My asbestos-gloved PET scan tech was slim and tattooed, her features holding hints of Eastern lands. Today’s CT guy is stocky and reminds me of my youngest son–nut brown skin and the posture of a soldier, both young men having served in the US Army. The kind of guy you feel will keep you safe in the event of an emergency.

Unlike the radioactive material of a PET scan, the contrast dye for a CT scan, he explained, does leave an impression as it travels the circulatory system. “There will be a warm sensation, and you might feel like you’re wetting your pants, but you aren’t.”

Nice to know.

In the weeks before my scans, God had prepared me with a couple of Bible passages that made several appearances by way of songs, books, devotionals, and email subscriptions. This has happened often over the months of my journey from almost-cancer to definitely-cancer, but these two passages seem particularly appropriate for any occasion when one is called to stretch out for a ten-to-thirty-minute examination of her neck-to-midthigh insides.

I’ve been committing Psalm 139 to memory. Not a completed task, but certain phrases rise and accompany my glide into the machine.

O, Lord, You have searched me and known me…even the darkness is not dark to you…For You formed my inward parts…You knitted me together…I am fearfully and wonderfully made…My frame was not hidden from You…Your eyes saw my unformed substance.

A reassuring reminder that God will not be surprised by whatever these scans might reveal.

I follow recorded breathing instructions and the second passage comes to mind, Isaiah 41:10-13. I memorized Isaiah 41:10 decades ago, a comfort and lifeline in the days when my first marriage crumbled. I hadn’t noticed the middle verses until recently. I read Isaiah 41:13 in a devotional and looked it up in my Bible to see it in context. As I hold my breath and body still for image-taking, verses 11 and 12 inspire thoughts not likely intended by Isaiah, for he wrote them long before we had machinery to ascertain the status of inner wars, but perhaps you can imagine how these verses could be shaped into prayer for anyone involved in the kind of reconnaissance mission that’s mine today.

…those who strive against you shall be as nothing and shall perish. You shall seek those who contend with you, but you shall not find them; those who war against you shall be as nothing at all.

I remember that Isaiah 41:13 circles back to the sentiments of 41:10, speaking again of God’s presence, comfort, and help, but my thoughts are interrupted by the return of the tech. He holds my right hand, lifting it to rest on the white, donut-shaped, picture-taking tunnel, then releases the bagged iodine into my I.V. tube. “Tell me when you start to feel warmth in your neck or chest,” he says.

“Okay, yes. I feel it in my chest.” And then, glad for his earlier assurance that I would not actually wet my pants, “Oh, I see what you mean. Definitely feeling that now.”

He gently returns my right hand to its stick-up position and leaves the room for the “with contrast” part of my scan.

Back home spending time alone with God, I’m grateful for the kindness and help of the imaging staff who patiently explained what I could expect, answered my questions and instructed me in what to do. I review Psalm 139 and Isaiah 41:10-12, thanking God for the Scriptures that came along to so personally prepare me, occupying my mind and settling my heart in the long minutes of holding my body perfectly still. I reflect on the long familiar words of Isaiah 41:10—Do not fear for I am with you.

When I get to verse 13, I remember how the tech came in and held my right hand against the machine, and I’m leveled.

For I, the Lord God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you.”

Really sweet, right? But that’s not what levels me. What really gets me is what was written on the identification badge he wore.

My technician’s name was Jesus.

The post What’s in a Nametag? appeared first on Jody Evans, Author.

What wedding planner, for example, could have arranged for a rainbow to arch above the bride and groom at the precise moment the pastor pronounced the two as man and wife? My husband Tom and I shared in the joy and wonder of that very thing this past September. A moment of stunned and united silence before we witnesses in folding chairs stood to cheer the newlyweds’ cheerful exit.

The forecast had warned of the possibility of a stormy afternoon, but the bride had decided to take her chances, bravely choosing a canopy of sky over the less-picturesque pop-up option. A risktaker in white rewarded by rainbow.

In the weeks leading up to the ceremony, I’d had the privilege of preparing, at the couple’s request, a lightly choreographed wedding dance. Our focus had been on their hold and connection with a special desire for a dip at the end (the groom’s idea). The young man learned about the responsibilities of being a leader, in life as well as on the dance floor. And for the young lady, the sometimes more difficult role. A follower has to keep on smiling and believe—with the teacher’s help—her novice dance partner will surely get it right with practice. Or, at least, right enough.

On the day of the wedding, their dance went off with all the sweetness and charm we’d hoped for. The nervous groom, steady. The bride, radiant and graceful. The audience oohing and aahing in all the right places from first step to picture-perfect final-dip end.

And then, only minutes after this triumph, the ceremony’s rainbow-promise benediction failed us all. The grace that held back rain grew thin. Wisps of cotton candy cloud collided and collected, releasing droplets, then drops, then a downward rush that overflowed pretty flower vases and splattered in and over the edges of beautifully stationed dinner plates just waiting to be filled—only not with water.

Those of us who’d brought them popped open umbrellas. The less pessimistically-prepared folks (or perhaps just less attuned to weather possibilities), scattered to sheltered areas to watch the drenching from a distance. My husband, a retired pilot and boy scout who keeps an eye to the sky and dire possibilities, had brought three umbrellas. Two for us and an extra to pass along just in case. The rest huddled under awnings and prayed for the hasty return of quick-drying sunshine, while the umbrellaed guests emptied and overturned place settings, collected napkins, and leaned chairs inward along table edges.

I heard later that this was when the mother-of-the-bride turned her face from the crowd, her sister-in-law whispering sternly, “Keep yourself together.”

At last, having done all we could, we waited and wondered.

How long should we wait?

How long before the food is past being fit to eat?

How long can we be expected to watch and hope under umbrellas and awnings?

 And (this from me) what is my husband up to now?

For Tom had walked over to the DJ for a private conference. He then turned to me, extending a hand beyond the edge of his umbrella, confident his dance-trained wife would rightly respond to the order gentlemanly invitation. So, I tucked into an improvised dance hold for a double-umbrella foxtrot to “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head.”

