Hello from Kathy Collard Miller in the Southern California desert where it’s finally cooling down!

It was so hot that even the bees were dropping like flies. In our desert area of Southern California, my husband, Larry, and I get used to the soaring summer heat and we thought the insects would too. But we kept finding dead bees by our front door. We thought, “Can’t do anything about it and it can’t be anything too serious,” so we just ignored the strange phenomenon. Until we also noticed a dark spot on the wall near the ceiling—a wall that was close to the front door.bee hive photoholic

We called pest control and they checked the attic. The truth was revealed. Bees had taken up residence in our attic, having gained entrance through a small hole in the roof. The honey from the hive had started leaking into the wall.

And the dead bees on our walkway?

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Kathy Collard Miller

Kathy Collard Miller

Hello from Kathy Collard Miller in the Southern California desert where it’s starting to cool down!

Some time ago I was waiting in the airport for my connecting flight, minding my own business while enjoying reading a novel. I looked up and noticed a small food counter nearby where a woman was serving customers. I continued reading when unexpectedly the Lord’s still small voice within my heart whispered, “Go talk to that woman behind the counter about Me.”

My reaction was unfortunately one that I usually make: “Oh, Lord, you know I don’t like doing things like this. Please! No!”

I resumed reading, my face almost buried in the book’s pages, hoping He would forget I was there. But I could sense Him patiently waiting…and waiting.

photo by Tuomas_Lehtinen (www.freedigitalphotos.net)

photo by Tuomas_Lehtinen (www.freedigitalphotos.net)

“Oh, all right, Lord. What should I say to her?”

“Tell her I love her.”

Well, that wasn’t very original! I still wasn’t convinced I wanted to go and tried reading my book again. But I knew He would be persistent, so I gathered my things together and got at the end of the line for the counter.

I was amazed that by the time all the customers in front of me had been helped, no one had gotten in line behind me. When I faced the woman at the counter, I gulped and shot an arrow prayer, “OK, Lord, here we go.”

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Hi! Virelle Kidder here from sunny Florida!

Have you hit a fallow period in your writing? Doesn’t everybody once in awhile? Maybe you just left a big conference with no book contracts, not even a nibble, and everyone but you is glowing with good news. Instead of thinking your career is over and burying your grief in chocolate or ice cream, consider this a brief writing holiday and try a new strategy.

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Hello from Kathy Collard Miller, here in the Southern California desert.0098_Miller

It was always difficult for my mother to relax and trust God, and even when she was in her 80’s, it seemed like the Lord was still inviting her to trust Him more. My sister and I would say to each other, “You’d think the Lord would stop working on people when they get old enough, but He sure seems to still be working on mom.”

That was true up until the last few days of her life. When it was time for hospice, she moved into my home but didn’t seem to really comprehend that time for her was short. In fact, ten days before she joined

Great-gramma with great-grandson Raphael

Great-gramma with great-grandson Raphael

Jesus in heaven, she complained to me, “Kathy, I just hate lying here and not accomplishing anything. I should be doing something!”

I didn’t quite know what to say except, “Well, mom, you are 89. Maybe it’s time for you to just relax and let me take care of you.” She gave me a half-hearted smile like she wasn’t quite convinced.

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Hello from Kathy Collard Miller in the Southern California desert.

When I attended my first writers conference in 1980, writing legend Woody Wirt closed the final session by0098_Miller exclaiming, “I want you to say right now, ‘I am a writer.’”

I am a writer? It seemed dishonest to say such a thing. After all, I’d only had one article and one short story published. That didn’t seem to qualify as a true “writer.” What was a “true writer”? I didn’t know but I was convinced it didn’t refer to me. But being the People Pleaser I am, I wanted to “obey” what Woody was saying, so I paused, gulped, and mumbled, “I am a writer.”

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