I knew he didn’t mean to steal the spotlight, but all eyes should have been on the bride and groom, not on an entertaining old man and his slightly embarrassed old lady. This wasn’t our moment. It was theirs. Still, my romantic husband, oblivious to what was certainly clear to everyone else, danced on. And I, obedient follower, did the same.

But old folks, it seems, can sometimes turn a tide. Halfway through the song the grandmother-of-the-bride stepped out with a troupe of small grandchildren in tow. A circle of rain dancers, bare heads to the dripping sky.

What happened after that, I can only liken to a long-remembered Kodak commercial (or was it Kleenex?), back in the days when TV commercials had the power to beckon tears from laundry-folding housewives (at least that’s how it was in my family of origin).

One rainy-day song turned to two, then three, as wedding guests flowed out from their sheltered places to show old Gene Kelly how it can be done en masse. The bride and groom, now center stage, displaying a skillful umbrella dance that left the bride’s carefully-arranged hair and makeup none the worse for weather.

The dancing outlasted the rain, as did the celebratory dinner food. The clouds ceased their leaking, the non-dancing guests jumped out to assist the wait staff in an improv of banquet patio restoration, and the plan was back on course. A fine meal enjoyed, followed by a proper dance, the cutting of the cake, a final toast in which the happily damp and disheveled revelers lifted their glasses to toast a day that hadn’t gone exactly as any person had planned.

A two-becomes-one union under the arcing promise of a rainbow, a dance through untimely rain, and a hearty banquet at the end to celebrate the journey.

“Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.”  Proverbs 19:21

The post A Rainy Day Wedding and an Old(ish) Man with an Umbrella appeared first on Jody Evans, Author.

Four days after arriving home from vacation, I was distraught. Our 18-year-old cat hadn’t been there to greet us and a thorough search of our property proved fruitless. When the neighbor said he’d heard her usual noontime meow from our front porch just hours before we’d gotten home, we concluded she must have crawled off somewhere to die. In the four days since, we searched again and again. The shadow of cat memory continually called me to look for her outside of our glass front doors, waiting to be fed. But the space was just space, empty of cat. The whole thing felt so sad and uncertain. It’s hard to rightly grieve when you aren’t sure of the ending. The heart wants closure.

Then, we learned a cat matching her description had been found. A cat in bad shape was turned in to our local Animal Rescue Friends (ARF) where she then incurred $500 of veterinary expenses.

This should have been good news except for two things.

1. We wouldn’t have agreed to spend that kind of money on our old girl who was clearly near the end of her days.
2. The rescuers were reportedly pretty steamed at the terrible people (us!) who had let their cat get into such bad condition.

So, on this fourth day home from vacation, I had about an hour before I needed to go to the office and see if the skinny gray and white kitty with the matted fur was indeed our Trouble.

Even as I write this, I want to defend myself. To explain to you that we knew she had kidney failure (a common malady as a cat’s end draws near). She had stopped grooming herself (another sign). And a couple of months before our trip, she had stopped eating. In April, we had her on home hospice to keep her comfortable. We even had a final resting place prepared for her under a shady tree in the back yard.

And then she rallied.

I mean, she still looked terrible, but by the time we left on vacation, she was back to eating, drinking, purring, and climbing the ramp to her cat condo and, according to the friends who covered her twice-a-day feedings, she’d remained in that acceptable elderly-cat condition for the duration of our trip.

The people at ARF didn’t know this, of course. Even if they had, they frowned upon any kind of outdoor cat situation and her long matted fur would be inexcusable in their eyes. Maybe everyone’s eyes. I was heavy with the anticipation of being found wanting as a pet owner. A crushing heaviness that dug into memories I carry of falling short as a mom, a friend, a wife, and a person.

To fill the waiting time, I opened to Day 42 of the lighthearted devotional book I was going through.

God Saves the CRUSHED in Spirit

key word crushed (adj): compressed or squeezed forcefully; feeling overwhelmingly disappointed.

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted; He saves those crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18

The devotional story that followed covered a situation far more severe than my prideful fear of judgment and provided a perspective shift I needed. Plus, Psalm 34 had served as a lifeline to me during a much more difficult season of my life. Just seeing the reference reminds me of God’s steadfast love that never ceases.

I still couldn’t imagine a pleasant ending to this cat story, but I asked a few friends to pray and, bringing my mom along (she knew the woman we were going to meet with and might be able to smooth the waters),  my husband and I headed off to see if the “neglected” animal was indeed ours.

The next morning, I opened my lighthearted devotion book, feeling far more lighthearted than I’d been the day before. My cat, Trouble, rested peacefully on the front porch as I reflected on how sweetly the whole thing had worked out. After a rough start, we were treated with kindness and compassion. They’d even assured us the vet bill was covered, explaining that’s one of the purposes for the donations they receive at ARF.

I was about to read Day 43 in the devotion book when I realized I’d accidentally skipped a day, so I turned back to Day 41, the one I’d missed.

God Gives Us COMFORT

Key word: comfort (noun): strengthening aid, a feeling of ease from grief or trouble

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort. 2 Corinthians 1:3

I don’t understand how these devotions landed on just the right days for me to read them during my cat story, but this kind of thing has happened to me many times over the years and always feels like a breath of God’s kind and comforting presence. The timing on this one even included my mistakenly reading them out of order.

And I had to laugh when I read the key word’s definition out loud. Do you see it? If you draw it out, it reads, A feeling of ease from grief-f-f-or trouble.

A feeling of ease from grief for Trouble. Could it have been any more perfect?

***

How about you? Is the timely comfort of God something you’ve experienced? A perfectly-timed Bible reading, devotional, or song, perhaps? Maybe even a well-placed billboard or bumper sticker?

I’d really like to know how you’ve seen God’s small kindnesses in your times of suffering. I believe sharing such things can be an encouragement to others. Please use the comments below to shine that light : )

(And if that’s too public for you, I understand. You can opt to just share it with me–an audience of one). Email me at jody@jodyevans.com.

The post A Cat Tale of Trouble and Comfort appeared first on Jody Evans, Author.

That’s the bit of grace I’m aiming to make available to you before the last day of May goes by. The story is written. The cover is ready. I’m just busy jumping the last few technical hurdles to make it easy for you to access through your favorite reading machine (though wouldn’t it be fun if I sent you a story you could actually roll up and carry in your back pocket?).

Now, I just need a bit of grace from you as you wait.

I’m clumsily jumping those hurdles, but the finish line is in sight. (I’m pretty sure that’s it up ahead in the distance : )

The post Grace for a Warm Spring Day appeared first on Jody Evans, Author.

Hope. Another word in my bundle of words.

There was a time I did not like hope at all. Nope. No hope for me. I was not a fan.

Maybe it was a character flaw. Or maybe, as Proverbs 13:12 would attest, it was the natural result of a long, weary road of unfulfilled longing.

“Hope deferred makes a heart sick.”

I agree with Emily Dickinson’s first stanza, that hope is the thing with feathers that sings and sings. It sings that the first sign of cancer, or addiction, or an inconstant heart in one we love, will be the last. It sings this song even when there’s a second sign. A third. A fourth. It’s just–and I know this sounds terrible–I eventually come to wish that little bird would hush up and go away.

In my experience, those feathers grow scratchy and the song becomes strident somewhere around the eighth or ninth year of hope-songs. When one time-to-give-up sign shows up after another, with ever bigger and bolder letters of NOPE? Well, it seems to me those concrete signs make a fool of ethereal hope.

There comes a time on the longest roads when the only comfort you find is in the idea of settling into the expected, however much you would never choose the thing you’ve come to expect. There comes a moment when hope’s relentless song of maybe this time remission or sobriety will last, or this time the job will come through or maybe he really means he’s sorry this time makes a person long for a hopeless, featherless bird to just come singing,

This is the way it will always be, so get used to it.

Getting used to it may not be an attractive option, but at least it seems possible, and maybe even smart. It can feel smarter to opt for stable roots of pessimism over wind-tossed wings of hope. For pessimism is rarely disappointed. And if by some miracle your pessimistic predictions are proven wrong, there’s not much sting in that kind of disappointment, is there? It’s a win-win!

So, that’s the smart, hope-weary tactic I chose. I boarded up my windows against that feathered beast and blasted a Just the Way It Is song at a volume with which no birdsong could compete. And I really hoped it would work.

Only, it didn’t.

Hope is a persevering sort of bird, relentlessly pecking tiny holes in every I-won’t-care wall you manage to erect. However much you reinforce your walls against that little bird, enticing little hopeful signs find the cracks and push their way in. And there you are, set-up once again. Vulnerable to the threat of new disappointments. (Or is that just me?)

I’m mostly friends with hope again. Along the way in my double-decade story, I came to see my problem wasn’t with hope, but with the object of it. I’ve since learned that building hope on the uncertain ground of sobriety or remission or a person’s constant faithful love can never provide the kind of security I long for. Because cancer can always come back. A streak of sobriety can end in a moment, an untimely frost (both literal and figurative) can strip away the full-blossomed promise of spring harvest.

What we want is a sure hope. A hope that stands strong and true whichever way health or human love may go.

I realize this is starting to sound like a commercial –

Is your old worn-out hope letting you down? We’ve got you covered!

Try new and improved Hope with the can’t-fail formula!

Guaranteed to hold up under fire, flood, draught, hurricane, earthquake, and even tornado.

You probably already know the secret ingredient to this kind of hope. I bet you’ve sung this hopebird’s song in a Sunday chorus or two. If you’ve dipped into scripture at all, you’ve surely read of it there.

“But this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. His mercies never come to an end. They are new every morning. Great is Your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion says my soul. Therefore I will hope in Him.” Lamentations 3:21-24

The steadfast love of the Lord. Sounds like something you want to stitch onto a pillowcase, right? At least at first reading. But this is smack dab in the middle of Lamentations, a book famous for its misery. Take a look at what comes just three verses before –

“I have forgotten what happiness is; so I say, “My endurance has perished; so has my hope from the Lord.”

Which might be okay if Jeremiah’s Therefore I will hope in Him wasn’t sandwiched between that verse and this one —

“You have wrapped Yourself with a cloud so that no prayer can pass through.”

And then comes this —

“You came near when I called on You; You said, ‘Do not fear!'”

Do you see what I mean about hope being relentless?

The whole book of Lamentations is a sort of tennis match between hope and despair. And twenty-six centuries later the world is still lobbing that ball back and forth from one side to the other. Only it’s not a tennis match, it’s war. A war where rejoicing pairs with suffering, and glory with tribulation for a surprising kind of peace song.

“Since we have been justified by faith we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through Him we have also obtained access to this grace in which we stand in HOPE of the glory of God. And not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, and not only that but we glory in our tribulation, knowing that suffering and tribulation produce perseverance and endurance, and perseverance and endurance produce character, and character HOPE. Now HOPE does not disappoint, for the love of God has been poured into our hearts by the Holy Spirit who gave it to us.” (from Romans 5:1-5)

It may feel safer, at times, to tune out all hope than to trust in a hope that doesn’t seem to mind letting us suffer. But if we say yes to that hope, we say yes to something stronger than suffering, for this hope springs from the mysterious love of God that has been poured into our hearts.

This next passage is a favorite of mine and a strong theme in my first novel (95% finished now). The word hope isn’t here, but I think you’ll see how it relates.

“Though the fig tree may not blossom,

Nor fruit be on the vines;

Though the labor of the olive may fail,

And the fields yield no food;

Though the flock may be cut off from the fold,

And there be no herd in the stalls –

Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation. (Habakkuk 3:17-18 NKJV)

So there you have it, a hope that isn’t dependent on fragile blossoms, fruit, or flocks. A call to join that little bird in singing hope songs like this –

My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus blood and righteousness

On Christ the Solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.

So, sing on little bird. (Who knew the thing with feathers would turn out to be a Rock star?)

“‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul. ‘Therefore, I will hope in Him.'”

Though it is true that hope deferred makes a heart sick, there is more to the story as there is more to the proverb.

“Hope deferred makes a heart sick,

But a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” Proverbs 13:12

How about you? Do you ever feel like life would be more comfortable if you could just stop hoping? Do you find hope revives even when you don’t particularly want it to? What keeps you singing hope songs when everything is hard and heavy? What hope Scriptures do you go to when hope is hard?

The post When Hope is Hard appeared first on Jody Evans, Author.

Picture a Grandpa and Grandma on a two-hour early Sunday morning road trip with 9-year-old twin grandsons—my bright idea for how we could all attend an out-of-town birthday party without missing Sunday worship. (Church always being Sunday’s top priority, I found a church in our association just twelve minutes from the party location.) We arrived with doughnuts to share with the congregation (because doughnuts are a surefire way to make friends, right?).

At this point I should explain that the twins attend a wonderful Bible-teaching church with traditions that differ from the wonderful Bible-teaching church where my husband and I are members. While we have liturgy and weekly communion in a one-room church house (people of all ages sitting together through one long service), they’re used to congregational singing followed by age-appropriate teaching in Sunday school rooms. So, with this one being more like our home church than theirs, it behooved us to prepare our active grandsons for a longer sit-quietly experience than they were used to. (And no, if you’re wondering, behooved isn’t one of my 2025 words, but isn’t it fun to give it a little screentime?)

Our church provides little ones with prompts for taking sermon notes, so, seeing the church we were visiting didn’t have an equivalent, I tore some pages from my notebook, grabbed a couple of extra pens and gave the boys an assignment.

“I want you to write down five to ten words you hear during the sermon and make tally marks every time you hear them repeated.”

Did they do it?

You betcha! I believe “Jesus” and “Love” made it onto both lists with several tally marks for each.

It strikes me the word-of-the-year practice is something like what I did to prepare my grandkids for that church service. It’s an experience where God metaphorically hands His children a piece of paper to help them navigate the coming year. My grandsons noticed particular words that repeated in the sermon, in the same way a word-of-the-year participant will see her word showing up in Bible reading, songs, conversations, movies, books, and even a Sunday sermon or two.

This year, the way one word lead to another and another for me reminds me of a fairy tale I loved as a child, The Princess Who Never Laughed (read here for a fairytale break). Instead of highlighting just one word for me to notice, study, and meditate upon, it feels like God did something more like what I did with my grandkids. Something more like the old grey man in the fairy tale did for Simpleton. He handed me a shovel and instructed me to dig for one golden word that would lead to others. One gift that would bring others along in a parade for my King’s pleasure.

When I introduced the idea for this 2025 series to my email subscribers in January, I included two verses.

“Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.”

This is the first verse of many I included on two printed pages I’ve been using for daily meditation. I’ve walked through the verses and prayers on those pages most mornings and again at bedtime, my words-of-the-year marked like stepping stones. PLANS…PURPOSE…STAND…

As I ponder and meditate, I often recall other verses with additional words that connect and repeat. I’ve circled, underlined, color-coded and written in between paragraphs and along page borders. Not even three months into the year, my pages are soft and wrinkled and worn, and still these stepping stones lead me along with added nuance and weight.

The other verse I wrote in that January email, starts the section of my meditation pages where LIGHT, WALK, DARKNESS, WORD and SHONE/SHINES take center stage.

After much prayer, I’m sharing that section with you today. Not simply as it’s written on the pages, but in the way it might flow as I meditate upon it. Because I’m lead to emphasize different words and phrases on different days, grouping and ordering lines differently from the way they originally appeared. Sometimes I meditate on just one verse or even part of a verse, other times I read through from beginning to end. One time, after several weeks of using these pages as a guide, I noticed a word I hadn’t paid much attention to in previous readings.

DWELT appeared not in one verse but two, and drew me to focus on the connection.

Since this developed over several weeks of prayer and memory and word search, I don’t know if you will see, with just one reading, all that I see.  I imagine, if my grandsons listened to that same sermon day after day, new words would have made their way onto Lyle and Matthew’s lists. There would be more tally marks on the original words as they heard them in places they hadn’t noticed the first time. And that’s what’s happened to me with the Scriptures and prayers I wrote down for myself at the beginning of this year.

But, even though you might not get as much out of it as I do, I’d like to share this portion of my word walk with you, one word leading to another, new words connecting and showing up in one verse after another, adding in, circling back, lines repeating like a chorus. (To help in this endeavor, I’ve included the book from which each Scripture is taken and put repeating words into ALL CAPS, bolding each one the first time it appears).

So, these words from my meditation pages may not, on first reading, make any more sense to you than that sermon in its entirety would have made to my nine-year-old grandsons (who are, I should say—in case they read this—now ten). But I hope I’ve given you enough direction to dig in and find a golden word or two. Just enough to get you started on your own word parade.

A  Meditation on Walk, Light, Word, Path, Darkness (and a few more)

We WALK as children of LIGHT (for the fruit of LIGHT is found in all that is GOOD and right and true) seeking to discern what is pleasing to the Lord. (Ephesians)

Your WORD is a lamp to my feet and a LIGHT to my PATH. (Psalms)

IN THE BEGINNING was the WORD, and the WORD was with God, and the WORD was God. He was IN THE BEGINNING with God. All things were made by Him, and without Him was not anything made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the LIGHT of men. (Gospel of John)

The people who WALKed in DARKNESS have seen a great LIGHT; Those who DWELT in a land of deep DARKNESS, on them has LIGHT SHONE. The LIGHT SHINES in the DARKNESS, and the DARKNESS has not overcome it. (Isaiah)

And the WORD became flesh and DWELT among us. (Gospel of John)

Again Jesus spoke to them saying, “I am the LIGHT of the world. Whoever follows Me will not WALK in DARKNESS, but will have the LIGHT of LIFE. (Gospel of John)

Your WORD is a lamp to my feet and a LIGHT to my PATH.

He leads me in PATHs of righteousness for His Name’s sake. (Psalms)

WALK as children of LIGHT (for the fruit of LIGHT can be found in all that is GOOD and right and true).

I will give you as a covenant for the people, a LIGHT for the nations. To open the eyes that are blind, to lead out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in DARKNESS. And I will lead the blind in a way they do not know. In PATHs that they have not known I will guide them. I will turn this DARKNESS before them into LIGHT. (Isaiah)

Your WORD is a lamp to my feet and a LIGHT to my PATH.

IN THE BEGINNING, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form and void, and DARKNESS was over the face of the earth. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. And God said, “Let there be LIGHT, and there was LIGHT. And God saw that the LIGHT was GOOD. And God separated the LIGHT from the DARKNESS. God called the LIGHT Day and the DARKNESS He called Night. (Genesis)

And the city has no need of sun or moon to SHINE on it, for the glory of God gives it LIGHT, and its LAMP is the Lamb. By its LIGHT will the nations WALK. (Revelations)

Your WORD is a lamp to my feet and a LIGHT to my PATH.

And night will be no more. They will need no LIGHT of LAMP or sun, for the Lord God will be their LIGHT.  (Revelations)

IN THE BEGINNING was the WORD, and the WORD was with God, and the WORD was God. He was IN THE BEGINNING with God. All things were made by Him, and without Him was not anything made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the LIGHT of men. (Gospel of John)

We WALK as children of LIGHT, seeking to discern what is pleasing to the Lord. Your WORD is a LAMP to our FEET and a LIGHT to our PATH. (Ephesians, Isaiah)

*Scriptures here taken from: Ephesians 5:8-10, Psalm 119:105, John 1:1-5&14, Isaiah 9:2, John 8:12, Psalm 23, Isaiah 42:6,7,16, Genesis 1:1-5, Revelations 21:23, 24, Revelations 22:25. Please note, this is a meditation and not a study. Please look up scripture passages for full meaning in context.

Perhaps it’s obvious I’m no expert on meditation, but meditation was once described to me as a holy kind of worrying (sadly, something I am an expert on). So, instead of focusing, pondering and ruminating on every fearful thought that enters my mind, I’m practicing this way of replacing worries with the word of God. Turning these verses over in my mind, looking at them from different angles, letting them sink in and repeat and point to additional verses to become a cadence arising in unexpected moments. Helping me walk more consistently, hopefully, and joyfully as a child of light.

P.S. If we were having this conversation in front of my fireplace right now, this is the time I would pull out my marked up pages. You might then nod politely and say, “Well, it’s been a nice visit, but the weather looks threatening (which is true), so I’d better go.” But if you think you’d be more likely to want a closer look at those pages as a visual aid to what I’m here describing, I’d be happy to email you a scanned copy.

And no judgments please. This isn’t something I’ve prettily prepared for my blog friends or my email friends. It’s just something tucked into my journal that I’m willing to share with my fireplace friends. So, if that’s you, write me at jody@jodyevans.com and ask.

The post To Walk as Children of Light appeared first on Jody Evans, Author.

A Gentle Answer

He had sacrificed his youth for his country, serving proudly in the days when the greater good was valued over individual comfort. He had served alongside honorable men, eaten unrecognizable meals with them, drawn on their strength when he wanted to run.

Those days had rattled him with fear, but he had taken pride in doing his job well. But although they had been assured this work was for the ultimate good, he still had to push back the confusion each time he saw the great cost of the “good.” By the age of twenty-five, he had seen more death and lived through more adventure than the forty-year-old employees in his shop today, the ones who roll their eyes at each other when he drones on about his experience in the war or his love for his country.

After the war, he met Alice by chance when he stopped at the ice cream parlor one afternoon. She was everything pure and bright to his sad, disillusioned mind. Her cheerful greeting caught his attention, but it was her peaceful spirit that convinced him she would always be a safe place for his experience and pain. Over the course of the next few months, with the intuitive use of her words and her silence, she soothed the places that hurt his soul.

For her part, Alice loved the depth in his eyes. She loved the way his smile did not take pleasure for granted, but rather collected each one and turned it over and over in his hands, thankful for its healing presence. Where she would see a pretty meadow from the car window, he would stop the car and get out and walk among the flowers, running his hands over their cheerful faces with a childlike appreciation. He would get on his knees and collect the prettiest daisies, threading their stems together into a makeshift bouquet.

“Come on, let’s go,” she would plead, “we’re going to be late — this is not the time to be picking flowers.”

And he would smile and rise, presenting her with the bouquet in an elaborate show. As she looked down at the bundle of daisies in her hands, each time — without fail — she would find one ugly, drooping flower among the bunch, one that did not fit with the rest. She would look up at him with a furrowed brow.

“Because,” he would say to her unspoken question, “that’s real life.”

They had not been going steady very long before they fell into the comfortable recognition that she would be his lifeline and he would be her anchor till death did them part. As a step in that direction, he got down on one knee in that ice cream parlor nine months after they first met, and they were married a few months later.

Their first year of marriage drifted by with the ease of an autumn leaf floating on the river, as conversations every evening stoked a bright fullness in their relationship. Each discovery brought new intimacy as they found themselves more fully known and loved. Everything was as it should be.

The next few years brimmed with fun adventures — a new home to enjoy, new babies to love, and a new business to run. He observed Alice, appreciated her dedication as she invested late nights and early mornings in their family. His heart swelled with pride as she alternately played with and disciplined the children according to their need. She was strong, with solid opinions that sharpened his own — his capable partner in business and in life.

But as they worked together toward their common goals, they gradually forgot how to be together, to rest in each other’s company. Early on, they had taken great care in arranging the store and spent many a happy afternoon dusting and rearranging their wares without distraction. Now those distractions were usually boisterous, often dirty, and routinely picked up dead animals.

As they corralled the children and managed their growing business, they found less time to speak to each other, and when they took time for conversation, harsh words crept in where harmony had always been. Afraid of this dangerous shift in their marriage and unsure of the best way to close the distance, Alice tried to hold him to herself on a tether of control, becoming critical of the things she had always loved about him.

“Could you pick up some flour so I can make bread with supper?” she had asked him one afternoon.

“I will, but I’ve got to say a few words over the squirrel. I think one of the dogs got him. The kids found his body in the yard this morning and made up a little box for his burial. They’ve asked me to see to it he has a proper funeral,” he explained, offering, “I’ll go get some right after that.”

“It’s not even a real funeral,” she insisted with frustration. “It’s a squirrel, a squirrel. Please just do the service after you get the flour.”

“But, Alice, it’s not just a squirrel to the kids. They want him properly laid to rest, and I intend to help them. The bread can still be ready in time for supper. Just give me a few minutes to finish this.”

She disapproved of the ways he spent his time, bossed him as if he were one of her children. She hoped to pull him, harnessed by her criticism, back onto the path she desperately wanted to walk with him. He felt her critiques keenly and began to withdraw to safer ground. It was an ominous cycle that made each desperately unhappy, though neither could see a way of escape.

One night, he found her in tears as she brushed her hair before bed.

“We’ve been married for ten years today,” she said flatly. “Happy anniversary. We made it.”

He had forgotten their anniversary. The monumental day had passed like any other — an afternoon sandwiched between a morning and an evening. Alice generally didn’t make a big deal of holidays, but anniversaries were different — they were a celebration of the hard work they had poured into their marriage thus far, and when lavishly observed, were an investment in the next year’s happiness. Until now, he had never spared an expense in honoring the day. But things at the shop had been so busy recently.

“Oh no, I am so sorry — ” he began.

“I guess I saw it coming,” she cut him off. ‘What are we even doing? We’re running this shop together, we’re raising a family together. But we don’t ever just spend time together like we used to,” she cried. “Why should today be special when none of the other days are? It shouldn’t have surprised me, but still — ”

“Now, Alice, don’t turn this into any more than it is,” he said. Of course today he’d made a critical mistake. Of course they’d been busy and lost touch lately. But all families have rough seasons. And, he noted bitterly to himself, she hadn’t mention their anniversary today either, until she wielded it now as a weapon.

“Any more than it is?” Alice burst into tears and told him exactly what it was. He stood staring at the floor, listening to her words as she verbally dismantled all that she had devoted her life to protecting. She got into bed, rolled to face the wall, and cried bitterly as she mourned both the years that had driven them apart and her words which now would fix them there.

He cleared his throat and quietly said, “If that’s how you feel,” then opened the door and walked to his truck. Though at first it would not crank, he refused to go back inside to finish the fight. After fifteen minutes of struggle, the engine finally yielded and sputtered to life. He drove dark back roads throughout the night, preparing his words and steeling his heart for the inevitable confrontation. He was only a few miles from home when his truck shuddered and then coasted to a stop. He pounded the steering wheel, cursing first his truck for its betrayal, then himself for the empty fuel tank. He kicked the door open and slammed it behind him as he started walking.

Trudging through the fields before sunrise, he rehearsed her faults, fine-tuning his monologue as he prepared for the clash. As he gained confidence from the evidence mounting against her, he suddenly remembered a verse his mother had made him memorize decades ago. Man that was a lifetime ago when we were kids. His sister had knocked his bicycle into a puddle so he threw mud on her and called her a dirty name. She tattled on him, and they had both been ordered to memorize a passage from the Proverbs. Why would that surface now? This situation is totally different. How did it even go again? It began to come back to his mind:

A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.

The tongue of the wise useth knowledge aright: but the mouth of fools

poureth out foolishness.

The eyes of the LORD are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.

“Probably best you look away, God,” he said to no one in particular, “this may get ugly.”

But as he walked on those verses began to perforate his arguments, and he struggled to keep his points in order. He wasn’t sure if it was the beautiful sunrise, the brisk early morning exercise, or those pointed words from the King James version, but as he strode for home, his anger dissolved as a new feeling emerged in its place. He had spent the last couple of years watching his marriage swirl as the bathwater does before it goes down the drain — slowly at first, then faster and faster and faster.

No more, he decided as he walked through the fields. I’m plugging the tub. Armed with this new resolve, he abandoned his interest in the easy road, the one tempting him to walk away from a fight and keep on walking. As he passed through the fields that morning, he picked a handful of daisies like he had done so often during their early days.

When he got home, he placed the flowers on the kitchen table with a note that said, “Since the war, I haven’t had anything to fight, mostly thanks to you. But somewhere along the way, I drew up battle lines with you on the other side. I don’t really know how we ended up here, but starting today, I want to be on your side again. I want to fight for us.” Then he slipped out the front door again to open the store before she woke up.

When she walked into the kitchen that morning, she glanced apprehensively at the bouquet, which evoked so many memories of their early years. She stepped closer for a better look. There, in amongst the beautiful flowers, was a hideously withered one. It was the one for which she was looking.

“Because that’s real life,” she smiled as the tears began to form. “I’m ready.”

It was the biggest fight of their lives — the daily falling in and out of love, the constant swelling and humbling of selves, the moment-by-moment strain of choosing to honor each other. But they fought it, and in the end, they won. Many times, they had feared they might not. But as she lay still, waiting peacefully as the sickness nudged her further into eternity, Alice’s final words to him were, “We made it. Come soon.” And that lovely smile.

It was the proudest victory of his life. He had learned in the war what it meant to serve the greater good, to offer oneself for the masses. But he learned in his marriage what it meant to sacrifice himself for another individual, one who often opposed or hurt him. In the end, the victory over the struggle brought a fulfillment only known by those who have experienced it.

During their first year of marriage, he thought he knew what it was to be fully known and fully loved. But as the years passed, Alice had shown him more and more what it meant…

The post Stories Between Friends – Devon Dial appeared first on Jody Evans, Author.

I am my Beloved’s and my Beloved is mine

– Song of Solomon 6:3

You know what to expect from valentine stories, don’t you? Something about a couple and their love for each other. Add in some obstacles to overcome, candles, flowers, chocolate, and a wedding in the end. But that’s not what this is. This one’s a love story starring God.

(Since so many Christmas movies these days are about couples falling in love, I figure it’d be only fair to highjack valentine season for more of a God focus.)

This tale may be devoid of flowers and candlelight, but do remember the Hero overcame the greatest of obstacles to rescue His love and make her His own.

With that settled, let’s start with the undeniable romance of the Ten Commandments.

What? You don’t see the romance?

Consider the words Jesus used to answer the question, What is the greatest commandment? His response was basically love and more love.

Those weren’t His exact words, but isn’t it a bit startling to see that He stitched the word Commandment to the word Love.

Maybe not such a surprise to the crowd of Jews listening in as to your average, modern day American. After all, a good Jew was probably quite familiar with the words of the Shema:

Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is one. And as for you, you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength.

For this born-in-the-20th-century-American-girl, the word commandment typically turns my thoughts to The Ten Commandments—a God-prescribed list of dos and don’ts.

Over time, though, and with the help of some friends, I’ve come to see The Ten Commandments in a different way. As more of a love note than a table of rules.

Ann Voskamp uses this lens beautifully in Day 10 of her book, The Greatest Gift. There she illustrates how the giving of The Ten Commandments was full of wedding symbology. She includes these three (click on the links for a fun–and brief–explanation of the terms):

• The mikveh, a preparatory purification, evident in God’s instruction to Moses when He said, “Go to the people and consecrate them today and tomorrow and let them wash their garments.”
• The canopy of cloud that covered Mount Sinai can be viewed as a sort of chuppah.
• The commandments themselves, she views as a form of ketubah. A love contract.

When I picture them in this way, as part of a wedding ceremony, I can see God’s commands aren’t simply rules, but more akin to vows of love. Take the third commandment for instance, the one about not taking the name of the Lord in vain. In the context of a wedding, a bride takes her husband’s name as her own. To take her husband’s name in vain would include more than merely saying it in a disrespectful way but anything she does that is unworthy of being Mrs. Somebody. Acting as if she is not married to him. As if she does not belong to him at all. Taking her husband’s name in vain is not a thing we would expect a loving bride to ever want to do.

A Matter of the Heart

I again saw the commandments-and-love connection in a book by Timothy S Lane and Paul David Tripp. Coincidentally, perhaps (or perhaps, not?), these authors address The Ten Commandments in chapter 10. The subtitle of this section? “The Law and the Heart.” Here they write that the Commandments emphasize the centrality of the heart.

Jesus answered, “The most important is, ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.’”

See? Love and more love.

Since this was the first part of Christ’s answer, it’s a good idea to ponder it deeply and continuously. Christ’s bride is to love Him with everything she is, committing herself fully to Him, taking on His name as her own and being changed because of it. Then He went on to say more.

Love Your Neighbor as Yourself

The second most important commandment is also well-known amongst Christians and—I would venture to guess—people with any knowledge of the Bible at all. But figuring out how to live it out isn’t as simple as it would seem. In my closest human relationships, I fear I sometimes give a bigger piece of my heart or mind or strength to my neighbor than I do to God, thereby loving my neighbor in the way I’m meant to love God.  At other times, though I believe myself to be loving God rightly, I’m quite content to treat certain neighbors as unworthy of my attention or kindness.

And what about periods of self-hate or low self-esteem? How can it be right for anyone to love her neighbor as she loves herself at those times?

To solve that one, the world (and some preachers) would tell us a person must first love herself before she can properly love her neighbor. Which seems sort of right, but I can’t pinpoint scriptural examples that demonstrate this is so. Can you?

I’ve always assumed to love my neighbor as myself means I should treat my neighbor with the same loving good will I have toward myself, but lately, I’ve come to consider one more possible layer of interpretation. This isn’t based on scholarly study of the original language, but on my habit of digging into the meaning of words in my own native (AKA only) language. And according to my own culture.

I’ve done that with this passage because I’ve noticed a different sort of problem in the way I love my neighbor. In my desire to love my fellow humans well, I’ve taken it upon myself to always be available, always knowing exactly what he or she needs, and always able to supply whatever that may be.

Do you see an “omni” pattern here in my alwayses? It’s as if I believe I ought to be loving my neighbor with omnipresence, omniscience, and omnipotence.

Of course, I fail. Because those attributes aren’t mine. The sad truth is I’ve been trying to love my neighbor not as I’m designed to love but as only God can. As if I should (and could) be God to them through my love.

It’s like I know enough that I’m in the right love story, only I’ve gotten things out of order. I’ve miscast myself in a playbill that would read something like this:

Love Story I and II (or maybe II and then I?)

God……… played by God (with assistance from Jody)

Jody……… played by???? (Not available, she’s too busy trying to play God)

Jody’s projects……… unwittingly played by neighbors

(No wonder I’ve been wearing myself out and missing my cues!)

These days, I’m looking at a different playbill. One with Parts solidly in the proper order and the characters properly cast.

Loving God – Part 1

God……… played by God

Bride……… played by Christ’s church (including Jody playing her part with all her heart, soul, mind, and strength)

Loving God – Part II

God……… played by God

Bride……… played by Christ’s church (including you playing yourself and Jody playing herself)

Neighbors……… played by everyone else

And, like every good love story, whatever heartache and difficulty we find along the way, we can count on things wrapping up with a big, beautiful wedding celebration.

Revelations 

Then I heard what seemed to be the voice of a great multitude, like the roar of many waters and like the sound of mighty peals of thunder, crying out,

“Hallelujah! For the Lord our God

The Almighty reigns.

Let us rejoice and exult

And give Him the glory,

For the marriage of the Lamb has come,

And His bride has made herself ready.”

(Chapter nineteen, verses six and seven)

Now, don’t you think that’s a love story worth celebrating the whole year through?

The post An Unexpected Love Story appeared first on Jody Evans, Author.

January is the time of year for resolutions, I know. Time to make big plans for improving the way you do life. Time to focus on goals and how to finally accomplish them. To determine how you will grow your business or shrink your waistline (or both) in the coming year.

The turn of a new year is also the time many folks decide to give special attention to a word-of-the-year.

New Year’s resolutions and choosing a word-of-the-year are two practices I follow a lot of years, but not all.

I don’t remember my resolution from last year, or if I even had one. If I did, I’m sure it included pitching my soon-to-be completed, edited, and polished novel to a list of agents. (That resolution has gathered some mileage over the last several New Years.) But, formally resolved or not, by the start of the last quarter of 2024, I could see I’d made progress on my novel goals. I was polishing away on my final (I hoped) draft, sending chapters to my Timothy and preparing my proposal for a list of agents whom I thought might be interested.

What I do remember is not one word, but two, Courage and Humility, took me by the hands to lead me on a brisk, scenic walk through the hills and valleys of the year. A pair I enjoyed spending time with. An interesting and balanced duo that offered lessons for stepping forward in scary places and, in other ways, stepping back. Teaching me I don’t have to make such a big deal of myself (what a relief!).

In the final quarter of 2024, a likely candidate came forward as 2025’s word-of-the-year. A word quickly followed by another.

And another.

And another.

When a flu knocked me off my feet two days before Thanksgiving, hours of bed-bound reading time brought new candidates via the stack of books on my nightstand. Repeated in Scripture and song, an ever-lengthening parade of words marched through my mind carrying an unlikely resolution hoisted on their shoulders: 

Go slow and do less in 2025!

This was unexpected. Not a slogan that fits my idea of resolution material in general and far from the top of my needed-improvements list. (Let’s just say Speedy Doer would not be an apt description for this gal!)

The aftereffects of my pre-Thanksgiving flu dragged on until a Christmas cold knocked my baby steps of restored energy back to the ground. And after getting banged up a bit by twice tumbling down the bottom steps of my staircase, I could see going slow had benefits I hadn’t thought of.

So, I carefully pulled Christmas decorations from the attic at a one-box-per-day pace. I bought and wrapped gifts (or not) on a case by case basis. It felt sloppy and wrong until a bout of post-flu, low-grade depression took care of that, slowing even my thoughts about what matters in the doing of the holidays.

Now, having packed away the last Christmas decorations by the midpoint of January with only a dozen or so Christmas cards left to sign and address, I’m signing and addressing with a slow and loving hand. My guilt-free transition into this slow year.

I don’t know exactly what my slow year will look like other than an unhurried pondering of the dozen or so words-of-the-year that look to be walking through it with me. I’m excited to tell you the stories behind them as, starting next month, I bring a few at a time. (Not a jumping up and down excited, more like a quiet, glowing, gladness of anticipation.)

A leisurely conversation inviting you to go slow, put aside some doings, and ponder along with me. 

Please join this slow conversation with a word or two (or more) of your own ponderings in the comments below.

This month’s question: What does your resolution or word-of-the-year practice like? (if you don’t have either practice, I’d love to know about that, too)

The post Go Slow and Do Less in 2025! Rah, Rah, Rah! appeared first on Jody Evans, Author.

I remember when I learned such a malady existed. It was a staggering moment in elementary school when a fellow student casually mentioned he didn’t read.

It gave me something like the feeling I’d had while lying on the living room floor during a boring grown-up movie my parents were watching. One of the characters, upon being asked what he would like to drink, answered, “I don’t drink.”

That got my attention. I didn’t understand how it was possible for a person to live if he didn’t drink.

So it was with the kid at school. I couldn’t fathom it. Not read? It was as if he’d said he didn’t breathe.

I learned, as with the case of the movie teetotaler, there was a reasonable explanation. My young friend wasn’t saying he didn’t read at all, only that he didn’t read anything for pleasure. He limited himself to the bare necessities of literary hydration. Reading, for him, consisted of compulsory assignments. A pile of school books. A sentence of sentences. Not something a person would choose to do in his free time.

I’m pretty sure, since you’ve chosen to hang out with me, that’s not your story. I’m pretty sure you enjoy carving out moments in your afternoons or evenings or weekends to spend with a good tale. But I’m wondering if, like me, you find it increasingly difficult to justify the time when there is so much to do. And so many compulsory reading assignments required of you just to function in and understand all the important things going on in the “real” world.

If so, I hope this little interview with my oldest daughter might put that struggle to rest and send you back to your reading corner confident that your fiction habit is not only pleasurable but also highly beneficial.

Ashly, a middle school English teacher and mother to two adorable and precocious children under nine, is also an avid reader. So, as part of an assignment for a course I was taking, I asked her a few questions about her fiction habits.

ME: Why do you read fiction?

ASHLY: Really, I like stories. And I think my favorite thing about reading fiction is just being taken away from

my life and put into a different experience and a different world. I think the greatest thing about fiction is that

it teaches empathy and understanding of other people’s experiences because it shows you something new that

you can relate to. Because humans are humans (or there are human qualities in everything that’s written about

even if your subjects aren’t human).

I read more fiction, I think, because I read to fall asleep at night. Nothing settles my mind or takes me out of my

own cycle of thinking about things than reading someone else’s story. I can do the same thing with story-based

fiction, like history or memoir. But if it’s something like a parenting book or any kind of informational book,

then I’m thinking too much. I need fiction to take me out of my own head and let me fall asleep at night.

ME: Where do you go when looking for your next read?

ASHLY: I enjoy The New Yorker and will often look up the synopses of books mentioned there. If I like a short

story published in the magazine, I’ll look up the author and find many of those authors also have novels.

A lot of people on Instagram will post about five or so of their favorite recent reads, so I get a lot of

recommendations that way and also from friends. My friend Kelly is always posting books she’s read and liked. I

have a few other teacher friends who will post when they finish a book they really like. I’m also in a book club so

sometimes the book I’m reading is because somebody put its title in the hat.

It didn’t come up in that conversation, but I do know, like me, Ashly enjoys rereading her personal favorites. Depending on my mood or circumstances, I like to revisit particular fictional friends. I like knowing what I can expect. There’s something comforting in spending time with people whose stories and character arcs haven’t changed in the interim. Folks who, paradoxically, sometimes show me ways I’ve changed since last we met.

I do love the excitement of opening a new book with the possibility of discovering new worlds. But between times, revisiting old literary friends does something settling in my soul. It’s like stretching out under a tree in my own yard.

I know September is, for many of us, a busy season. A time to get schoolbooks and school schedules and school activities in order.

But maybe this transition from summer to autumn is also a time to put on a light jacket, stretch out under a shady tree and open a book. A time to remember what it is to live in another world for a while and see life in new ways. Or a time to visit old worlds and discover how you yourself have become newer.

Here are just a few of the titles I like to revisit: The Anne of Green Gables books, Gone with the Wind, Peace Like a River, Miss Benson’s Beetle, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, The Scent of Water, The Far Pavilions, Christy, A Wrinkle in Time, The Dean’s Watch, The Chronicles of Narnia, Still Life (the one by Christa Parrish), All Creatures Great and Small 

What keeps you reading fiction (or do you stick to non-fiction)?

Do you see some mutual friends in my list?

What stories do you like to revisit from time to time?

Do you like to reread favorites, or do you always reach for something new?

What books are keeping you company this September? I’d love to know.

The post Why Read Fiction? appeared first on Jody Evans, Author.